The Further Adventures of Captain Danny Roberts

Today we spend some time in the company of Captain Roberts

The Further Adventures of Captain Danny Roberts

Ship’s Log, day something or other.

May you live in interesting times, so the Chinese curse goes. Well life on board the Anna Livia Plurabelle has certainly been interesting for the last few days. And goddam noisy.

It’s a rarity that I sail as far north as the North Atlantic, but reading out a random page in the Wake (page 310 for anyone keeping count: The harmonic condenser enginium (the Mole) etc.), I happened to find myself in that part of the world in some version of the summer of 1953 and some presentiment told me I should sail around for a time and see what I might find.

It may have been summer, but it was still raining and spraying sea water all over the shop, so I sealed the forward section around the instrument panels off from the elements, lowered and inclined the wheel on its housing, just to the right height so I could grab a copy of Toni Morrison’s Jazz out of the library, pull up a chair and rest my feet on the plane of the wheel and steer with my feet as I read.

The weather was atrocious, too rough for straight sailing, so I deployed the external engines port and starboard, the power of their tubular lengths reducing the pitching and rolling of the North Atlantic waters to mere pitching, which is more manageable. The hemisphere of holographic sensor displays hung in the air above my head. The sounds of Count Basie, Billy Holiday and Duke Ellington pumped through the ship’s speakers. Issy slept on a sofa in the alcove behind me.

I was fifty pages into Jazz when the sensors registered the first object in the water. I calmly finished the chapter I was on then turned hard to starboard. It wasn’t long before the on board cameras started to pick out the first bodies in the water.

Wrapped in an oilskin, I headed out on deck, giving control to Anna and telling her to bring the ship to manoeuvring speed. The engines retreated inside the ship’s trunk and we crawled ahead on thruster jets.

There were bodies everywhere. More than a hundred. Obviously a ship had gone down, but the was no sight of a wreck above the surface. Sonar was picking up a faint signal. I ordered Anna to launch one of the remote submersibles to get a fix on its location, but simply by heading in the direction of the greatest density of bodies, I figured I could get a rough reckoning. Whatever had happened had obviously happened fast, but I still wanted to scout around for any survivors in the water.

I wasn’t finding any. Everybody in the water had been there for some time and were starting to bloat. Some had injuries so horrific that I guessed they’d been dead long before they’d had time to drown. I thought about what Leonardo Da Vinci says in his notebooks, that drowned men float on the water face up, but drowned women float face down. I hadn’t really believed him until that point, but I could see that he was right. I morbidly wondered whether this was nature’s kindness to women or a cruel joke on those of us that would have to fish them out of the sea.

The submersible tracked the wreck to the ocean floor, a couple thousand feet down. From the video feed I guessed it to be a small passenger liner. Looked pretty obsolete even for 1953. I ordered it back whilst I brought the ship to as near above the wreck as possible and then sent out all three aerial remotes in sweeps of ever increasing circles to see if there was any Ishmael that had managed to survive by clinging to some piece of flotsam.  

Better than Ishmael, Remote no 2 (I call him Dick) sent back images of one wooden lifeboat. Whilst the other two remotes (Tom and Harry) increased their sweeps in the hope of finding anyone else, I steered the A.L.P. north-north-east in the direction of the lifeboat.

The craft had drifted fifteen miles away from the site of the wreck, which probably meant the ship had gone down in the last six to eight hours. I cleared the outer ring of bodies at a respectful speed then increased to full ahead in their direction, only slowing down for the last half a mile. Conditions had deteriorated fast. I could have sailed a couple of hundred yards from their location and they would never have even known I was there. Thank the maker (i.e. Andy) for infrared sensors. And thank the heavens for the weather, for I do love to make a dramatic entrance. I put on my captain’s jacket and hat and brought the ship abaft of them, where I could open the back doors to the dry dock.

“Looks to me like you folks could use some assistance.”

If you can’t get a cheer as the conquering hero, a woman’s plaintive tears of relief will do just as well. There were nine of them in the boat, the only nine survivors, as I was to discover, from the RMS Cairngorm. I threw out a rope to secure to a ring at the stern, then deployed the winch mechanism to bring the whole boat on board.

Nine survivors, two men, three women and four children, three boys and a girl. All but one of the women consisted to form two families. Clarissa, the one lone woman, had been travelling with her sister but they’d been separated in the melee and she feared the worst. Her demeanour quickly deteriorated into one of hysteria, but they were all suffering from a mixture of shock and relief and I thought the first thing I should do was get them up to the Ward Room and fix them all a drink.

