One long never-ending day. beginning of May
Int. Dead end street. Farleigh. 8:04 p.m.
Tomorrow morning is the last fucking delivery, I want out, a letter of resignation written, I need out, a ticket to Tokyo with a transfer in Zurich booked, divorce papers are almost ready. Fuck Sean, I'm not going down the rabbit hole with this junkie dickhead. I open the door of the wooden house, holding X on a leash, and strangely there're no sounds going out from the crate. I don't like it, I smell trouble. I enter the room and exclaim 'Oh, shite!' and clutch my head in panic. 'Fuck, no, no, no, no, no.' I almost yell. 'Jesus Christ!' I shake my head and command X to lie down and wait. Poor, poor, poor, poor Y, the guy has accidentally hung himself by the neck on the crate's wire fence. I slowly approach him, his long body in the air at full stretch, his tongue sticking out, the eyes empty. I sigh heavily ,and I feel like crying, poor, poor doggy. Who was the last one walking Y? Me or Sean? I don't remember. But apparently, someone of us had screwed up having forgotten to remove a collar, and most likely Y had heard a noise or something that made him curious, and he'd started jumping on the fence to get out. Poor Y. I open the crate, and carefully release his body, and put it down. I palm his short tan hair, his body already cold. He was such a blinding doggie, so confident, and strong, and fearless, and lively, and always on the move and ready to work, oh, poor Y, I sob, I need to bury you somewhere in the woods. I remove his collar, I want to save some memories, but then I think that I can't take risks, and I put the collar around his neck again. I look over to find a bag large enough. Then I fish out a sharp pocket knife, unfold it and notch out a large area on the dog's neck where the chip had been placed. I'm sorry, buddy, I have to. Bugger, we're fucked up. Sean has to cancel the tomorrow's delivery. I call him and command him to come asap not providing him with any more details.
Ext. Thick woods near Caterham, Surrey. 1:17 a.m.
A high angle establishing shot of Sean's old L200 parked among trees and two figures moving in the darkness, dragging a heavy object, which is of course the dog's corpse. An extreme long shot of X sitting on the back seat, curiously looking out from the half open window, Mike is digging a grave, Sean's just standing near leaning his back on a tree, a shovel in his hand.
'Help me! Keep digging!' I yell at Sean.
'I can't, I'm too tired.' He heavily breathes out.
'You've done didley-squat at all.' The words come from my mouth under pressure.
'I can't fucking dig. I'll faint.' He explains.
'Are you whacked out again?'
'I ain't, and that's the fucking problem, I'm not stoned, those are withdrawal effects, I'm trying to hang up.'
'Are you?'
'Fuck off.'
'Well, they say physical activity helps coping with addictions, so STOP FUCKING STANDING, YOU'RE NOT A FUCKING CORPSE YET, AND BEGIN FUCKING DIGGING!'
'Calm down. Someone will hear us.' Sean replies irritated and finally moves towards me. 'After all, it was your fucking dog.' He snaps socking the shovel into the hard ground.
'It was our fucking tool, it's our fucking business, we share the fucking business, we share the fucking responsibilities.'
The grave is scraped, I delicately put down the dog's corpse packed in two large black plastic bags with auto tape around, and we fill up the grave with soil. I dust off my hands, my head and back are all sweaty, and I glance at Sean's pale face, and think that if this bawbag passes out, I leave him in the fucking forest.
Int. Sean's car. Caterham. 2:08 a.m.
We get into the car.
'Have you canceled the morning's delivery?'
Sean remains silent.
'Are you fucking deaf?' I yell at him again. 'Should I repeat the fucking question again?'
Sean turns his head to me.
'Shut the fuck up and stop panicking, Michael. Something's gone wrong and you act like a pussy.'
'Something's gone wrong? Every fucking thing's gone wrong!'
Suddenly, he grabs a hold of my shirt and shakes me.
'Calm the fuck down.' He commands very calmly though. 'I'm thinking.' He lets me go.
And to my astonishment, I see that under these disastrous circumstances Sean is able to control himself and to handle the situation, and now I believe that my choice of a business partner was very much correct.
Half an hour later Sean starts the engine.
'Where now?' I ask pulling myself together.
'I have a plan.' He informs me and falls mute again.
[Shot reverse shot]
Mike [With vigilance]
Will you share your plan with me?
Sean [Grinning]
One part of our equipment broken down, kaput, there's a spare part.
Mike [Frowning]
I don't understand...
Sean [Cracking a smile]
There's the third dog, isn't it?
Mike [Freaking out]
No! No! What're you implying?
Sean [Composing himself as Mike's panic really fucks him off]
I can't cancel this deal. We do the job, we think about how we gonna do it in the future later.
[Sean driving off]
Sean, no, it's a fucking terrible plan.
And do you have a better one? No? Then shut up and do your fucking job tomorrow. Why do you even care what dog to work with? They're all the fucking same. The rest is simply not your problem.
Darry never lets you take his dog!
I'm not gonna ask. No one gives a fuck about his fucking opinion.
Don't drag him into this!
Why not? You told me yourself, that he has sniffed something funny already, so it's not like we're losing anything, and he'll never turn us over. And even if he does, there's no evidence.
How you gonna take his dog? By knocking him out?
Jesus fucking Christ, Michael, I'm a polite and well educated business man, why being rude?
[Taking out a gun from the glove compartment, an automatic .45 Glock]
Mike [Chocking]
Sean, you can't do this!
Sean [Breaking into a wide smile]
I'm afraid, I can.
Mike [Shouting]
Don't hurt him!
Sean [With a click of his tongue]
Depends on him, he cooperates, nothing happens, he doesn't, well, then it's his fault.
Mike [Hyperventilating]
What if he's not home?
Sean [Grinning]
He's always home, always painting. Why do you care so much about him? Are you guys fucking each other?
Mike [Totally distracted by this question, his eyes popping out of the sockets]
Sean [Laughing]
I'll be buggered! I knew it!
[Clapping his hands, then catching on the steering wheel again, laughing his head off]
Knew it!
Mike [Through gritted teeth]
We don't fuck each other.
Sean [laughing]
Not anymore? Let me take another guess, had he dumped you?
Mike [Mute]
Sean [Laughing]
Mike [Exhaustedly]
Shut up, Sean.
Sean [Trying to stop laughing]
Haha, he dumped you! Oh, I love my little brother, God sees I do!
Mike [Curiously]
How have you guessed?
Sean [Bursting into laughing again]
Oh, please, you look like a total fag. When you puffing out your butt and make that disgusting sissy gesture with your hand.
[Monkeying Mike, though badly since he's sitting]
Mike [Confused]
Do I?
Even Darry doesn't look so faggish.
[Suddenly, Sean's laughter stops, and he's all serious]
All right, back to business. When your shift starts?
At 7 a.m.
I'll give you a lift to the dog house, take you car, go to my warehouse, leave Top Gear in there, and meet me, meet us, on the way to Heathrow.
How I explain to my wife that I'm not coming home tonight?
