by steve higgs
I had been joking but Basic was clearly giving the idea some serious thought.
‘Oi, Jizz weasels. Get in your cars. It’s time to race.’ Big Ben was always a delight. ‘Or in your cases, it’s time to lose like the snot-soaked, Justin Bieber t-shirt wearing, limp-wristed losers you are.’
His goading got us moving. The cars were lined up like you would find in a Grand Prix race and each car had a co-driver that was there to guide us through how best to handle the car we would be racing. As I got to mine, deferring to Basic, Hilary and of course Jagjit so that mine was last on the grid, the cars at the front were already peeling away.
The two-hour slot we had bought got us fifteen minutes of orientation, thirty minutes of instruction, thirty minutes of racing and thirty minutes of free drinks as we watched the action as filmed by a number of remote and manned cameras around the track. It wasn’t a cheap afternoon which would have been enough motivation for the chaps to want to make the most out of it, but the wager had ensured we were all chomping at the bit to get the race underway. Six-hundred pounds wouldn’t change anyone’s life, but it would look fat in anyone’s wallet.
By 1700hrs, we had finished our practise laps, stretched our legs and taken on water. Now we were back in our cars and waiting to go. The cars had been arranged on the grid according to lap times recorded during our practise laps, just like they would on a Grand Prix. I was tenth somehow, which I had decided was due to my car being faulty. I drove a Porsche every day. Surely, I should be better at this than anyone. My disappointment was only slightly mollified by Big Ben sitting dead last. I put this down to the cars all being equal and him weighing fifty pounds more than anyone else. He also had to drive with his head on slightly sideways. His daft height and the full racing helmet for safety meant even scooching down in his seat didn’t really work.
The bank of lights ahead of us turned from red to green resulting in the engine noise cranking up to the accompanying sound of wheels spinning and the twelve race cars blasted away from the grid.
Stag Night. Wednesday, November 23rd 2051hrs
My stomach was filled to capacity with dinner, but the steak the size of a box folder had absorbed some of the beer I had drunk just when I was starting to feel its effects. The food had been glorious, rich and decadent. It was a meal to remember and capped the afternoon off perfectly.
The after-action review of the race was still going, there didn’t seem to be room for another topic of conversation. All twelve of us had dispensed with any form of transportation, along with any sense of sobriety, the moment we arrived in Rochester. My car was parked in its usual spot behind my office with the other cars piled in around it. There was a rather tenuous plan to fetch the cars early tomorrow morning so they would not cause a problem when Jane and Amanda arrived just before 0900hrs. Looking at the drinks now flowing through the group, I wasn’t sure anyone would make it back in time.
It was a minor concern though, I had already sent them both a text to say I would reimburse any parking fee they needed to pay elsewhere, and Amanda had said she was working late and would not be in first thing.
I shot my cuff to check my watch: 2051hrs. I needed the gents. Thirty seconds later, with Mr. Wriggly performing his less interesting function, I started worrying about the case. It was far from ideal that I had taken today off. Would they even let Big Ben and me back in for our cleaning shift tomorrow? Our absence today could not be helped, and we had both called in sick but the Dockyard business was not one that struck me as being concerned about employee’s rights given their willingness to hand out a beating for turning up.
We would go back anyway and see what happened. If more extraordinary measures were called for, like breaking in because next time they denied us access completely, then so be it. I wasn’t worried about getting caught trespassing and arrested, the police would release us without charge once I could get a message to CI Quinn, however, I wasn’t sure they would bother handing us over if caught. They were capable, possibly even inclined toward murder. It was a concern. I wasn’t stopping though.
On my way back to the bar I used my phone to call Joseph. The music in the bar was loud, but not so oppressive that conversation was impossible, but further into the bar, in the utility area I found myself in now, it was quite quiet. I ducked into an alcove when he came on the line.
‘Dobryj den.’ He answered, speaking Ukrainian to maintain his cover.
‘Joseph, it’s Tempest. Are you able to talk?’
He whispered quietly, ‘One moment.’ Then spoke at normal volume in Ukrainian again, most likely pretending the caller was his girlfriend or his mum or something. He could have been saying anything, the words were gibberish to my ears. ‘Yes, I can talk.’ He said after a few seconds.
‘I’m just checking in. How’s it going?’
‘No problems. I was immediately accepted and welcomed. I am quite the hit with the almost-all female cleaning crew in fact, although I will say there is an air of disappointment that someone called Big Ben is not here tonight. Is that your colleague?’
I sighed. It was always all about Big Ben where the ladies were concerned. ‘Yes, that’s him.’
‘Well, there are several ladies here of varying ages that have plans for him, if you know what I mean.’
‘Well, tell them he will be back tomorrow if you can do that without blowing your cover. What have they got you doing?’
‘I am emptying bins. According to Pasha, the lady in charge, the two useless, weak English goluboi’s, that’s Ukrainian for homosexuals, didn’t turn up today so someone else needed to do it. They paired me with an older man, but it was clearly a bit much for him, so I found him a warm place to rest and have got on with it by myself. I am poking around as I go.’