Brandy, cognac is you please, is a great settler of mood and warmer of frozen limbs. The children aged between eight and fifteen, but I dished out the Remy Martin nonetheless, despite their parents half-hearted objections, doses given according to age, the youngest, Peter, receiving two tea spoons worth of bronze fire. He clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth like he’d been fed cough medicine. “Burns.” he said.

“Means it’s working.” I said, winking.

I was keen to hear their story, but everyone was soaked to the skin from having spent uncertain hours being tossed around by the North Atlantic waters, so I thought it best to get them shown to their quarters so everyone could get cleaned up and dry their clothes and meet up later for something to eat and hear their tale.

Ship’s protocol was easy enough to decipher in this instant (it isn’t always so easy, even though I made the rules up myself). The two families would take the state rooms, the Isis and Lucia cabins, Clarissa was given the V.I.P. quarters in the Barnacle Suite. I made sure the heat in each set of rooms was turned up hot enough that everyone would feel drowsy. I figured what they most needed now was a few hour’s sleep.

Clarissa was the first to emerge a few hours later, the evening light starting to fade. She took an immediate interest in Issy (it’s not every day that you meet a Jaguar on board a ship), but was understandably pensive, petting the amenable Issy with a faraway look in her eye. She wanted to know if there was only the two of us aboard and how I could sail such a ship all by myself. Given the time period, I had powered down all of the computer and holographic readouts. Anna held her silence. I received all on board information projected through a single contact lens in my left eye and an microscopic earpiece in my right ear.

The families emerged soon after. There was Malcolm and Agnes, with their son, Peter, and Terrence and Marjorie, with their sons, Terrence and Clive and daughter, Jane. I knew Terrence, Snr was going to be a royal pain in my arse right from the off. His family “had had a gander” around the ship and wanted to know why Clarissa had been given the much larger Barnacle Suite when him and his family were crammed into the Isis Cabin. Crammed, I ask you, on any other ship the Isis Cabin would be the state room. I explained that ship’s protocol demanded that two families of equal status receive equal living space. He started on about how it wasn’t fair, he had three kids compared to one in the other family, and growing bored with his shitty attitude I matter of factly told him it wasn’t my fault if he couldn’t keep it in his pants. He made to start afresh, but an angry growl from Issy brought his gob shutting with a pop. I love that cat. Such a good judge of character.

As they’d slept, I’d already set to work preparing a meal down in the main kitchen, a novelty given that I usually only need to cook for myself and rarely stray away from the smaller kitchen in my own quarters. I went for something traditional, roast beef and potatoes, boiled carrots, cabbage and corn on the cob, along with an excellent batch of Yorkshire pudding that Gaynor taught me how to make back before the rift. You superheat a glass dish in the oven, coated in olive oil, then pour the pudding mix into the heated dish and cook for quarter of an hour for perfect results. Apple crumble and custard or ice cream followed for desert and as we ate at the Captain’s Table, they told me what had happened.

As far as anyone could tell, they’d hit a mine. Probably left over from the war. Actually, there was some disagreement, with Terrence Snr thinking it was a mine, but Malcolm, Agnes and Clarissa thinking it sounded more like two mines had exploded. Certainly they had heard two explosions. Loathed as I was to agree with Terrence Snr, the injuries that I had seen on the corpses in the water suggested that an engine had exploded, which would have accounted for the two explosions, one a mine going off in near enough proximity to cause something mechanical to explode.

It had all happened so fast, it was only because the two families were at that point taking some air on the observation deck and Malcolm had reacted quickly in getting one of the lifeboats deployed (Malcolm had served in the Royal Navy during the war and been torpedoed by a German U-Boat during convoy duties) that they had lived to tell the tale. Clarissa, getting lost in the confusion, had come floundering onto deck just as they’d been in the process of abandoning ship and been manhandled aboard the lifeboat despite her protestations.

Everyone became quiet after a while and seeing no right time to bring the subject up, I asked what was to be done about the bodies. “Leave them.” was Terrence Snr’s predictable reply. “Sea creatures will take care of them. We just want to get home to Blighty.”

“You can’t just leave them.” Malcolm responded. “They’re human beings, they have the right to simple dignity. Their families have the right to give them a proper Christian burial.”

“Well what are we supposed to do about it?” Terrence Snr asked.

“Captain Roberts, I take it that you would have no objections to retrieving the bodies. You seem to have the space”

“None at all. I have a small infirmary on board that’s served as a morgue on more than one occasion. There’s also a utility room on deck and the dry dock. Any room can be made a cold as ice or as hot as hell. It’s a grim job, but manageable.”

“This is ridiculous, I won’t have any part of this.”

