Frank 'n' Stan's bucket list - #1: TT Races - Poignant, uplifting and exceptionally funny!

by J. C. Williams

  “You’ll beat this, Frank,” Stan said, a wave of relief washing over him. “You’re a stubborn bugger. And if anyone can do it, you can.”

  Stan waited in line at the coffee shop in the foyer, brushing a tear away from his cheek that had somehow mysteriously got there. Such was the extent of the smile on his face that perfect strangers were smiling back at him. Frank’s announcement had been a huge relief, of course. The knots in his stomach had disappeared, and the pain in his lower back as well. It was amazing what stress could do. He’d blocked the thought of Frank’s illness out as much as could, but the prospect of losing his friend was still always there.

  Stan’s mind drifted to thoughts of Dave and Monty. He was proud of them, proud of what they’d accomplished, and was happy to have been a part of it.

  There must have been over a hundred people nearby, milling about, with the accompanying murmur of voices. One voice in particular, though, made Stan’s ears prick up, clear above all the others: a familiar lilting Irish accent.

  He slowly turned, taking a side-step, and cocked his head for a better listen.

  “That’s bloody Lee,” he said under his breath.

  The queue in front of Stan had moved forward without him, and a woman behind him coughed, and then coughed again.

  “Sorry, you go on,” said Stan, stepping out of line.

  He couldn’t be one-hundred percent certain, but he caught sight of what he was fairly sure was Lee, walking off with a rather attractive woman with long, blonde hair.

  Stan took off in pursuit, and reached for his phone. “Shit!” he said, realising that in all the rush to get to the hospital he’d left his phone in the car.

  Stan had seen plenty of surveillance scenes in the movies and so knew the drill, and he stayed back, kept out of sight. With the stealth of a very stealthy person, he’d been able to confirm that it was indeed Lee he’d set his sights on, and had thoughts of running up and planting one directly on his chin.

  “Shit, Arthur,” said Stan, as the lift doors closed, with Lee and his blonde companion — accomplice? new target? — behind them.

  Stan rushed up and pressed the lift button impatiently, again and again, as thoughts of shouting out for security ran through his mind. The only reason that Lee would be there was… to see Arthur? It must’ve been. Did he think Arthur had the safe key? Or, perhaps he was angry that Arthur had foiled his robbery, and he was there for revenge?

  Stan felt sick, and for someone who never ran, he was in full sprint through the hospital corridor once off the lift.

  Stan arrived at Arthur’s room, but the door was ajar, and the room was empty. His heart sank when he saw the freshly made bed, ready for the next occupant.

  A nurse was walking by, escorting an elderly patient. Stan accosted her.

  “Excuse me, Miss. Do you know where the chap who was in this room went?”

  “Are you family?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Stan, lying for the greater good.

  “He’s been moved onto the main ward,” she said, pointing to where she’d just come from.

  There were six beds on the ward, and, once there, Stan scanned the room.

  “Lee, you piece of shit!” shouted Stan.

  “Stan, how are you?” said Lee, smiling, surprised by Stan’s form of address but having to assume it was nothing more than some friendly piss-taking.

  … One second before Stan punched him square on the bridge of the nose.

  Stan had never punched anyone in his life, and, for his debut effort, he certainly made impressive contact.

  “What the fucking fuck?” said Lee, holding onto his face. “What the hell was that for?”

  “What the hell are you doing here, and what have you done with all the cash? I see you’ve managed to hook up with some pretty tart already. Did you tell her you were some rich bigshot, with all of your stolen money?”

  “Keep the noise down!” said the furious-looking matron. “Do I need to call security??”

  “No, it’s fine,” said Lee, wiping the blood from his nose. “Stan, have you gone completely mad?” asked Lee. “What on earth are you on about??”

  “As if you didn’t know,” said Stan. “And where’s your tart gone?”

  Lee reached for the curtain covering the end bed. Once pulled back, there was the pretty tart, leaning over Arthur, holding him in her arms.