Good. This was good. After his promise to find his way into the tunnels earlier today I had worried that my overly adventurous and confident new acquaintance might do something rash like ask where the bad guys were and then try to arrest them all. He was playing it cautious and sensible though.
Tomorrow, with three of us there, we could make a concerted effort to find the landside tunnel entrance. Even though we had identified the river entrance, it appeared to be guarded. Big Ben and I could borrow some scuba gear and maybe get in undetected underwater to avoid being chased off by the boats. Not impossible, but also not simple either.
‘Roger. Stay safe. Let’s touch base in the morning and agree on a plan of action, yes?’
‘What time do you start work?’ He asked.
‘I’ll be in my office for 0900hrs. Does that suit you?’
‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’ We disconnected. My concerns were somewhat placated. Pasha was making fun of us but had not verbally committed to others that we were not returning so she was expecting to see us again even if she was hoping we had quit.
Back at the bar, Aditya had a drink for me. ‘Here you go, Tempest.’ He handed me a fresh pint. ‘I’m not sure how many more of these I can drink. I took tomorrow to recover from today, well done for arranging the stag party for today to give us recovery time by the way.’ We clinked glasses in salute to my great planning. ‘Then it’s the wedding all weekend.’
‘Well, that should give you time to forgive Vihann for cutting you up on the last corner to win the race then.’
He frowned. ‘Maybe.’
The race had been competitive from the start, everyone tearing away from the line to make the first corner. We had ten laps to complete, however it was clear by the end of the first that there were only three cars in with a chance of winning. Aditya, Vihann and Hilary. The five Singh brothers had fought each other though, their efforts aimed more at beating their siblings than at winning the race as if old brotherly disputes over whose turn on the Scalextric it was were now being settled. My tactic to hang just a bit off the lead and let them tussle it out before swooping in to win at the end proved folly, but I had been happy with fifth place. There were more people behind me than ahead, unlike Big Ben
who had started last and finished last and would be smarting about it for years to come.
The only disappointment was that Ian Quinn had beaten me. He came up the inside of me on the penultimate lap, cutting off my driving line as we approached a vital corner. I had been forced to go wide to avoid a collision which gave away my position. He then doggedly prevented me from passing, his effort seemingly focused on keeping me behind him instead of trying to catch the car in front. It was the sly grin he had given me as he cut me up that was stuck in my craw though.
I had put it down to the excitement of the race, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he had gone into the event with the sole aim of making sure he finished ahead of me.
I was standing at the bar, chatting with Jagjit about his planned honeymoon when I spotted a face I knew, then I noticed that conversation in the bar had dropped significantly. The face I saw was Brunilda’s, the sexy as anything brunette I had met briefly at Big Ben’s penthouse suite on Monday. She was in the bar and leading a procession of other gorgeous women. All had on cocktail dresses that contained very little material, high heels and little else. They were all clearly cold from being outside, but the door was open and there was still more coming in. I could already count twenty.
Big Ben, never easy to lose sight of, towering over everyone else as he did, was greeting them all and handing a credit card to the barman.
He leaned across so we would hear him, ‘I told the girls there was a bachelor party and I needed them all to look sexy and mingle.’
They had managed the first part of the task easily enough. Big Ben started handing out drinks to the ladies and kissing cheeks. A couple of them got a playful smack on their rumps which was warmly received by each of them. He was a master at work.
As a space opened up at the bar next to us, Big Ben stepped into it, accompanied by a dozen or more beautiful women all sipping sparkling wine from tall fluted glasses.
‘I felt there was a need to liven things up and you were insistent that there be no strippers, so I compromised. I can’t guarantee that they will all keep their clothes on though, a couple of them do like to dance and just happen to work in gentlemen’s clubs.’
‘So, by default, you managed to invite strippers anyway.’ I laughed.
‘Only sort of. Anyway, Jagjit, as it’s your stag do, last night as a single man and all that, why don’t you pick one? My treat.’
Jagjit’s jaw dropped as the gaggle of gorgeous women all smiled at him. An athletic blonde woman in her early twenties with green eyes like emeralds, smouldered at Jagjit in a way that would have made Mr. Wriggly burst out through the front of my trousers had it been aimed at me. I swear she made her nipples harden on command as they were suddenly visible through the sheer fabric of her dress.
‘Only joking.’ Big Ben said. Jagjit exhaled in relief. I understood his plight, such temptations are easy to resist when there is no way you can make it happen anyway, but far less so when put on a plate in front of you. He didn’t want to go into marriage having just cheated on his intended any more than I would. Big Ben wasn’t done though, ‘You can have three.’ He said with a laugh.
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not, or even begin to work out how the ladies before us were his to command. Jagjit said, ‘I’d better pass, thanks all the same.’ Just in case the offer was genuine.
As the girls filed away, some of them looking genuinely disappointed, Jagjit grabbed my arm, ‘Dude I need a stiff drink like right friggin now. I’m freaking out, man.’
I waved for the bartender’s attention, ‘What’s up, buddy.’ I asked while I waited for the man to finish serving his customer.
‘Am I crazy?’
‘I need some context, mate.’