Sean [Annoyed]
Are you dumb? I don't know, make up a story, tell her you're taking a night shift, Jesus fucking Christ, [Shaking his head] you're fucking dumb after all.
Int. Darry's flat. Brookstone court. 3:11 a.m.
[The doorbell buzzing. A dog barking. buzzing barking buzzing barking buzzing barking buzzing]
I answer the door.
'What's the emergency?' I let Sean in trying to figure out if he's zonked, but apparently he isn't. I yawn.
'Get dressed. You and your dog are coming with me.'
'Where to?' I raise my eyebrow.
'Give me your phone, now, don't ask questions, don't play tricks, and by noon you'll be home again, safe and sound.'
I bite my lip and breathe air out of my nostrils.
'C'mon, Darry, move your arse.' He snaps his fingers. 'Don't just stand transfix, put on a pair of jeans, put on a jacket, it's night, it's cold outside, put on a collar on your dog, move!'
'What makes you think I'll obey?'
'This.' He takes out a handgun.
'Is it a real one or a replica you bought to feel your self more masculine?'
'Would you like to check?' Sean presses the button on the hand grip and ejects the magazine showing me it's loaded. Then he re-inserts the mag briskly, and I hear a clicking noise.
'Now.' His voice's calm, but firm and dangerous. 'Once in your life just fucking do what you're told to, or I'm gonna insert this fucking gun into your fucking mouth and fire.' He points the gun into my direction. 'Let's not do it the hard way.'
'Okay.' I shrug my shoulders and take a quick glance around. He spots my phone, and grabbing it, puts it away into his trench coat pocket. What shall I do? Make Trigger attack him? What if he shoots the dog? Well, he will shoot the dog. What else? Cry for help once we're outside? Nonsense. I feel his excitement. And the problem is I want to know what he's after, adrenaline starts rushing through my blood stream. Dressing myself up, Sean silently watches me.
'Atta boy.' He comments, when the three of us walk out heading to his car I've never seen before. Suddenly, Sean changes his mind.
'Gimme your car keys.'
'I haven't taken them.'
We quickly return to the flat, and I handle Sean the keys.
Int. Darry's car. Street views. Some town not far from Heathrow, Greater London. 5:03 a.m.
I fall asleep in the car and wake up when Sean's phone begins ringing. Still half-asleep, I hear him informing someone where exactly we're. Where are we now, where are we now, I look through out the window, definitely not near KaDeWe. The day is breaking and the sky is beautifully painted into 5595 C, 558 C and 5665 C. I yawn, my neck has fallen asleep, and I stretch it, yawning again and fishing out a pack of cigarettes, I light a tab and take a deep drag. I lift down the window and breathe in fresh air, and it seems like we're just taking another trip.
'Can we make a stooooooop.' I yawn 'For some coffee?'
'Not now. And you shouldn't drink coffee with your gastritis.'
Somewhere in Feltham Sean pulls into a side road, and the Alpina goes into a slight drift having hit a patch of gravel.
'Fucking RWD!' Sean exclaims.
We stop at a dead end, facing a large green field with short spring grass. I open the door.
'Where the fuck are you going?' Sean inquires.
'To run away, of course, the fucking smartest thing to do, when you're having my car, and my dog, and a Walther in your pocket.'
'It's a Glock.'
'Can I stretch my body at least if not have some coffee?'
Ext. Street view. Some town not far from Heathrow. 5:58 a.m.
I hop off and smoke another cig. A Ford Focus Hatch approaches and stops by the BMW. Mike gets out trying not to look at me, but I happily greet him with a loud 'Heeeeeey! The henchman has arrived!'
'Shut up!' Sean, stepping out of the car, hisses at me.
'Not the smartest choice to meet at a dead end road, what if we've been tracked, and pursued and...'
'Keep your mouth shut!' Sean roars, and with a fast movement he withdraws a cig out of my mouth, throws it onto the ground and presses it with his Oxford shoe.
'No, no, wait, what if he's right, what if we've been followed...' Mike yawps in distress.
'You're paranoid!' Sean and me exclaim all together. 'No one follows no one, is it clear? Now, stop arsing around, grab the fucking dog, Michael!' Sean commands, and I open the car back door and let Trigger out of the crate, and noticing there's a field, he begins galloping in circles.
'Hey! He'll run away!' Sean throws his hands in the air.
'He has a good recall.' Mike comments gloomy.
'What happened with your second dog?' I ask Mike.
'Accident.' His face turns pale. 'Why're you helping us?'
'Because there's a Sauer in my brother's pocket?' I semi-ask semi-answer.
'It's a Glock.' Sean repeats. I recall the dog and take him on a line.
'Are there any other names apart from Trigger which I can use, so he'd listen to me?' Mike inquires.
'Hm. Let me think. Fucking cunt, dirty arsehole, son of a bitch always works...' I don't finish the sentence, as Sean grabs me and bangs my face against the Alpina hood, my body bend, my arm twisted over my back, Sean holding me tight by my wrist. Trigger begins barking.
'Shut the fuck up!' Sean barks back at him, but it only makes the dog more reactive. Mike takes the leash and distracts the dog with a ball, which he fishes out of his training jacket. Ringing in my ears, fuck, fuck, it hurts, a sharp pain in my wrist, and I hear Sean hissing, his face is very close to mine.
'Now, Adriel, I won't repeat it twice. Can you please take it serious, hm? Stop arsing about, or there's be no topping and no cartoons today.' His voice, firstly melting, changes, obviously, it's a threat. 'I promise, I break your fucking arm, if you even say something funny again.' He lifts my twisted arm up, and I yell in pain.
'Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes, yes, I'll shut up!'
He lifts my arm higher up, and I make another yell.
'Let him go, Sean.' Mike says in a bleak tone. 'Really, someone will hear us.'
'Had he moaned with the same passion when you fucked him, Mike?' Sean asks, but lets me go, and I roll down on the ground whining softly. Trigger wants to come to me, but Mike restrains him.
'Okay, we don't need to make the dog nervous. Help me to put a harness on him.'
I slowly stand up, it's dark behind my eyes.
'Wait, what is it?' Mike points to the dog's belly.
'Why his hair trimmed?'
'Ultrasound. When he was sick.'
'Fuck! What if someone notices?'
Sean rolls his eyes up.
'No one gives a shit about the fucking dog, stop freaking out, or I swear I shoot you both.'
'Will you shoot the dog?' I am too old a dog to learn new tricks, it's a habit of taking the Mickey out of Sean. Sean's eye narrowing, he snatches out his Glock and hits my face with it.
[Darry's POV. A gravel road]
'So what's next?' Mike inquires giving me short glances, but probably too scared to argue with Sean.
'What's next? Oh, I have no idea, shall we have a beach party, the weather is wonderful, dear, WHAT'S FUCKING NEXT, you go to your fucking office and DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!'
'Where're we meeting afterwards?'
'In the warehouse.'
'Oh bugger!' Mike exclaims.
'What else?'
'Your shed, there're so many toxic liquids stored in bottles. What if Top Gear chews a bottle and licks motor oil or something?'
Sean rolls his eyes up and taps on his watches.