“Mr Madden, I am captain of this ship and I will decide what is to be done. What’s more, so long as you are on board my ship, you will be treated as guests or crew as I see fit. If you don’t like that, I can always put you back in your lifeboat and you can float home on your own. Blighty is about eight hundred miles west of here, though I’d be happy to loan you the use of a compass and sextant. Do I make myself completely and unemphatically clear?” He grunted. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“You do.”

“Good.”

“Though I should like to say that I think you are a bully.”

“And I should like to say that I think that you are a self-centred cunt.” There was a gasp. “Excuse my foul language ladies, but sometime a Captain has to stamp out a mutiny before it gets started. Do not test me Mr Madden, or you will discover just how much of a bully I can be. If you wish, you may try to gain control of my ship, though I should warn you, she has eyes and ears only for me.”

“If I may speak at this point. “ Clarissa spoke up.

“Of course.” I said.

“I should like to help recover what bodies can be recovered as I should like to find my sister, if she is out there. Oh I know she may have gone down with the Cairngorm, but even if we don’t find her, I know that anybody we can recover will save a family the anguish of never knowing.” She burst into tears at this point and even the shameless Terrence Snr was sufficiently moved to become misty eyes. Everyone around the table shed a few tears at least.

“It’s settled then.” I said, clearing the lump in my throat. “We’ve been treading water here since I picked you up. At first light I’ll turn the ship around and head back. I don’t think there’s any need to involve the children and there’s plenty of entertainments on board to keep them distracted. Yet even between the six of us, it shouldn’t take more than a day or two to get everyone stowed on board. Madame et Monsieur, I know that you’ve all had a sleep already this afternoon, but I think it’s best if you all retire for the evening. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

The following day came and some of what I saw that day will haunt me for years, even after having travelled to some of the least civilised periods in human history. I’ve seen hangings and beheadings, poor souls burned at the stake and corpses left to rot upon high as a warning to others, but there’s nothing quite as disturbing as body that’s been left in the water for a day or two. I’ve heard talk of bodies literally falling apart as they’re being pulled out of the water, but luckily we didn’t have any of that nonsense. I said it was nature’s cruel joke to let women float face down and the way the facial features start to dissolve are not something I will soon forget.

It took a day and a half to get the 126 corpses aboard, deploying the smaller boat, Issy-la-Chappelle for greater manoeuvrability. Myself, Malcolm and Terrence, Snr retrievied the bodies and returned them to the A.L.P. for the women to move into storage. The infirmary above the dock quickly filled up, at which point we used the utility room. The last forty bodies or so were laid out on the deck of the dock once the Issy-la-Chappelle was safely back on board. Peter, Clive and Jane happily played games on deck as we worked, but Terrence, Jnr showed great fortitude in helping the women with moving bodies. Greater fortitude that his father, certainly. I lost count of the amount of times we had to stop to let him be sick over the side. Sea sickness he claimed. Cunt.

A grim task but we got it done and then it was time to sail for England. The Madden family were Londoners, the rest of the passenger from Scotland, so I decided to compromise and head for my favourite port of Liverpool, radioing ahead with news of our unpleasant cargo. At near full speed, we were able reach port in a little under a day. The authorities were waiting for us and despite the year, they did a fine job of continuing the respect we had shown in bringing so many loved ones home. We never did find Clarissa’s sister, Emily. It’s my one regret.

Despite our disagreements, Terrence thanked me for saving his family and offered me his hand. I gave him a hug instead and apologised for what I had called him. I hoped that he now saw that it was right what we had done and he agreed that it was. We left on reasonably good terms.

The family were put on a train for London and I ended up sailing the Scottish contingent home as far as Ayr. It was good to be heading back to the country in which I was born and nice to enjoy the company of my guests without Terrence, Snr’s bullish attitude. I usually have little patience for children, but I found Peter to be pleasant company, so inquisitive and full of questions, which I did my best to answer. After they disembarked, I did some checking. He went on to be an engineer. Ship design. Excellent career choice.

Well the ship’s been hosed down and disinfected, but the nightmares are quite bad for the moment. Apart from having so many dead things on board, I always get like this when I’ve had company on board. Nothing to do now but get stoned and stare into space. Maybe watch The Abyss. I’m joking of course. I quite like the 1950s. Bought myself some 50s shirts while I was on Merseyside, waiting for the inquest to conclude. Heading back across the Atlantic at the moment, heading for a break in the Caribbean while I figure out what to do next (m’m, black women). Might head for Cuba, see if Hemingway’s knocking about. If I remember rightly, he’s either there or in Africa about now.

“Hey Anna, do we have Michael Palin’s Hemingway series in the data banks? Excellent, be a love and pull up the entire thing and rout it through the digital projector in the alcove. Full speed ahead for Cuba.”

