Friday Night Street, Ch7 concluded

CHAPTER 7 CONTINUED...

The sounds are muffled, but I can still hear them. The runt says they had better head for Portsmouth, but the bird reminds them they still need petrol. The car moves off. The engine and road noise drown out everything else.

Inside the boot, I can feel their handiwork. I lash out with a few kicks and jerks, but it’s been lined with polystyrene and bubblewrap to stop anyone kicking up a fuss inside.

I’m starting to think morbid thoughts now, wondering if these feeble little fuckers really are going to be the end of me. You know, there’s an old story in Japanese folklore about a young Samurai who goes off to see a master swordsman, to get some lessons, right? You see, the kid tells the master how he had never been much good at fighting, useless with a sword in particular, but since he’s just got promoted to the Palace Guard on account of his uncle or something – you know, the usual story, nepotism and all that – he figures he had better try and improve himself. The master tells him to get his sword out and be ready for an attack. But, seeing the Samurai prepare himself, the master tells him to put away his sword, instead. There’s nothing I can teach you, he tells him, it’s obvious you’re an accomplished warrior already. The master, annoyed, then asks why he’s come only to trick him. Equally confused, the Samurai sticks to his story. It’s true, he says, I’ve never been in battle and don’t know how to use a sword. The things is though, it turns that from an early age, knowing he was destined for the warrior’s life and knowing he was hopeless at it, the lad had spent most of his time thinking about his inevitable death. His greatest fear had not been of dying, but of bringing shame on his family’s honour, of dying ignobly or running away in battle. His love for his family outweighed his concern for himself. So he set himself to keep death foremost in his mind at all times, like a constant meditation, regardless of what he was doing. The thought of death and dying became his constant companion, so much so that after a time he was no longer afraid to die. It was this fearlessness that the master had sensed in the Samurai.
The point of the story, according to the tale, is that anyone who means to live well must live in the face of death. Those that prepare well for death in life may find it comes later rather than sooner for that very reason.

After reading this story I came across some quote from a French philosopher along the same lines, that went “We do not know where death awaits us: so let us wait for it everywhere. To practice death is to practice freedom. A man who has learned how to die has unlearned how to be a slave.”

You read this kinds of stuff and half think, yeah that’s cool but you don’t really appreciate it. Not till it’s your turn. Sitting crushed up in the boot of that shitty old Vauxhall, I’m starting to understand that Samurai’s fear. I can feel death coming, and I’m scared. I don’t want to die scared. I don’t want to die in shame. And I don’t want to miss my mum’s fucking funeral. I’m getting angry again now, like Foreman, and that makes me angry at myself. Angry that I don’t know what to do. What would Ali do? What would the Samurai do? I don’t know how to deal with a situation where I can’t use my fists. Those guys, they used their heads. I’ve got to use my head.

And then the car stops after only a few minutes. Maybe this is it. Maybe they’ve changed their plan. I can hear some talking going on, but I can’t make out what. It feels like about five minutes, then the boot opens. Brian’s standing there. The scene behind him tells me we’re at the 24 hour, I can see the Subway neon out of the corner of my eye. Of course, they’ve stopped for petrol.

“I’m going to let you loose,” he says. “Then we’re going into the garage together. Those two are already in there. I want to show them that I’ve let you go, and their stupid plan, the affair, everything is over.”

I just stare back at him dumbly. I don’t know whether this is genuine or some new turn in their twisted plot.

“Look, this isn’t me. I didn’t live my life for this. It never had anything to do with you as far as I’m concerned. I went along with this hare-brained scheme to expose their affair. I knew about it all along, but denied it. I saw this as a way of, I don’t know, somehow getting my marriage back together, would you believe?”

Not really, I thought, unless you’re seriously screwed in the head.

“Look, I’m sorry what’s happened to you. I knew when I talked to you in the Subway you weren’t all that bad. Your old dear, she had a policy with us. It didn’t amount to much. It’ll just about pay the funeral expenses. I can sort it for you. Bump the figures up a bit. It’s his old man’s money, anyway, and he won’t miss twenty grand or so to avoid having his son up on a kidnapping charge. I can’t promise to make you rich, but would it be enough to cover all this?”

“I’m listening,” I said, sensing he hadn’t finished and stalling for time. Mixed feelings of anger, violence and relief were pumping through my body.

“And if I could ask you, well, a favour. It’s them. Could you leave them alone too, you know, for the money I’ll get you? I need my wife to regret her actions. Besides, if anything happens to them, things will get complicated. I mean with the police, and the insurance. I’ll tell her eventually, but there’s a lesson for both of them here. Be good to let them worry for a while.”

He goes on some more then, like some sort of bloody confession. A whole load of shit about his past and how it all came to this. Quite a speech, and all the while I can hardly believe me ears. Suddenly, it looked like the whole bizarre affair was over. Not only that, but I was going to end up with a lump of cash to boot. Not bad for a night’s work you’re probably thinking. But if this sad sack fear-peddler thought he could just buy my fucking soul with the promise of a few quid bunged in my back pocket he was dreaming. Yeah, I could use that kind of money, and right now, it made sense to tell him what he wanted to hear just to regain control of my hands and feet. Then we’d see what was what. But taking coin instead of inflicting pain after what had happened was a wrong I didn’t feel right about.

“Listen,” I said. “I’ll go along with you, why not? I’ve got nothing to lose. But if you don’t hold good on that promise, remember I know where you live and I won’t be coming to take your video and a few fucking knick knacks next time. You understand me? I’ll be coming for you and her.”

“I know. I know you will. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my word. Likewise, the police will know where to look if anything happens to us. I’ll ensure that. We agreed then?”

I was in a right old bind now. I’d have to give him my word if I wanted to get out of this bloody car, and then they’d be off scott-free. It just wasn’t right, and no amount of money would take the sour taste of it away. I knew he was exacting promises under duress and all that, but there was nothing to stop me from saying ‘fuck you’ and riding it out in the car. After all, it was clear their super-fucking-great masterplan wasn’t going anywhere now.

And still I found myself saying “Agreed”, staring at him as if I were staring at my own strange behaviour. I could already feel the resentment burning a hole inside of me. He undoes the ties, and I climb out of the back of the car.

“Look”, he starts, “in the garage, you go in first, and surprise them. When they’ve just about shat their pants I’ll come up and explain I’m letting you go. Look, here’s some money for a taxi,” he said, fishing in his pocket for a tenner.

“I don’t need a fucking taxi.” This guy was starting to piss me off with his bribes. Who did he think I was, some sort of cunt he could buy and sell as he pleased?

“You listen, pal. I’ve still got half a mind to knock you out and rip those two into tiny little pieces, so don’t be telling me what’s what. When I’ve seen them two suitably mortified, I’ll be collecting a donation from all of you not just for a bloody taxi, but to buy some nice flowers for me mum tomorrow as well. Now, you make sure you keep two things. Your word, and out of my fucking way.”



--this concludes Part One of 'Friday Night Street'. You can find out what surprises are in store for Johnny Wilde in Part II, in the next instalment--