'It's 6:17 a.m. You'll be late.'
Mike sighs, and with Trigger on the leash, walks to his Ford, but then freezes and turns to us. I squint my eyes at Sean considering one more question and he will lose his shit completely.
'What's the search command?' Mike looks at me.
'Such.' He nods, and in the end the dog is in his boot, he drives off.
'Stand up.' Sean offers me a hand. Half of my face aching, I manage to give him a wide heartily smile.
'Can we have coffee now? Can we? Can we? Please?'
'I wonder when you start whining that you're hungry, thirsty, sleepy, that you need to pee and take a shit simultaneously.'
'And to jerk off!' I happily add.
Sean rolls his eyes up and thrusts me into the car.
'Wait, wait!' I protest.
'I really need to take a leak.' He lets me out.
'Do it fast. Hey! Don't go far!'
'Don't watch!'
'Oh, bugger! I won't!'
'Turn away!'
'Just take a piss already!'
'I can't, when someone's watching!'
'I'm not watching!' Sean groans keeping an eye on me.
[Splashing sounds]
I turn my back to him and unzip my jeans, and relieving myself I speculate about his intentions, what he thinks, that I run away, nonsense, and if I do, would he shoot me.
'Are you done?'
[Splashing sounds]
'Not yet!'
[Splashing sounds stop]
I shake my cock, and approaching my brother I pat him on his back sympathetically, and frowning, he notes that it's a childish joke.
'Shake well before use.' I comment grinning.
Int. Celine's penthouse apartment. Brixton. 7:26 a.m.
'Now I'm late for an important meeting because of you.' Celine complains as I watch her putting on a pencil skirt.
'Apologise and explain that you're postboned. Does this word apply to women?'
'Since it's derived from the word boner, I doubt it does.' She playfully throws a pair of pantyhose into me.
'Feminists should fight for that, if we want equal rights.'
'I don't like this skirt, do you?'
'I do, but I like you more without any skirt.'
[Meow, meow]
'Oh, bugger, I suspect this cat likes watching us.'
'He doesn't like closed doors.' Celine objects.
'He doesn't like closed doors, because he can't watch.'
[Moooooooooom, Fraaaaaaaaaank]
'Apparently, my daughter doesn't like closed door either.' Celine notes, and I launch myself up and start pulling my jeans on.
'What is it, darling?' Celine shouts back.
'May I come in?' Gwen asks from the other side of the door.
'Just a sec.' Celine waits until I get dressed and allows Gwen to enter. Her happy face appears in the door frame. Tut slips into the room and occupies half of the bed.
'I won!' She shouts again jumping. 'I won!'
'Please, honey, don't yell, we can hear you perfectly.'
'What have you won?' I ask.
'I've been short listed, and now I've won that photography award!'
'Oh it's amazing, I'm so proud of you!' Celine hugs her.
'I'm so happy, can't wait to tell Darry, I gonna give him a call!' She rushes out from the room.
'It's 7:30, he must be sleeping.' Celine notices, but Gwen shouts again somewhere from the kitchen, that he wakes up early. Celine closes the door smiling.
'It's really good they've become friends. He seems lonely.'
'Faulty genetics.' I walk out of the room to make some coffee.
In the kitchen Gwen, wearing a rather disappointed look, mentions that Darry doesn't pick up the phone and ignores her messages.
'He must be sleeping, honey.' Celine comments, but I start to worry. My guts tell me that he isn't sleeping.
Int. Heathrow Airport. 7:37 a.m.
In the airport building Trigger is jumpy, no surprise, he's not with his handler, he's not used to such big crowded places, Mike is jumpy, too, but he tries to persuade himself, that a random check with a dog is just a precaution, the hardest part of the job is done by someone else in the airport of Doha. Leading Trigger to his office, Mike notices, that the dog isn't anatomically the same, his backbone in the pelvis area is a bit longer than it should be according to the standard, but fuck it, Mike thinks, no one notices, I've seen hundreds of Belgian shepherds, of course, I can tell the difference. Oh, poor, poor Y, Mike groans again. Mike decides, that if anything goes wrong, he'd just tell everyone the dog must be sick, it happens after all, they're not robots, the dogs. He composes himself, knowing that the more nervous a handler is, the more nervous a dog gets, and in his office, he performs a bit of obedience routine with Trigger feeding him some treats and playing tug, willing to relax the malinois, not willing to do any harm. It's tough, the obedience commands are different, too, Mike uses the English commands with his dogs, while Darry uses the German ones, which is a sort of a tradition in the IPO sports. So Trigger has no idea what 'sit' or 'down' or 'heel' mean. All of these little things get inside Mike's head, but each time he starts thinking again about how things may have go wrong, he repeats to himself, it's the last time, and in a couple of day I'll flea from London with money and without my wife, without my business partner, without any obligations.
The flight arrives only in the afternoon, and it's plenty of time ahead, so Mike, not being stupid and really knowing, how a dog's mind operates, decided to show Trigger a running baggage belt prior to the random check. They enter the baggage reclaim area, and Trigger is on the edge, too many people around, a group of children point at the doggie, and the doggie even gnars, Trigger's mouth is wide open, tongue sticking out, he's panting and drooling, and doesn't want to jump onto a moving belt. Sean shakes his head, easy, easy, he tells more to himself, than to the dog, and leads the mali to a not operating belt, and in the end Trigger jumps onto it, and then jumps on the moving one, but on the latter he's so nervous, Mike doubts he will perform a nose work there a few hours later.
Mike returns to his office, and lets the dog rest, and a new officer, a very energised and curious young woman with a working airedale terrier puppy, mentions, that Top Gear is not himself today, and Mike explains they had had a very demanding training the last weekend, she nods sympathetically, and finally shuts down in another office room, Mike breathes out thinking who the fuck buy airedale terriers nowadays, it's so hard to find a really working one, he shakes his head and begins working with papers checking the flight arrival time. The flight is delayed of course. 'Bugger.' Mike moans. What's going on in the car now, he starts speculating, Mike doubts that Sean would hurt his kid brother while they need his dog. But what's gonna happen next? Well, Mike thinks to himself, Sean can't shoot Darry, Sean's way too smart, it's a fucking murder after all, what's the point, Sean can just escape with money, too. But the problem with Sean is that sometimes his actions are pointless, and Mike is in anguish.
He plays with Trigger again, and the dog seems to be more relaxed now, acting more naturally.
Finally, the plane arrives. Mike with Trigger on the leash walks out of his office announcing to his colleagues that he's on a random check, when suddenly a phone rings, and Nike has to send some reports right away, Mike who's never late for these particular random checks, isn't really jumpy with that, having calculated that he has around twenty minutes ahead, so he sends reports and even gives a short call to the other department to discuss some job matters, and in the airport long corridor, when he meets a work-mate, he shakes hands with him and makes a short small talk, acting naturally, Mike tells himself, is a key. Then his collegue observes, that the dog's hair has become shorter, why? And it strikes Mike that the dog's hair coat is really shorter, much much shorter, than both Top Gears', because Darry's malinois lives in a warm flat, and Mike's dogs were raised in open-air cages, the small wooden house isn't being heated. Oh, he's just moulting, it's spring, Mike explains with a smile.