Until next time…

Get it done.

A Woman of Conviction Ch. 6

6

And that was that. We said our farewells and departed to the quayside. Andy slid down a rope from the poop deck and handed Helen an envelope. Inside was a slightly dog eared Action Comics #1. Helen made to object. “Just be gracious and accept it.” he said. “It won’t go for full value, but you should be able to get something for it.” Helen thanked him. They hugged and he strolled up the gangway.

Mechanics whirled and sails unfurled and the ship took on a whole new level of mystery. Helen saw my confusion. “Oh yes.” she said. “Among other things, Andy is an engineering genius. Three years I was on board and I never figured out how it worked. To be honest, I don’t really know how the Samurai suit works, but it seems to and that’s enough for me.”

Andy appeared at the side and shouted something she didn’t catch at first. He came back with Sarah’s megaphone: “I said, get yourself ready Darling. It’s coming. Soon. Ride the wave Hon.” Helen nodded. I saw she knew what he meant.

An engine started and slowly the ship manoeuvred out into open water, it’s sails filling as the masts turned into the wind. I thought there was a danger of it running aground, but Helen assured me that while the ship looked like something Nelson would have sailed in, it was equipped with state of the art sensors. She sailed off down the estuary and I swear a bank of fog swept in from out of nowhere, enveloping the ship’s form. It lifted just as we were driving off and just as quickly as it had arrived. The ship was long gone.

Case closed and it was still only mid-afternoon. We went back to the boat, finished up some work and a couple of celebration cocktails turned into an impromptu barbeque. It’s the way the best parties always start. Ruth came. Their dad, Ray, came. Antonio came, even Lenny came and laughed it up good and proper about the Nicholsons’ arrest. It had been top of the local news all afternoon. There was a lot of laughter that night. A lot of drinking and some other substances too. And a lot of music. There was always music whenever Helen was around. My strongest abiding memory of that night is her playing the acoustic guitar, singing Nick Drake songs against a blood red sky, everyone so quiet you could hear a can of lager creak.

Helen disappeared. Well most everyone did, didn’t they. Me and Jo arrived at the boat one morning to find no trace that it or she were ever there. Even the allotment she had worked so hard to cultivate had returned to its previous state as a scrapheap.

“Well that’s that then.” I said.

“Yes.” Jo agreed. “We knew it was coming though. At least we know she’s safe.”

“True. I just wish we knew what caused all this.”

“Do you think this Andy has anything to do with it? Or the girl?”

“Sarah? No, I don’t think so. Andy I’m not so sure about. He seems to have the power to induce amnesia. Amongst other things. I still don’t remember much about him.”

“So what now?”

“We go back and tell them what we’ve found out.”

And we did. But that, as they say, is another story.

Get it done. 

See Also (click links)

Cadaver

The Simple Art of Pan Dimensional Transmogrification

The Hill of Howth

Helen Marr will return in:

A Woman of Conviction Ch. 5

5

Falling falling always falling head first falling arms thrown out air rushing sweat frozen. Then a lurch like a parachute firing, the acceleration slowed, the ground rose up, a prostrate body cradled by the warm, welcoming palm of Mother Earth; her fingers a sunshade, rippling in the wind. I threw up: I went under.

I dreamt I was at sea. The choppy waters churned what little remained of my stomach. The vessel was large, three masts towered over me. I was reclining on black leather, but also aware of being curled towards the backrest. A recurring dream, your eyes are closed, your hands over your face, yet still you see the horror played out before you. A recurring dream, a recurring nightmare. Something cold and wet pressed at my nape. Comfort.

I dreamt voices.

“Looking good.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m only saying.”

“Thank you. Now stop it.”

“How’s the boat?”

“It’s fine.”

“I wanted to do right by you.”

The comfort at my nape tensed. “Well gee thanks Andy.” a voice snapped. “thanks for giving me a roof over my head. I think that was the least I was owed after what you did.”

“About that...”

“You abandoned me in fuckin’ Borneo Andy! Nothing but a guitar and the fistful of fuckin’ Ringgits you thrust in my hand. Ringgits you notice, the currency of Malaysia, not Indonesia, where you left me.”

“Ah”

“Good job there was food on the plane, after I exchanged the money it just about covered the price of the ticket.”

“Shit.”

“That’s one word for you, yes.” I heard someone groan. I heard a name I recognised and more groaning. I resolved to find this Sam and tell them to keep the noise down. First I needed to get vertical though. With a superhuman effort, I peeled my face from the navel of the world.