  “Stan,” said Lee. “The pretty tart is Arthur’s daughter. Did Stella not get in touch with you?”

  The pretty tart looked over at them for a moment.

  “I’m not a tart,” she said.

  “Arthur, are you okay in there?” asked Stan, suspiciously.

  Arthur smiled at Stan. “I’m brilliant, thank you. The best I’ve ever been, in fact. I’ve got my beautiful, lovely daughter back!” he said. “I’ve got my wonderful daughter back. Wait, hang on… why are you calling my daughter a tart?” he said.

  “A pretty tart,” Arthur’s daughter corrected.

  “I, uh… oh, dear,” said Stan.

  Lee walked towards Stan with his hands held up, palms out, in submission. “You’re not going to hit me again, I hope?”

  Stan, for his part, said nothing at this point, but looked a mixture of baffled and ashamed.

  “I told Arthur to meet at the taxi office as I had a surprise for him,” Lee began. “You now know what that surprise was,” he explained.

  “Hiya,” said Arthur’s daughter with a cheery wave.

  “But when we arrived,” Lee continued, “Stella told us what had happened. Funnily enough, she also tried to punch me. Look, Stan, I didn’t try and steal anything, I can promise you.”

  “But what about the key?” Stan protested weakly. “Stella said you had the key to put the charity cash in?”

  “I did put the cash in the safe. I then gave the key back to Stella. She was on the phone, and I dropped it in her handbag. She can’t have been paying attention, because when we looked just now, it was there. Where it’s always been, the whole time.”

  “And the cash…”

  “Is there! Where it’s always been, the whole time! Don’t worry. Stella said she was going to call you and tell you we were on the way.”

  “Ah,” said Stan. “I left my phone in the car. So there’s that.”

  Stan was feeling very guilty now about the blackening forming on Lee’s eyes. He coughed uncomfortably. “So, em… where did you find Arthur’s daughter?”

  “The pretty tart?” said Arthur’s daughter, smiling.

  “Yes, well, sorry about—” Stan began.

  “At least you were half right,” said Arthur, and they all had a laugh, and Stan didn’t feel quite such an ass as he just had a moment ago.

  “She wasn’t that hard to find,” said Lee, answering Stan’s question. “The problem for Arthur was that he never had social media! It took me less than half an hour to find her on Facebook. And she thought her dad hadn’t wanted anything to do with her! Can you imagine?”

  Stan took a moment to absorb the information. “Lee, I’m sorry! Sorry for thinking you’d taken the money, and sorry for punching you.”

  Lee shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve been punched, believe me,” he said, smirking.

  “Was it a good punch, by the way?” asked Stan. “Could you tell it was my first time, or—?”

  “It was very good, Mr Balboa. Or can I call you Rocky?” said Lee.

  “Rocky is fine,” said Stan, looking at the floor, smiling.

  “If I ever need to hire any muscle, you’d be my first choice,” Lee assured him. “Closely followed by Stella.”

  “Ta, for that. Look, sorry again. I need to get back to Frank. I left him twenty minutes ago, to get him coffee. We’ll catch up tomorrow, have a chat about the charity and the next steps? Great job reuniting them, Lee, fantastic work.”

  Stan waved at Arthur and his daughter, and pretended to shadowbox with Lee on his way out.

  He stopped suddenly as if he’d walked r
ight into the door — even though it was wide open.

  “Hang on. If you didn’t try and rob the money, then who did? And how did they know the money was in the safe in the first place? I need to get that cash out of the safe and then I think I need to phone the police, because if everyone thinks it was you, then nobody’s looking for the actual criminals. Shit, they’re still out there — what if they come back again?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Y ou look happy, Stella?” said Stan.

  With her headset on, she hadn’t heard him coming and threw her mobile phone hastily into her drawer.

  “Don’t sneak up on people!” she shouted.

  “Okay, calm down. What were you up to?” asked Stan, clearly fishing.

  “And that’s your business, how?” she said.