12:29 p.m.
The plane has arrived and the baggage is on the belt. Mike commands 'Such' and breathes a sigh of relief, as it seems Trigger knows that search can be performed not only in fields while tracking, Darry must have played search games with the dog, too, Mike thinks, as the malinois reluctantly jumps onto the moving belt. Mike spots Ferrari cap and follows the dog, who's sniffing randomly, not knowing what to search exactly and where, but malinois are rather smart, honest and obedient dogs, with a good handler they always believe that a man won't lie. Trigger carefully shuffles his long legs moving from one suitcase to another, glancing at Mike, who starts to believe it's panned out after all, but suddenly Trigger accidentally catches his foot over a suitcase belt and jumping forward, wondering about and anxious what's holding him from his back, he drops down another suitcase, and horrified with a loud bang, he makes another leap dropping more suitcases and sport bags, Mike hears a couple of cries from the crowd gathered around the belt, but he's too busy trying not to leave a hold of the leash and following the dog, who's jumping forward. On a corner of the belt finally Trigger trips over his feet, and dropping the last suitcase, falls down himself, Mike bumps into a suitcase lying upside down on the floor and loses the hold of the leash, the suitcase swings open, and a few pairs of underpants fly up in the air, Trigger with googled-eyes looks around, completely gobsmacked by now, and spotting the only familiar object in this crazy place, the malinois hops to the opened suitcase, and gripping a pair of underpants with his mouth, Trigger begins running in circles around the baggage reclaim area. Mike, who has lost the sight of Ferrari cap and has forgotten why he's here on the first place, tries to catch the dog, but the dog refuses to come to him, running away, pushing aside people, but still holding the underpants. Someone's trying to seize the leash, but the malinois is faster, and performing another leap, now the dog is on the other side of the area, Mike shouts at the dog and shouts at people who're only getting in the way and not being helpful at all. Finally, Mike composes himself, and Trigger, who's relieved the stress by running and holding an object, calms down, too, and stops next to the other belt. Mike recalls him, but the dog doesn't move. Mike makes a step towards him, and Trigger jumps again the other way round. 'Bugger.' Mike mutters through gritted teeth, and sick and tired of the dog's bullshitting, he finally shouts out: 'Son of a bitch, come here!'
Darry was correct. Son of a bitch always works perfectly with Trigger.
Int. Darry's car. Street views. Some town not far from Heathrow. 7 a.m. - 12:30 p.m.
Sean and Darry are sitting in the car parked at the dead end, as Sean is waiting for the plane to arrive to catch Ferrari cap later at the airport parking lot and not willing to change the position or drive somewhere else. Firstly, Darry complains that he wants coffee, that he's running out of cigarettes.
'Keep your mouth shut.' Sean tells him exhaustedly.
'And if I won't, you'll hit me again with your Browning?'
'It's a Glock.' Sean sighs unemotionally, not reacting on Darry's jokes anymore.
'Well, coffee and cigarets usually keep my mouth shut.'
Finally, Darry gets tired himself and falls asleep, his feet propped on the dashboard. He can't push down the backrest, as a dog's crate on the backseat is blocking the front seats, and Darry tries to reposition himself, so he can nap more comfortably. He moves to the right and ends up sleeping on Sean's shoulder. Ten minutes after Darry stretches himself and puts his head on Sean's knees, Darry's feet sticking out of the window.
Sean makes a heavy sigh. He doesn't know what to do with his brother next, Sean's exasperated, he needs a shot or at least a blow, his skin flushing, then it cools down and becomes hot again, he's sweating, his mouth is dry, and there're cramps in his stomach. Sean looks down at Darry's placid face, Darry's eyes closed. Then Darry's phone begins vibrating in Sean's pocket, it is extremely annoying, but Sean doesn't take out the phone, he doesn't move not willing to wake up his brother.
An hour and a half later Darry opens his eyes, he's refreshed, though his hands are shaking.
'Look.' He sits up back on his place 'If I don't have a snack right away, I'll faint.'
'Good. Then you'll finally shut up and travel in the boot.' But Darry's face is pale, and Sean starts the engine. Pulling off, he makes a couple of his smoke-and-mirrors-business calls, and fishing out Darry's phone, informs him that Gwen keeps calling. Darry mumbles something unenthusiastically.
At a petrol station Sean buys coffee and a sandwich for himself, though he can't force himself to eat it, and a pack of digestive biscuits for his brother, who stays in the car locked.
'I can't digest those.' Darry comments.
'Why the fuck not? Those are fucking digestive biscuits.'
'Too much fibre.' Darry explains.
'But they're digestive!' Sean argues cracking his knuckles.
'You're just taking the Mickey out of me.'
'I don't. I eat those, then I'll shit the whole day long, and it's not like there're loos everywhere.'
'Fine.' Sean exclaims and drives to a supermarket, from where he returns with kids purees and a bottle of milk.
'Wicked, thanks!' Darry's gratitude is honest.
'There's a drug store.' Sean points at the other side of the street. 'Do you need Maalox?'
'I do.'
Sean leaves again and comes back with a Maalox bottle, a band aid pack, Darry's right cheekbone is still bleeding, and ibuprofen for himself.
Finally, the plane arrives and Sean drives to Heathrow, and at 1:23 p.m. he picks up the bag from Ferrari cap informing him that he can't give him a lift, since the dog's crate, occupying the whole back seat, has transformed a five-passenger vehicle into a two-passenger one. Ferrari cap shrugs his shoulders, like whatever, and walks away, and Sean places the bag under his seat, accidentally conking the dog's crate with his head and exclaiming, who the fuck drives a fucking rare edition Alpina with this shite on the back seat! But he's actually pleased with the idea that the crate blocks a part of the bag, sticking out from under the seat, from a view.
Int. Celine's penthouse apartment. Brixton. 1:34 p.m.
While Celine is having the meeting, Frank works out in a swimming pool, then they meet for lunch. They return home and Gwen whines again, that Darry doesn't pick up the phone and doesn't return her calls, and Celine makes another attempt to persuade her he's busy, stop bothering him, he'll call back, when he has time. But Frank, smelling trouble, gets tensed. He excuses himself, he has a business meeting later in the evening, and feeling that he's paranoid for a reason, he gets out his Glock 17 from the mini vault, hidden deep inside the wardrobe. That's the reason he prefers oversized leather jackets, he puts the Glock in the inner pocket, large enough, and in his car he hides it in the glove compartment, he has a licence, though, and he's sure no one's gonna search his car anyway.
Int. Frank's car. Street view. Brookstone court. 3:00 p.m.
Frank drives to Darry's place. He spots the L200 parked outside, but decides not to take any action, at least not at the moment. However, he drives to a car rental service and gets himself a Volvo XC90.
Int. Sean's warehouse. Northfleet. 4:08 p.m.