Coming too it was worse than I’d feared. We were on the deck of the dream ship, the ALP (although for a moment I struggled to remember what those letters meant). I was lying on black leather the shape of a squat hockey stick. I was covered in sick.

“Sorry about that Kid.” Andy said, scratching his head. I held a tea towel of ice to mine. “Thought you were someone else.” He leant forward in a wooden chair, fisting a Led Zeppelin t-shirt towards me. “Here, wear this for now and I’ll get that cleaned up. Nice shirt you’ve got there, like a bit of Ska myself. That John Bradbury’s got some great drum parts.”

“Andy.” Helen chided from my left. She turned to me. ”Don’t let him fool you into being his mate. Andy’s got enough friends already.”

He snorted: “Never gonna let me forget that are you?”

“No. No I’m not. Speaking of letting things go, what’s this about you selling my comic?”

“I said I was selling an Action Comics, I didn’t say I was selling the one you got me. I wouldn’t do that. I have it framed in the core.”

“The core? Oh, you mean...”

“Yes.”

“Right. So, where’s Sarah, Andy?”

“Sarah?” His face didn’t change.

Helen half smiled, half sneered. “Haven’t you learnt by now you can’t bullshit me, Andy?” She tapped her finger at him. “See, it was when Scott told me it’s Sarah the Nicholson’s are after. I’d already figured that. By whatever arrangement that girl’s been making those boys a lot of money recently, it’s obvious they’re want their golden goose back. But no, it was a thought flashed in my mind right as he said it. A thought I’d vocalised not half an hour before.” She turned to me. “You remember what I said when we were back at the police station?”

“Something about there being too many coincidences.”

“Right.” She turned on Andy. “And then another coincidence occurred to me. Your phone call. I don’t hear from you for two years and you just happen to ring two minutes before the parents of a woman you’d shown an interest in in the past turn up to tell me she’s missing. A woman who unless she’s changed drastically in the last few years is just your type. I should know, eh? Dark hair, olive skin. Legs. Not to mention her unique talent for persuasion. She’s your ideal woman Andy, she’s the very thing you weigh anchor and sail in search of.” She grabbed fistfuls of hair. “God, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Something’s been bugging me about this all along and I’ve been racking my brains trying to figure what it was and every time I thought I had it sussed the same feeling came back. The phone call, the offer of the phony comic, that’s what it’s been all along.”

“The comic’s real.”

“Really? Never known you to be sort of cash. And you’re not one for clutter, so why the spare copy? No, I ain’t buying it. Had to be a blind. Had to be an excuse to speak to me. And why would you chose that exact time to break silence? Unless you knew Sarah’s parents were on their way to me.”

“And why would I know that?”

“Oh I don’t know, ‘cause you overheard them discussing it as they were leaving the house.” She leaned forward. “Were you there when she did it Andy? Did you try to stop her?” She sat back. “It was you wasn’t it Sarah? You that told Kitson to put his gun in his mouth and pull the trigger?”

Silence.

“Well?”

 “I owed Terry that much.” An ethereal voice.

 “You owed him nothing.” Andy said, his eyes leaving Helen for the first time. “Certainly not starting a vendetta out of some misplaced sense of loyalty. Which is what this is now. And no, I didn’t try to stop her. I’m not sure I could if I’d wanted to.”

“No.” the same soft voice said, “Terry was my world, for a time at least, and he could have been a lot meaner to me. Someone had to avenge him, it’s gangland, it’s expected.” There was a sigh and a creek of leather and a pair of legs appeared from a recess behind the ship’s wheel. A hand joined them and they pushed a woman into view. The grainy CCTV footage didn’t do her justice. Olive skin, dark cropped hair. A lime green summer dress stopped just above her knees. I had a hard job not to stare at her legs, they were so perfectly formed.

Helen was far from impressed. “I always knew you were dangerous Sarah, but lethal?”

“Well I guess I also needed to blow off a little steam. See, I was a bit pissed, what with being kept prisoner these last few months.” Her low heels clacked as she paced the deck.

Helen nodded, sympathetically. “Tell me about it.”

Sarah turned and laughed. “Ha! Babes, you’re so much better at this than you give yourself credit for.”

“Indulge me.”

Sarah leaned against the rigging, one arm raised, and stared out across the Mersey. She was distant. “I guess I’m like a lot of people really. I want what I haven’t got. Which is a problem. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always got exactly what I wanted. I remember being twelve and wanting a pony. So we went to the stables and half a hour later the guy was giving me one for nothing. Said he couldn’t possibly charge such a charming little girl. His exact words. I was bored of the pony in five minutes. Even at that age it was all too easy.”