  “It’s none of my business. I was just pleased to see you pleased, is all.”

  “Bloody Molly’s blabbed, hasn’t she?”

  Stan held his hands out to protest his innocence. “A little bit, yes, but she’s just happy for you. Would you show me? I’ve often wondered how this internet dating thing worked.”

  Stella reluctantly pulled her phone out the drawer. “If you’re teasing me, Stan, the only dating site you’ll need is Eunuchs-dot-com because I’ll rip your testicles off!”

  “No, I’m being serious,” replied Stan, subconsciously using his hands to cover his groin.

  Stella logged onto the app with Stan stood over her shoulder. “You create a profile on here and people, if they like you, get in touch,” she explained. “Simples!”

  “It’s all a bit mercenary, isn’t it? What about the good old days of walking up to someone in a bar and buying them a drink? Wait, who’s she?” said Stan, pointing at the profile picture.

  “That’s my profile picture,” replied Stella.

  “But, that’s not you?” he said, moving closer. He strained his eyes. “Is that not Brigitte Nielsen?”

  “I don’t know, I found it on the internet.”

  “Stella, she’s quite famous. She was married to Rocky.”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “His wife was Adrian, dickhead.”

  “No, I mean in real life,” said Stan. “Bloody hell, Stella, you can actually see Sylvester Stallone behind her in that picture.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Dun’t matter, I’ve already had a few people getting in touch.”

  “But what do you do when they show up and see…?”

  “See what?” she said, storm clouds forming over her head.

  “See that you’re not Ivan Drago’s wife,” Stan said.

  “Who?” said Stella. “I thought you said she was married to Rocky?”

  “Wait…” said Stan. Now he was getting himself confused.

  “Now you’re talking about chemical engineers,” Stella groused.

  Now Stan was lost. “Chemical—?”

  “Ivan Drago!” said Stella. “He’s got a master’s in chemical engineering in real life! Don’t you know anything?”

  “Apparently, I…” Stan shook his head to clear his mind. “Okay, forget about all that. Anyway, I think I’ll just go back to the traditional approach of actually speaking to people. Look, Frank’s on his way in so don’t be getting his blood pressure up. I’ve got a little surprise for him, so if you’ve got any problems with it, wait till he’s gone and you can take it up with me.”

  Stella was about to erupt into a rant when Stan — rather bravely — placed a solitary finger over her mouth.

  “Stella,” he said. “You’ve held things together around here, and will probably need to do a bit more over the next few months. I’ve been speaking with Frank, and we’re going to increase your salary by a thousand pounds a month as our way of saying thank-you.”

  Stella frowned. “That’s all I’m worth, a crappy thousand pounds a month for all the shit I put up with from you two idiots?”

  Stan looked hurt, before she stood and put her arms around him.

  “I’m only kidding, you big orange-faced idiot,” she said, planting a kiss in the middle of his forehead. “And, for what it’s worth, I’ve quite enjoyed having Lee and Arthur in the office. But don’t tell them that, I want to maintain a certain level of healthy fear, understood?”

  “I think so, Brigitte. Mum’s the word, you can count on me,” Frank told her. “Oh, here we go. Frank’s back.”

  It’d been difficult to keep Frank away from the office, as for those that worked there, it was more of a social club than a place of work. Frank had been in hospital for three days, more to keep him under observation than anything else. But, aside from the underlying health issues, he was looking good.

  “Frank, Frank, Frank,” said Stan, giving his friend a warm embrace.

  “You two look suspiciously suspicious,” said Frank, eying them warily.

  “Nonsense, we’re just happy to be in work, isn’t that so, Stella? We were just reminiscing about our favourite Rocky film. You don’t look too happy to be back?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve just been down the police station.”

  “What for, they didn’t phone me?” said Stan, slightly offended.

  “It wasn’t about the robbery here,” replied Frank. “Well, not technically.”

  “Have they given you too much medication?” asked Stella.