Having arrived at Sean's warehouse, we step inside, Top Gear greeting us and sniffing me carefully, as I smell of a dog. It seems that Sean doesn't notice me anymore, and I pet the dog, and then wag off examining stuff Sean keeps in the shade. My head must be aching, but I don't feel anything. Inside, it smells of tyre rubber, and I love that smell, everything referring to vehicles refers to movement, and movement refers to freedom.
Sean blows up a line of cocaine, and breathing out, his face lightens up, eyes glittering, and he looks happy and energised, and more like himself again. I light a cigarette.
'Careful with that, a lot of inflammable shite around.' Sean informs me.
'You remember.' I twiddle a Turtle Wax bottle of car polish spray. 'When I was five or six we stayed with our aunt and grandpa?'
'Aye.' Sean nods.
'She was always telling me that it's essential to wear a hat in winter and to change socks if they become wet. So not to catch cold.'
'Huh?' Sean scrutinises me not quite following.
'Why she never told me not to blow up cocaine?'
'Because when aunt Agatha was young, they used cocaine to treat cough?'
'Hah! Never though of that, might be it.' Sean cracks a smile and does the second line.
I find a promo soccer Shell ball and throw it to Top Gear, the dog jumps up and chases the ball, dropping down a few empty canisters with his tail.
'Would Maalox help if I have a ringburner?' Sean asks.
'Unlikely, but you should take it nevertheless, it's tasty.'
Sean goes out to the car and returns with the Maalox bottle.
'Oh, crap. You call it tasty?' He spits out.
'Like a milkshake. What's next?'
'Next? We wait for my customers to arrive, you keep quite, they pick up the gear, we wait for Mike to end his shift and come here.' He handles me the bottle, I take a sip of Maalox, pass the bottle to Sean, he takes a sip, too.
'Okay, then.' I agree not asking what's gonna happen afterwards, because I'm pretty fucking sure Sean has no fucking clue himself. I glance at him, we're so fucked up.
'Oh bugger, your phone keeps buzzing.' Sean reaches for my phone.
'It's a surprise, there's a signal inside.' I observe.
'Answer it. It's our father.'
'And what shall I tell him?'
'That we're taking another trip. Why the fuck he even bothers calling you? Things were much easier when you hated each other!' Sean snaps.
'We've never hated each other.' I accept the call and tell Frank what Sean's told me to tell.
I seat on the floor leaning to a wall, Top Gear comes to me and lies down chewing the ball, I pet him. I miss Trigger. Sean sits on the only metal outdoor chair, his elbows resting on the armrests.
'You know, you should make this shed more comfortable. It's gonna be cool to place a lawn chair in here or even garden swings, gonna make an awesome contrast with all those tyres and vehicle fluids.'
'You think so?'
'Yeah! Luxury and minimalist modern swings.'
'I like the idea. We shall do it.'
'We will.'
9:12 p.m.
We hear a car approaching and stopping by the shed, and then there's knocking over the metal door, no doubt a code which I don't memorise.
Sean answers the door, and two men enter, Top Gear stands up, but I delicately put him back down holding him by the chain collar.
Sean peeps out, shuts the door and shakes hands with the men.
'Who ze fuck is zat?' The older chap inquires alarmed.
'My brother.'
'Oh! A family buziness!' His face breaks into a wide smile. 'Wonderful!'
Sean introduces me to the blokes, I reluctantly stand up, join their hands, and return to my corner.
'Are you Boris the Blade?' I ask from out there.
The elder Belka chap stares at me. Sean starts giving me glances.
'I'm not Russian. I'm from Kosovo.' He pronounces without an accent.
'Oh really? And which side had you took during the Kosovo war? Your name sounds neither Albanian, nor Serbian, are you Bosnian? Nevermind, refugees are trendy nowadays.'
'Wait, I know you.' Suddenly, the younger Belka exclaims.
'You do?' I ask unenthusiastically and notice that the elder Belka and Sean get tensed.
'I'm acquainted with Gwen, I've seen you on a photograph with her.'
Blimey, I think to myself, apparently Gwen's seeing a chap who's doing not only weed.
Sean exchanges bags with the elder Belka.
'Everything's in here?' Belka inquires.
'It is.' Sean nods importantly.
'Gut. I'm very glat yuv learnt yur lesson, Schon.' He taps Sean on the shoulder. 'I like yu, Schon, I like yur goods. Till ze next time zen, my friend.'
They nod to me, I don't nod back, and Sean lets them out suspiciously looking over again and locking the door.
'This chap, Belka.' I tell Sean. 'He has a Polish name, I bet he lied about Kosovo, or about his name.'
'Why does it matter?'
'It doesn't. Why no one uses dogs for cocaine trafficking? I mean, airports don't make handlers X-ray their dogs, but a handler can make a dog swallow a bag of cocaine.' I say pensively taking a sip of Maalox.
'Maybe, someone does. And that's why no one else knows, because this first some is doing this successfully.' Sean comes to me and I handle him the bottle.
'Mind if I finish?' He asks.
'Not at all.'
'Funny, how different we are.' He mentions. 'You find pleasure in pain itself, and I don't. I needed pain to reveal a true please, I've been wounded once, and they give me a Duramorph injection, and never in my life, until I've tried heroine, of course, I've felt such amount of pleasure.'
'Pain doesn't give me any pleasure.' I object. 'It just makes me feel real.'
Ext. Sean's warehouse. Northfleet. 9:27 p.m.
An extreme long shot of the Volvo covered in darkness, no street lighting, the headlights switched off. A medium long shot of Frank almost invisible through the windscreen.
The Range Rover slowly driven away, Frank waits for Mike's Ford to appear. Frank doesn't support the idea of Darry hanging out with his brother in the first place, he didn't believe, of course, that they're taking a trip. Sean's L200 parked by Darry's place and Darry's Alpina parked by Sean's warehouse have confirmed all Frank's suspicions. Frank recognises Trigger jumping out of Mike's Focus. And Frank makes a final decision. He pulls away, drops off the rental Volvo, and sitting in his Escalade makes a phone call to Celine informing her that he has to work late hours tonight. Later, having parked three houses away from Sean's place, Frank rings Celine again, telling her, that he need to check on Sean, do you mind, dear, if I stay chez lui tonight? Thank you, darling, dors bien.
Int. Sean's warehouse. Northfleet. 9:33 p.m.
'Hey, hey, hey, easy, easy, for fuck's sake, hold the dog!' I struggle with Top Gear, who, having seen Trigger entering the shade, jumps on all fours gnarling. Top Gear's hair on the neck is raised up, upper lip elevated, he's showing the fangs, Trigger notices me, notices the aggressor and starts barking, and Mike tries to restrain him. Finally, Sean takes Top Gear by the collar and holds him, while I take Trigger from Mike, and Trigger is licking my face, and with a corner of my eye, I spot Mike petting Top Gear, who's happy to meet his handler, too, but still looks askew at the second malinois.
'What's the fuck?' Sean exclaims.
'Two male dogs locked in a small space, what've you expected?' I ask.