She turned, a hand grasping the air before her face. “It’s all in the smile see. A slight tilt of the head and a gentle flicker of the eyelids. An imperceptible shake of the head as you ask, ‘You wouldn’t mind getting me a drink would you?’ Or a nod as you say, ‘Now you’re happy for me to put this in the bag, aren’t you?’, as if it’s the most innocuous thing in the world. I’m a genius at it, few people can resist. Two, at last count.” She stared at Helen. “Terry was the other one.”

Helen lowered her head and smiled. Sarah crossed her arms over her chest and stared back out over the river. “Funny, a thug like Terry approaches you in a bar and you have no interest in him at all until he fails to follow your command to fuck off. He could resist me, which made him irresistible.”

“Your kryptonite.” Andy said, returning from below decks.

Sarah smiled. “Yes.  I was completely in his power. And he knew it. Wasn’t stupid either, most people are happy to explain away my gifts and just reap the benefits. Not Terry. He soon recognised what I could do and how to use it to his advantage. Sold me as a business proposition to his bosses, split three ways. They tried locking me up in their warehouse at first, but I soon talked my way out of that one. Was only bad timing that did for me. Terry came back unexpectedly and I got caught.”

Helen nodded “He was your jailor.”

“Yes. The Nicholsons saw how dangerous I was, they were terrified of me. Terry kept me up in Garston. I was told if I didn’t go along with what they wanted they’d kill my parents. What was I supposed to do? Even if I could escape, I knew they’d be killed before I could warn anyone. So I went along with it. As slavery goes, it wasn’t so bad. Was even a thrill for a while, until it was so easy I was as bored with it as everything else.”

“You had some control over him though Babes. I went to the house. He gave you the master bedroom.”

Sarah missed the humour. “Was the only room with a strong enough door. He used to pump opium smoke through the vent at night. Christ knows why, he could have just doped me up. Had some crazy, fucked up dreams I can tell you.”

“So how did Andy find you?”

“Actually, yes.” Sarah said, “How did you find me?”

He smiled a wry smile. “A good sailor knows how to follow a scent on the air.”

“Are you being rude?” Helen enquired.

“For once, no.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Remember when you told me about Sarah? We were at that awful sushi bar in Okinowa. I was wearing my Tweed jacket.”

“I hate that jacket.”

“I know, you told me and I put it away and didn’t wear it again while you were on board. But a few weeks ago I was in a hypermarket in Cadiz, go to get my wallet out and pull out the receipt from Okinowa. I’d written Sarah’s name on the back. Well, I was bored and hadn’t been to England in five years and thought, what the hell, time to spin the wheel. I was barely out of the estuary when I got the first sense of her. Sometimes all it takes is a name to hone in. I found the house and staked it out ‘til I could figure what craic was.”

“Terry rarely let me leave, except on jobs, but we were laying low after all the heat the London trip had generated. I hadn’t been out in a fortnight.”

“Except to the supermarket.” Andy said.

“Exactly. I never thought lactose intolerance would have had an upside. Terry tried to find the right milk, but he always fucked it up, was just easier to take me to Asda every week to get what I needed. Still wouldn’t let me out of his sight though.”

“So I contrived to bump into her. Literally.”

“Crashed into more like. I’ve got a massive bruise on my shoulder.”

“Had to look real though. In the confusion I slipped a phone into her pocket.”

“I didn’t even notice it until it starting vibrating at two in the morning. Didn’t know what it was at first, I was so out of it. But I knew that someone was coming for me and I dreamt a hero on a bright white steed coming crashing through the wall to rescue me.”

“You would be that flash.” Helen agreed. Andy smiled back at her.

“Terry was jumpy all next morning, he’d been like that for days, but was worse than ever, so I went to the toilet to text my mystery man that something was up. I only had to wait twenty minutes for Andy to come crashing in.”

“Yes.” Helen said. “It was only as I was driving down here that I remembered what my mate at the Royal had said about the bruising to Lennox’s arm and his broken nose and figured it with your fighting style. Came at you with a knife I’m guessing?”

“Broken bottle.”

“So, you batted it away, elbowed him in the nose and levered his arm until he dropped the bottle. And a roundhouse to finish?”

“Spinning kick actually.”

“Like I said, flash. So when did you come back for your clothes?”

They looked at each other and laughed. “Friday morning. Sarah walked up to the officers watching the house and convinced them to help her load her stuff up.”

“Really? I spoke to the police, they didn’t mention it.”

“Oh they don’t remember.” Sarah said. “I made sure of that.”

“And what about Kitson? Quick, you know they’re on their way.”

“She’s right.” Andy agreed. “They will be coming.”

“You think?” Sarah asked.

“I would think so. After last night they must have someone watching the barge. Someone will have been followed.”