  Frank took his jacket off. “Stella, any chance of a coffee?”

  “I don’t see why not. Stan? I’ll take one as well, thanks.”

  Stan began to open his mouth but Stella cut him short. “I’m only joking,” she said. “Stan, would you like one?”

  Stan waited for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. “I’d love one, Stella, thanks.”

  “She actually is getting us coffee?” Frank asked, after Stella had left the room. “I never thought—”

  “Don’t you dare tell her I said this, but I think she’s happy to see you back,” Stan said, then looked at Frank expectantly. “Anyway. You were saying?”

  “Yes,” continued Frank. “The police called me this morning. They had a phone call last night about suspicious behaviour by the house. Having nosey bastards for neighbours seems to have paid off for once. Fortunately, Helen is still away at her sister’s, but they caught someone still hanging around.”

  “Shit, did they get anything?” asked Stan.

  “Well, that was the peculiar thing, wasn’t it? He’d been in the house, all right. Left everything of value, oddly enough. Found only one thing on him.”

  Frank paused there, for dramatic effect, much to the annoyance of Stan and Stella.

  “Yes? And…??” shouted Stan. “So what did they find on him??”

  Frank savoured the moment, keeping them in suspense just a bit longer, before saying…

  “He had taken a bunch of keys.”

  “That’s it?” asked Stella. “Do they know who it was?”

  Frank nodded. “It was Boris, as it turned out. The one Helen kicked into touch the other week.”

  “What? Why would he break in to get keys? Did he not move in with her?” asked Stan.

  “He didn’t move in, but she changed all of the locks as he had a key.”

  “Right, I’m getting confused now,” said Stan. “So he broke in to steal the keys for the new lock?”

  Frank shook his head. “No, that’s what the police thought, at first. They found his friend sat waiting in a car, around the corner. They arrested him and searched the car, and guess what they found?”

  “My will to live??” said Stella.

  “No! They found two black crash helmets, one with a crack in the visor thanks to our resident pit bull, Stella.”

  Stella had a face like thunder.

  “Boris and his mate are the ones that robbed us?”

  “Apparently so. After Helen kicked him out, he had no money — she’d been funding his lifestyle. Well, I suppose I was, by default. Anyway, the police checked his mobile and found that he’d tried to phone me dozens of times when we were in the Isle of Man.
He must have seen our TV interview, and saw Lee as the perfect scapegoat for their robbery attempt. And it very nearly worked perfectly.”

  “Ah,” said Stan. “And when the key wasn’t here at the office, they assumed that you’d have a spare at the house?”

  “Exactly,” said Frank. “And, unfortunately for them, they were correct, I did have a key... BUT, I always kept it separate in case Helen decided to go on a shopping spree or get her boobs upgraded. So bad luck for them. Anyway, it seems like Boris and his friend are also wanted in their motherland and have a very eager detective travelling over, just waiting for the chance to ask them a few questions. Those two are going to jail for a very, very long time.”

  “I’m not really sure how to top that, Frank, if I’m being honest, but, I have a surprise for you.” Said Stan.

  “Okay,” said Frank slowly. “What’s that?”

  “What day is tomorrow?” Stan asked.

  “Is it a trick question? It’s Friday, surely?” replied Frank.

  Stan waved his hand in front of him in a circular motion, trying to draw greater details out of him, but his efforts were fruitless.

  “What happens tomorrow in the Isle of Man?” he said, giving him a hint.

  Frank looked confused. “Senior Race day?”

  “Senior Race day. That’s correct, my fine old friend. And we’ll be cheering Dave and Monty on in the sidecar race.”

  Frank’s face lit up. “Seriously??”

  “Seriously!” said Stan. “I spoke with Henk and it’s all sorted.”

  Frank’s smile turned to confusion and consternation.

  “Stan, I’ve experienced your travel plans first-hand, and if it was a challenge to get to the Isle of Man in practice week, what hope have we got for Senior Race day?”

  “Helicopter?” said Stella, nonchalantly.