'Fucking claustrophobia.' Sean shakes his head. 'So!' He claps his hands, and Top Gear barks at him. 'Oh bugger! Can you shut up your fucking dog?' Sean yells at Mike.
'Do you have a muzzle?' Mike ignores Sean and turns his head to me.
'Shite, too bad.'
'Just tie him to a shelving unit.'
'So!' Sean claps his hands again, one dog tied up to a metal leg of the shelving unit stuffed with car jacks, the other lying more or less calmly in the corner. 'It seems, gentlemen, we have succeeded today!' Mike grins.
'Oh, why all this gloom and doom? Let's celebrate!'
Sean reaches out for the Belka's sport bag, it appears to be heavy, Sean opens it, flips it over, and packs of strapped banknotes fall down on the floor.
'Here.' Sean throws a few packs to Mike. 'Take your share.' Mike, looking miserable, fills a big plastic bag with cash, that Sean keeps throwing to him. Then Sean turns to me.
'The rest is yours.'
'I don't need it.'
'Bloody nonsense!' He exclaims terribly resembling Frank. 'That's your fucking share! Take it, or I ram it all down your fucking throat!'
'Sean, calm down.' Mike gives tongue.
Sean casts him a look, his eyes dangerously glistering, but doesn't comment. I don't move. Trigger stands up and approaches us.
'Fine.' Sean regains his composure. 'Now, gentlemen, let's think about the future.' He starts going fast back and forth, glancing at me, glancing at Mike, glancing at the first dog, glancing at the second dog, glancing at me again.
'The future, gentlemen, is bright!' Sean declares in a state of euphoria.
I roll up my eyes.
'Of course, we have lost one significant service member of our small squad...'
'Sean, stop hallucinating!' I cut him off, and he looks at me wide-stoned-eyed.
'I beg my pardon?'
'You're not in the fucking army, open up your fucking eyes, and stop talking out of your arse. Lt. Landberg.' I snort.
He scrutinises me.
'Very well then, you fucking brainiac. Let's go straight to business. Two options.' He begins walking around the warehouse again. 'You.' He points at me 'Work with us. Your dog works with us.'
'Hey!' Mike interrupts. 'Those dogs ain't that fucking alike!'
'Yes, they are!' Sean roars angrily. 'Second option.' He cools down again. 'You work with us.'
Top Gear begins whining softly trying to reach for us, but the leash tied around the shelving unit, holds him back.
I light a cigarette and kick the Shell ball, Trigger grips it, and Top Gear gives a bark.
'How can you make me work for you, hm?' I raise my eyebrow. 'Nah, really, I'm curious now.'
Sean takes out the Glock.
'Sean, Sean' Mike jumps onto his feet. 'Don't. Put it away.'
Sean grins.
'Get the fuck out of here, Mike, I'll get in touch, I need a word alone with my kid brother.'
'I'm not going anywhere, and you put down the fucking gun!'
'Hey, mates, don't get overexcited.'
They look at me in amazement, since probably both of them expected me to, well, fuck knows, to break down?
'So. Are you planning to make me work with you by pressing your Smith & Wesson to my back?'
'It's a Glock.' Sean's teeth are clenched. He disengages a manual safety lever on the Glock upper rear. I kick the ball again. Trigger chases it. Top Gear snarls. Sean palms the Glock slide.
'Well, well, well, Adriel.' He walks around me tapping me on the shoulder. 'Two options. Listen carefully.'
'I'm all ears.' I grin.
'It's either you choose the simple way and just start working with us. We need your doggie, well, we need you, we need reliable people for business development. Or you choose the hard way.' He touches my arm smoothly. 'Imagine, that one day your nice friend oh, I forgot, she's our step sis now, well, won't wake up in the morning, because her lousy pals would supply her with very, very dangerous medications. Accidentally, of course. Accidents happen all the time, you know, students, OD, such a gloomy fucked up world we're living in, huh?' He taps my shoulder again, and I hit his hand throwing it back. Sean laughs loudly.
'You're delusional, I should have called cops when you crashed my car and turned you over.'
'Of course, you should have!' He exclaims. 'Of course, you should have, I totally agree, you should have called the fucking police the first time, when I'd nearly sunk you in the fucking pool!'
Top Gear is barking continuously. I kick the ball again. Trigger chases it. Top Gear is barking.
'Hey!'Sean yells turning to Mike who's been standing very still. 'Shut up the fucking dogs, or I'll shut them up myself!' Sean pulls the slide of the Glock to its rearmost position and releases it to chamber a round. It makes a click.
'Let's just not...' Mike begins.
'Shut the fuck up!' The Glock in his hand, his arm outstretched, Sean turns to Mike.
10:01 p.m.
I kick the ball. Top Gear now is barking and jumping, pulling the leash, Trigger starts barking at Top Gear. I kick the ball again.
'Stop it!' Sean puts the Glock in my chest. Mike leaps to him, but Sean puts the Glock into his chest now.
'Back. Step back.' Sean commands, Mike obeys.
[Continuous barking]
'Shut up the fucking dogs!' Sean is now yelling at me, with a corner of my eye I notice the shelf unit is rocking, since Top Gear still tries to reach us jumping forward, and the leash's holding him back.
The next moment Sean lifts up his arm and shoots into the ceiling, bang, bang, bang, barking, bang, barking, bang, glass from the broken lamps starts coming down, I bend down covering my head with my hands, Trigger makes a jump and bites Sean's leg, and falling down onto the floor Sean pulls the trigger again and again, not aiming, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, Mike makes a soft yelping noise, bang, a dog squeals, the barking won't stop, then I notice a movement in the opposite corner, and the shelf unit crashes down snowballing the next shelf unit, and the next, and the next.
[Ringing in my ears]
I open my eyes, we're all lying on the floor, I slowly get up on my knees, the barking has stopped, or maybe my ears are just blocked, fuck knows. Sean raises himself up, too and limps to Mike who's still on the floor. He touches him by the shoulder, Mike opens his eyes and sits up leaning onto a wall. A bullet just grazed his arm.
'A flesh wound. Nothing serious.' Sean concludes, and Mike agrees, a few stains of blood on his sleeve.
The three of us are looking around.
'Bloody hell.' Mike clicks his tongue.
laughing laughing laughing Laughing LAughing LAUghing LAUGhing LAUGHIng LAUGHINg LAUGHING LAUGHING LAUGHING I cannot stop laughing. I even jackknife, my stomach aching out of laughing.
LAUGHING LAUGHINg LAUGHIng LAUGhing LAUghing LAughing Laughing laughing laughing laughing.
I stop. Sean and Mike not taking their eyes off me.
'Fucking Tarantino!' I explain and kneel down, a dog isn't breathing, Trigger isn't breathing. Top Gear is under the shelf units, the bottles and canisters and car jacks are scattered all around the shed.
'Haven't you read IKEA manual?' I ask Sean.
'You should have screwed the units to the wall with bolts.'
Tossing the bottles with my feet, I clear my way to Top Gear. His eyes wide open, blood streaming out of his mouth and nostrils, but he remains mute except for a soft rattling sound, which can be heard when the dog tries to take another breath. Fucking obvious, he's spine is broken. I turn around to Mike who's still sitting, and I notice tears on his face. I look at Sean, and he moves his gaze away, I approach him. I take his Glock, he doesn't even try to resist.