“Kitson?” Helen said, impatiently.

“As soon as Andy came for me I told him about my parents and we staked out their house all night and into the morning. I spotted Kitson first thing, leant behind a tree. Andy watched him while I slipped out of the car and came up behind him. As I was  slipping down an alleyway it occurred to me, my parents were never going to be safe now, I needed to send the Nicholsons a clear message. It was so easy, I was barely aware I was doing it. I walked behind him, ran a fingernail across his back and gave him the instruction. After a dozen steps I heard his gun go off.”

“Did he really have to die?”

Sarah flashed with rage, “Hey, I didn’t start this you know, they started it and I won’t let them threaten mum and dad. So long as they remember what I’m capable of, they’ll be safe.”

We were all quiet a moment. “And you heard your parents talking about coming to me when they came out of the house, yeah?”

“We came to the ship after Kitson killed himself and Andy returned to see what was going on. He heard my parents talking.”

“I rang you from the car.”

“And offered a phoney mag.”

“I told you, it’s real.”

“So you’ve got two?”

“Yes, I have to have one to read don’t I?”

“Childishness not sentimentality. Got it.” She winked at me. Helen made to speak again, but was cut short by the sound of screeching tires. Three of us made to move, but Andy stopped us with a raised hand. He retrieved an item from behind the wheel and crept starboard. He scanned the scene below through a spyglass.

“Oh jeez, when did he start using a telescope?” Sarah shrugged her shoulders.

“When did you start using a telescope?”

“It’s a spyglass. “ Andy said, thoughtfully.

“Ok, when did you start using a spyglass?”

“Quiet time Helen.” Andy commanded, returning to port. “They’re here. Sarah I want you below, no arguments.”

Sarah nodded and did as Andy commanded. His brow tightened.

“I know that look.” Helen said. “What’s up.” He whispered something in her ear. “Shit.”

“Exactly.” Andy handed out the weapons and we staked out the docks below. We waited.

“You were there last night weren’t you.” Helen said to Andy. “At my boat.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You knew about the visit from the Nicholson goons. I didn’t mention it.” He grinned that grin. “That’s why Toby didn’t bark, he was with you.”

“I came to check up on you, stopped to play with Toby and saw those two goons arrive. Decided to stick around and make sure things went ok.”

“But you didn’t feel the need to step in?”

“Sure, I knew you’d be fine, you’re Helen Marr. Anyway, I didn’t give you a home without leaving you the means to defend it. The suit worked ok, yeah?”

“It worked fine.”

“Good.”

As this was going on, a Merc had arrived. It joined two cars that were already parked at the edge of the dock. Figures emerged, scanned the scene and half a dozen men marched toward the boat. Four waited behind. Others remained in the cars.

Included in the boarding party were our visitors from last night. Helen pointed out Brett and Kurt to me. The brothers were well dressed against a sea of aertex, their golden locks  blowing on the Mersey air. Helen and me were ducked behind a gunwale. Andy stood defiantly on top like some kind of Errol Flynn figure. Brett shouted up at him:

“We want the girl.”

“She’s not mine to give you.”

“Look ya thick fucking Mick,” Kurt shouted, “bring us the girl or you’re all dead. Clear?” One of my playmates surreptitiously aimed a weapon at Andy. A well aimed throwing star sailed through the air with a flick of the wrist. Scally #2 cradled his punctured hand. Brett and Kurt exchanged looks. “Fine.” Brett shouted, holding his hands up. “If that’s the way he wants to play it.” He gave a signal to the men at the cars. A two fingered whistle from Kurt reinforced the message.

Helen considered the cutlasses we’d been given. “Jesus Andy, would it really hurt you to carry some real weapons?”

“You know how I feel about guns.”

“Yeah, yeah, the bigger the coward, the bigger the gun, I remember. Doesn’t really help us now though does it.”

Two men went to the back of one car and removed two people. It took me a moment to register who they were. Then it clicked. Sarah’s parents. Her father was bullish, but quiet. Mrs O’Connor was terrified. They were brought down to the quayside, forced to their knees and guns aimed at their heads. “Now try that motherfucker.” Kurt screamed at Andy.

“The girl.” His brother ordered firmly.

Andy shrugged. “Your funeral.” he said, jumping down. He crossed the deck, hands covering his ears. Sarah reappeared, armed with a megaphone.

“Brilliant.” Helen said. “Just what we need.”

“Everybody freeze.”

I was rooted to the spot. Helen was unaffected. “Babes.” she warned Sarah, “Be very careful now.”

“Sarah says everybody with a gun, stick it in your mouth.” The feedback knocked me sick.

