Getaway - Part 14

Happily, Fionn told me it would be best if I steered clear of him and the other IRA lads in the two-week run-up to my departure date, in case we were spotted together by a suspicious cop. The fact that Chullainn and Deano were what he referred to as “fresh faces” meant is was ok for us to mix. Just as well, because I had plans for those fuckers.

I spent most of the final two weeks before my getaway between the Muay Thai Gym up the road and the computer desk in my bedroom.

The Muay Thai was exactly what the doctor ordered and my love for the game increased alongside my ability. I was definitely getting the hang of it. Especially the elbows. You could do a lot of damage to your opponent in a sparring session if you had the balls to throw a few scythe-like elbow strikes. The lads I hit never did anything more harmful than throw pathetic, watery glances up at me after I’d splashed their faces across the floor of the dingy community centre but Mike, my instructor, had started to freak out about the whole thing. Sometimes I would claim it was an accident and if that didn’t work I’d tell Mike out straight; if the assembled shower of fairies he had the kneck to refer to as a Muay Thai class couldn’t take a fucking slap then they should take up bowls. And that was that.

My plans for what to do after I met up with Noy weren’t exactly well developed, but I thought I’d leave that to her. I knew fuck all about the place we were headed beyond the fact that the sort of money I had would leave us with plenty of options. What I could do though, was sort out the time I would spend in Bangkok. Hours trawling the net for suitable accomadation came to an abrupt end when a search turned up a total cracker of a Thai chick standing behind the reception desk of the Sahara Hotel. She was something else. I decided that if Noy said one word I didn’t like she would be dropkicked out the door and I would get in there with receptionist.

But despite the Muay Thai, the money under the bed and the new life waiting for me, every time I stretched out on my bed I found it hard to settle. The hard work was done, but I was still anxious. I eventually decided that what was bothering me was the fact that the job wasn’t entirely finished. I decided to give the two boys a bell.

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By the time the day before we were due to fly out had rolled round I had packed and went over the last few moves of the unfolding pantomime a thousand times, so I bid farewell to my Mother and set off. She had become somewhat alarmed by what she rather insensitively described at my ‘mental’ behaviour since returning to Ireland. It was fair enough in a way; I mean, she hadn’t a notion of either the little project I was operating or the pressures such work might temporarily bring to bear on an individual. All she saw were the side effects. Either way though, I think she was relieved to see the back of me, and the fact that my leaving was cheering the old dear up gave me that little extra spring in my step as I hopped into my taxi. As we rounded the corner out of my old housing estate I threw a final bitter glance at the dump I had called home for far, far too long.

I called Chullainn and Deano, the two fresh faces, and told them to meet me that night in a big boring fucker of a hotel beside Dublin airport. I arrived to find the pair of plebs looking thoroughly intimidated by the place and it occurred to me that they had probably never stayed in a hotel before, never mind left the country. Chullainn, the brawny one, kept staring at the carpet while Deano made a pathetic attempt at cockiness that revolved around nudging me and pointing out one or other of the various good looking girls milling around in the lobby. I sent them off to the bar while I checked into our rooms. I got two, but we would only really need one.

Room keys in hand, I strolled into the bar to find the two lads giggling at each other behind two pints of rapidly diminishing beer, at a table in the corner of the room. The giggling stopped abruptly however, when I bounced the keys off the table. I did it for effect more than anything else, but the fact that they ricocheted off the polished surface and pinged Deano straight in the mouth was a totally unforeseen bonus. “What the fuck?!” he stammered through reddening fingers.

“You were told about drinking on this trip you little gimp!” I said, through teeth barred in order to stop myself from bursting with laughter. “And here we are not even on the plane yet and you pair are already on the piss?”

“It’s just a fuckin pint!” said Chullainn, hinting that he may have rediscovered of his balls.

The little bastard started to look like he was contemplating having a pop, so I decided to let the silence hang for a while. I leaned over his table and stared into him, wondering what I might find in the peepers of the young man who looked to be fully capable of punching holes in brick walls. Sadly, with his friend largely incapacitated by a fucking hotel key, he started to loose his nerve.

“It’s just a fuckin pint…” he said again, although this time with considerably less conviction and with his big dumb bambi eyes beginning to water.

“Christ almighty, Chullainn. You’re really quite the orator, aren’t you?” I said, starting to loose my ability to stop myself from laughing alongside his ability to stop himself from having a panic attack.

“I’m not sure if it was the weight of your argument or your flawless delivery which did it, but either way, on hearing it a second time, the it’s-just-a-fuckin-pint line of reasoning has one me over. So get up to that bar and get me a large bottle of Bulmers before I slap that glass you’re about to start crying into across your chops.”

After a couple of drinks the boys started to loosen up. Deano rabbited on a bit much for my liking, mostly because it cast Chuaillann in the role of ‘dumb mute sidekick’, but he was a funny little bastard at times. But the fun and games had to come to an end at some stage so when the clock struck 11 I instructed the lads to drink up. I picked up my carry-on bag and my Bulmers bottle – a big brown fucker shaped for all intents and purposes like a glass version of the wooden clubs cavemen beat their wives with – and ushered the lads towards the lift.

When we arrived at the room set to serve as home to the lads for longer than they were aware, I swiped the card and pushed the door open for them. I followed in behind them, while the sprung door clicked closed by itself. A blast of adrenaline darted up my spine forcing a smile to rip from one corner of my mouth to the other as it did so. I dropped my bag and raised my bottle.

To be continued.

© Rob Carry. All rights reserved by the author.