I walk back to Top Gear, and getting down on one knee, I pet him and I smile to him, then I aim and pull the trigger, bang, the dog produces a soft cry, and I pull the trigger again, bang, finally crushing his skull, and there's silence.
I come to Trigger and remove a black metal chain collar from his neck, still warm, and I put it into a pocket of my jeans.
Sean and me drag Top Gear's body from under the shelf unit, and I get outside, Sean doesn't stop me, his Glock is in a pocket of my jacket now. I come back.
'Stop just standing.' I tell Sean and Mike, thanks god, the latter at least has stopped crying, and they look at me with astonishment again.
'We need to get rid of the dogs' bodies. Where's the third dog's corpse?' I ask.
'Buried in the woods near Caterham' Mike informs me.
'Near Caterham? It's more like a park there, not a forest.'
'We didn't have much time last night.' Sean explains searching for something, most likely for crack.
'Someone will find a corpse. A dog can easily dig it out.'
'There's no chip inside the corpse, no traces leading to us.'
'Okay then. All right, help me get the bodies outside.'
'What for?'
'There're two 42-gallon oil barrels, empty, I assume.'
Sean sighs, Mike stands up and sits back on the floor again.
Sean and me glances at each other, and move the dogs, one by one, outside. We struggle opening the barrels and putting the dogs inside.
I return and look for a can of inflammable liquid. Easy to find. Mike stares at me.
'What?' I ask.
'Nothing.' He shakes his head.
'C'mon, it could have been worse.'
Mike shakes his head helplessly.
'I've booked a flight to Tokyo. It's the day after tomorrow.'
'Good for you.'
'Wanna join me?'
'No, Mike, I don't.' However, I smile to him and get outside again.
Int. Frank's car. 10:38 p.m.
Having removed the storage tray, I reach for the folded paper, hidden between jack handles and a wheel wrench. Bloody engineers, I struggle with attaching the storage tray back. The paper with the paternity test results is greasy and crumpled, I have to clean the jack handles and wrenches, I don't unfold the paper, I'm not interested in these results anymore. I light a cigarette and set the folded paper on fire.
Ext. Sean's warehouse. Northfleet. 11:16 p.m.
Standing by the barrels, I light a cigarette while Sean is pouring petrol over the dogs corpses. Sean fishes out two banknotes, and I light them up, and Sean throws each into each barrel. We watch the dogs burning, an awful stench. I move my gaze to our own shadows on a warehouse wall. I make a dog shadow puppet with my hands.
'Shall we set the warehouse on fire?' Sean asks me.
'No, it'll only draw unnecessary attention.' I lift an empty bottle of Liqui Moly motor oil from the ground and show it to Sean.
'Liqui Moly's font is Futura extra bold condensed.'
2:52 a.m.
When the bodies have burnt, not completely of course, the temperature inside the barrels hasn't been high enough, and bones have remained, we fill the barrels with water from plastic containers. The fire knocked out, the barrels closed, I put my arm around Sean's shoulder.
'C'mon, the working day is over, let's go home.'
'Now I'm fucked up.' He tells me.
'We're both fucked up, and we've been fucked up for a while already.'
Int. Sean's house. Chiswick. 4:22 a.m.
Darry takes back his Alpina and departs, and Mike drives me home. I don't think about what has just happened or what comes next, the only thing I can think of right now is my stash waiting for me at home. I insert the key into the locker, turn it counter clockwise, but it doesn't move, the door is open already. Whatever, I must have forgotten to lock it. I enter the hall, shutting the door with my foot and switch on the chandelier.
'Good evening.' A calm voice behind my shoulder gives me a jump. I turn around, but I'm too exhausted, too stoned and need a shot of heroin too much, to punch the voice in its face, whoever it is, he shouldn't be here.
'Christ! I've almost shitted a brick!' I exclaim staring at my father. 'What... why... what you doing here?' I walk into the kitchen to grab some beer, Frank's presence irritates me somewhere deep down inside, but I'm mere of a zombie to really think over it.
Frank follows me like a lizard, who has just bitten its victim and waits for it to die, his eyes fixed on the back of my head, I can feel it. I open a can of beer, and Frank, not asking for my permission, grabs a can, too.
'I thought, we could hold a little party tonight' He tells me. 'You know, they say, it's good to not lose touch with children, even when they're grown ups.'
'It's not the right time, I'm sorry, let's choose some other night.'
'It's the perfect time.' He objects twisting the can in his hands, he opens the can, but doesn't drink. I, on the contrary, take a large sip.
'I'm knackered.'
'We'll chill out, that's the point.' And for a second I notice a flash of strange darkness behind his eyes. 'How about you cook something? For yourself?' His voice is innocent and soft, but I sense the danger he's exhaling, and I can't understand what he's implying, and goosebumps start running along my spine. However, Frank seems to be relaxed, unlike most of the days he's wearing loose fit dark blue jeans, a pair of short white Converse and a white t-shirt with Darry's print over it.
'How do you mean, cook something?' Suddenly, I recollect that my Glock isn't with me, that little motherfucker got it and never gave back, fuck.
Frank sits at the table, the beer can next to him full, and suddenly I recollect, I haven't seen his car parked in front of my house.
'I'm sure you need something additional to beer to chill out, huh?'
'Dad, I don't understand.' I squeeze my phone inside my pocket.
'Let's be honest.' His grin breaks into a smile. 'It's' He makes a pause 'crucial to be honest with kids.'
I finish the can and fetch for the second one.
'We're both perfectly aware that you're a junkie, and you never agree to go to rehab, and I understand, Sean. So why restraining yourself? I can clearly see the signs of withdrawal, you need a shot of smack, please, suit yourself.'
I look at him, and I try to make up a fake excuse, but my mind is operating so slowly, and after all he's right, I need a shot of smack, just one, the last one.
The blinds down, only a dim floor lamp is on, in the living room I'm sitting on an expensive Oriental carpet leaning my back onto a leather sofa and cooking. All the necessary equipment and beer is placed on the table. Dad is sprawled in a leather armchair in front of me. That's insane, but I can't argue, can't protest, and at least he's not doing my head in anymore.
Suddenly Frank asks for my phone.
'My battery's dead, need to make a call.'
'To whom?'
'Oh, to Celine, to tell her I'm staying overnight with you.'
I pass him the phone. He switches the phone off. And bang! He smashes it over a metal corner of the glass coffee table.
'What.. the... fuck?..' I'm too dumb, even to get pissed off.
He ignores my question. Then he comments 'Cook more.'
'I... need... only... one... shot.'
'Cook more.' He repeats.
'What...ever...' My limbs are so heavy, my head is so heavy, sweat's running down my face, I cook the second shot.
'Cook more,'
'Cook more.'
I cook more.
Then I notice Frank taking out a pair of medical vinyl gloves.
'What...the... fuck?..'