‘I’m getting married this weekend to a girl I met a month ago. Did you see all those amazing women just then? I’m not just getting married, I’m giving up any chance to ever be with them or anyone like them or anyone ever again for that matter.’
The bartender arrived, took my order of single malt doubles, Irish not Scotch and I waited for them to be served before answering. Damn Big Ben and his stupidly attractive harem of women. Jagjit had been rock solid until sixty seconds ago.
I handed Jagjit his drink as I paid with my card then grabbed mine from the bar intending to sniff the heady scents and savour it while trying to come up with something wise to say about the conflict between head and heart. With my glass in my hand I turned back to face Jagjit.
He slammed his empty glass down on the bar and signalled the barman for another.
So much for savouring it.
‘Jagjit, you need to calm down. The only thing that has changed since you were talking so animatedly about your lovely Alice an hour ago is that a bevy of unapproachable, untouchable, unrealistically perfect women got wafted under your nose.’ I sipped my drink. He was served a second glass which I had to intercept on its way to his face. He was about to down a second large hit of very alcoholic whisky. ‘Tell me when you last had any form of relationship or even interaction with a woman that looked like any one of them.’
‘Err, I haven’t.’ He admitted, feeling that he was making a valid point.
‘Exactly.’ I replied. ‘Normal men like you and I don’t get to have relationships with women that look like that and I, for one, am glad about it.’
Jagjit considered that for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Nope. No, you’re going to have to explain this to me. Why is it that I don’t want to have sex with the perfect women?’
‘Precisely because they are perfect, mate. I’m going to hit you with some wisdom. Are you ready?’
‘Um, I think so?’ He asked, confused now.
‘Really attractive women are terrible in bed.’
‘Who cares?’ He implored.
‘Exactly, mate. Guys don’t care, so the perfect women never get to be good in bed because the men they end up with only demand that they turn up. They don’t have to try. They get used to men following them around dribbling and offering them things because men are just so utterly crap. You think any of those girls has had to buy a drink this year?’
He had no answer. ‘What number is Alice on the hot scale? If those girls are a ten, what score is Alice?’
Jagjit looked a little stunned although it might be the whisky hitting his system and making him woozy, not the power of my wisdom making him look dumb. ‘I’m going to say a nine?’
‘At least.’ I agreed. ‘Your lady is one hot number. If you don’t go through with the wedding, if you decide that you have been hasty, then it has to be for a better reason than because there are other women on the planet and they have tits too.’
‘Fair point.’ He conceded. He took a sip of his drink. ‘This is good stuff.’
I nodded my agreement.
We were silent for a while. Across the bar, Big Ben’s entourage of perfect women were getting a lot of attention from the other men and women in the place. There were several girlfriends with unhappy faces trying to get their boyfriend’s attention back.
‘Thanks, Tempest. You’re a good best man.’
I clapped him on the back. ‘Don’t sweat it. You’re entitled to one wobble. Do you need to rethink the wedding?’ I was testing him. No matter what had been spent or who he would hurt, if he really was rushing in and needed time, then he had to take it. He would do more harm marrying her and learning his mistake only later.
‘No. No, I’m good. Alice is wonderful.’
‘You’ve been saying that for weeks.’
Jagjit had a distant look to his face and was swirling his whisky in his glass when Ian Quinn approached us.
‘Chaps, I wanted to thank you for a thoroughly entertaining evening. Kit assured me I would be accepted, although I was dubious given how we met, I must say that I have learned I sometimes form opinions that prove to be false.’ I inclined my head in a gesture that said, “I know”. ‘I have to go, I’m afraid. I am on duty in the morning at five o’clock.’
Seeing the attention Basic was getting, one of the bartenders put the volume up. In seconds, the girls were dancing around him like he was a genuine Rockstar. Phones were coming out around the bar, random people filming the scruffy, air-guitar playing, crazy-haired doofus. Egged on by the crowd around him, Basic redoubled his effort and he must have known what the track was when he got started because it was nearing the end and had become a magnificent guitar solo.
On the last chord, and with an almighty sweep of his arm to strike the last note, he jumped into the air to land on his knees among the baying crowd at his feet. There was an almighty cheer and applause, which Jagjit and I had to join in with and girls were kissing him, not just one or two, but damned near all the hot women were pawing him, touching him and kissing his face.
Finished with his act and with the crowd now settling back down, he actually mimed taking off his air-guitar and placing it on a stand before coming to the bar with an empty glass. I guess playing the air-guitar is thirsty work.
I bought him a drink and shook his hand as I marvelled at the hidden depths one sometimes cannot even perceive in the people that are closest to us.
‘Dat was fun.’ He said, a smile splitting his face.
Dat is going to sell even more air-guitars.
The thought played through my head and I had to consider that maybe Basic was an absolute genius sheathed in the body of a Neanderthal and not the lumbering dopey ox we all took him to be.
‘Hey, where did you go?’ Asked a delightfully petite Japanese girl. Not one of Big Ben’s thankfully, her interest in Basic looked real. ‘That was really fun, can I buy you a drink?’ She asked him.
‘Sure fing.’ He replied.