'I guess, that's enough.' Frank announces, three syringes on the table.
'Take a shot now, son.'
'I... only... need... one.'
'Of course, take one shot.'
Frank watches me injecting heroin into my vein. Fuuuuuuuuck, sooooo goooooooood.
Int. Darry's flat. Brookstone court. 4:34 a.m.
Exhausted and overexcited, I can't sleep. I can't clearly think, either, my mind is blank, empty, I sit on my bed. What's Sean doing now? Most likely, he's doing more drugs and booze. Fuck, two lines of cocaine already, and fuck knows what else, what if he ODs? He wasn't okay when we departed, no fucking doubts, he was not fucking okay. I dial his number. It's switched off or out of the coverage. What's the fuck? I dial again, I can't reach him. I bite my lip and rub my eyes, and finally I decide to call Frank, but he won't pick up the phone. What's the fuck? Anxiously, I get up and, having got fully dressed, I grab my car keys, leave the flat, start the Alpina engine and drive to Sean's.
Int. Sean's house. Chiswick. 5:47 a.m.
'Eat this shite, c'mon, swallow.' I put an MDMA pill down Sean's throat, Sean's spreadeagled on the carpet, his breath is shallow already. He doesn't protest. I glance at the coffee table, one shot left, no, I can't risk too much, in his current condition he wouldn't be able to make another injection, luckily, he's too weak to struggle, and he swallows. Two doses and three ecstasy pills gonna be enough. He won't make it till the morning.
Suddenly, I hear a soft sound of tyres approaching. I carefully peep out the window. Adriel. Fuck, not as I planned, but sometimes improvisation is good for your health.
I go to the door and, not waiting until he knocks, open it.
Int. Sean's house. Chiswick. 5:51 a.m.
'Oh, hi. Haven't expected to meet you. Is Sean okay? I couldn't reach him by the phone, was worried about him.'
'He's all right, he's sleeping.'
I crane my neck noticing a thin line of light going from the living room.
'May I come in?' I ask Frank out of politeness, it's not his house after all, not mine, either.
'Of course.' Frank spreads the door wide open, and I enter hearing Frank locking the door again. I proceed to the living room.
'Fuck!' I fall on my knees next to Sean, who's almost not breathing, his lips turned blue, quickly get out my phone.
I lift my head up. Frank is standing over me, his Colt clenched in his hand, the index finger on the trigger.
'Are you out of your mind?' I jump on my feet shouting. 'He gonna die!' I scream.
'Exactly.' Frank answers softly, but firmly.
I choke.
'Call the ambulance!'
'No.' He lowers the gun a bit. 'Listen to me, Adriel...'
'Call the ambulance, he's ODed, he'll die!' I scream again. Frank takes a step forward.
'Calm down.'
'Fuck you...'
He's very close to me now, and grabbing me by the shoulder, he shakes me up.
'Listen, just fucking listen.' He hisses. 'He's a junkie, he'll die soon, not this year maybe, not the next one, but he'll be dead within the next five years, it's a slow motion suicide, and there's nothing either you or me can do about it.' I try to tear myself away, but Frank holds me tight. 'The only question how many other people he drags into a grave with him.'
'What? You're not God, you can't decide if someone dies or stays alive!'
'I think, I can.'
With my free hand I manage to locate Sean's Glock in my jacket, but Frank thrusts me over a wall, then he lifts me up, but keeps pressing me to the wall.
'So, what do you suggest? That I just sit down and look how one junkie sinks the whole float, how one junkie fucks over the whole family?'
I glance at Sean and notice he's having seizures.
'He stays alive, he'll kill someone else, by accident or with intent, and this someone can be you. And most likely, it will be you.' He hisses in my face. 'What a pretty bruise on your cheekbone, by the way.'
'It's wrong, you can't just let him die!' Finally, I'm able to whip out the Glock.
Frank steps back letting me go and laughs. I pull back the slide.
'Okay. Firstly, you're bluffing. Secondly, Adriel, once you aim a gun at somebody, you've to be ready to pull a trigger, and you aren't ready, thirdly, you shoot me, you'll get yourself in trouble, and I don't want it, you see, I want you to be out of danger, so how about we put down our guns.' He drops the Glock. I don't. 'And now, if you wish, you can call 999, but think fast, a minute later your brother stops breathing, and the problem is his tattoo says that he didn't want to be resuscitated.'
'What? It was a fucking joke!' I yell again lifting up the Glock.
Frank grins and spreads his arms.
'If you don't have balls to shoot, don't aim in the first place.'
I feel uncontrollable silent tears running down my face, and I stand there sobbing with the Glock in my hand.
'I don't care if you tell the police everything, I'm not afraid of prison...'
'You're afraid that it's gonna be a scandal, a former MI-5 officer's son dealing drugs!' I shout.
He chuckles.
'No, it is about protecting my family, though I admit, people like Sean do no good to national security either, think about how many boys and girls he's been supplying...'
'I don't care about people I don't know!'
'Well, I'm not a Five officer anymore, so neither do I.'
I sob.
'You know that I'm right.' Frank observes.
'No.' I sob, my vision is blurred with the tears. 'You're insane.' I sob.
'Why're you protecting him? You're way too smart to be surprised by the fact that he's fucked up and dangerous.'Are we going to stand like this all night?' Frank makes a step towards me, and I pull the trigger. A click. Frank softly takes the gun from my hand, and removes the magazine, then squats down to pick up his Glock.
'I haven't seen a handgun with such a low capacity in ages.' Frank observes. 'Just 13 rounds. And where all of them had gone?' He asks me, but I crawl down on the floor, and leaning my back to the wall, I bury my face between my bent knees and begin sobbing violently.
6:39 a.m.
Frank kneels down. Not sobbing anymore, I'm staring at the ceiling.
'He's stopped breathing.' He says softly.
Staring at the ceiling.
'Listen, Darry, my story is I've come here to check on him, he was fine, I've fallen asleep on the sofa, and I've been awoken by you coming here.'
Staring at the ceiling.
'Sean's been unconscious already. Neither Sean, nor me picking up the phone, you started to worry.'
Staring at the ceiling.
'Even if you decide to tell the truth, which I'll understand, it'll better for you not to mention the handgun, it's unregistered, probably stolen.'
Staring at the ceiling.
'I'll go outside to put away the Glocks in my car...'
'I haven't seen your car...' I say staring at the ceiling.
'It's a few houses away.'
'And how you'll explain that?' Staring at the ceiling.
'I won't deny anything, and if you choose not to reveal the whole story, no one asks.'
'Why it should be me responsible for whether you'll get a life imprisonment or not?' I look at him.
'Because you've showed up here, I didn't want you to. I'll go outside, and you call 999.'
6:54 a.m.
Frank gives me my phone back, and I dial 999.
And by the time an ambulance arrives, I've composed myself, splashed my face, made my hands stop trembling. And I repeat one part of the story, which isn't a lie after all, it's just not the whole truth. I don't lower my eyes when paramedics are taking Sean's body away, I stare at him. A plastic bag becomes him. And strangely, I don't blackout. All clear.