“Sarah.” Helen commanded, more firmly. “Listen to me. Think about what you’re doing.” A hand was placed on my shoulder and I felt the sensation return to my body. Gingerly, I stood up and marvelled at the scene below. It could have been on freeze frame if not for the very noticeable trembling of the four men with weapons in their mouths.

“Sarah, you’d be commanded by Terry, now be commanded by me. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can use this to our advantage, find a solution we can live with.”

“I won’t let them kill my parents.” Tears streamed down her face.

“There’s little chance of that is there?” She advanced a pace, hands raised. “You have the power here, but if you do this, I can’t help you. I won’t help you.”

“Helen’s right.” Andy agreed, his words slightly slurred.

“I have an idea how we can save your parents and avenge Terry properly.” She reached out to Sarah. One hand pressed against the megaphone, the other took Sarah by the shoulder. Helen pulled her close ad she whispered something in her ear. Sarah pulled away and gave Helen a curious look. Helen winked and smiled. Sarah nodded and returned her grin. “I love it.” she said. She raised the megaphone and span ‘round.

“Ok, Sarah says any and all associates of the Nicholson clan, stay as you are. Brett and Kurt, bring my parents on board. No funny business. Remember I’ve got four gunmen at my disposal. Move.”

The Nicholson boys shuffled ahead to the prostrate figures on their knees. Like the trembling gunmen it was like their brains didn’t want to cooperate but their bodies felt compelled to obey. O’Connor batted away Kurt’s attempt to help him to his feet, rushing to his wife’s aid and walked on ahead of the zombiefied brothers.

It suddenly occurred to me that we were four or five stories above the quayside, a series of zigzagging gangways ran half the length of the ship coming up to the forecastle. Sarah greeted her parents by falling into their arms. Even dad had tears in his eyes. The Nicholsons took slightly longer to arrive. In the meantime Sarah had regained her composure.

“Give me your phones.” They looked at each other. “Phones, now, I haven’t got all day.” They obeyed. Kurt made to speak, but was silenced by a raised hand. It was Andy’s, slapping him.

Sarah went through the address books. She laughed. “Ah, how sweet, Ma.” She looked up at them. “See, now I know my folks are safe.” She made the noise of old fashioned phone ringing. “Hi, is that Ma Nicholson? Hello Dearie, listen be a love and throw yourself in front of the 5.18 to Manchester, yeah.”

“You think you can threaten us? You don’t threaten us. Nobody threatens us.” Andy hit him again, it was getting to be a habit. Helen rolled her eyes.

“You can’t win you know.” the pathologically calm Brett said. “We’ll get our mother a new number, send her where you can’t find here.”

“Oh I’m sorry, would you like me to call her now?” Sarah asked, holding the phone to her ear. Panic flashed in his eyes. She lowered it. “Anyway, my associate here is even more powerful than me. He found me just by knowing my name. What ya say Andy, is Ma enough information for you.”

“It’s not the name that’s important.” he said philosophically. “It’s the psychological connection that’s made.” He thought for a moment. “Linda Eustace Nicholson, born February 28^th 1956. Loves Elvis, banana dacharies and Michael Bolton.” They stood askance. Andy shrugged. “I could find her if she was halfway up the Amazon.”

Sarah seemed satisfied with this. “Gentlemen, the price of your mother’s life is my parent’s total safety, clear?” They nodded silent assent. “Good. They so much as get cut up in traffic and Ma will be receiving a call. You’re also to hand yourselves in to the police and give a full confession to ordering Terry’s murder.”

Brett made to object. Sarah merely raised the phone to her ear. “Good afternoon, I was wondering if I could speak to a Mrs Linda Nicholson. Oh you are Mrs Nicholson, well I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday and I won’t take up much of valuable time, I just wondered if you will do me a favour.” Noises of pleading assent spewed from the Nicholsons. Sarah apologised and rang off.

“We have a deal then. Good, ‘cause I’ll be checking the Post and the Echo websites tomorrow morning. I don’t see your names in large type, Ma catches a train in the face.” Her head dropped.

Andy stepped forward. “I’d say it was time you boys got off my ship.” They scurried off like schoolboys sent from the Head Master’s study. Car engines fired up soon after and that was the last we saw of them.

Sarah nodded her head emphatically, looked up at Andy and Helen with a look of relief. Then she returned to her parents’ arms, fetching drinks out of the recess and filling them in on her story.

“So I guess you two will heading off to sea.” Helen asked Andy.

“Definitely.” he replied. “Sarah has phenomenal power, but she hasn’t learnt to control it yet. I can teach her focus.”

“Yes, I suppose you do have your uses.”

“Jealous?”

“Of Sarah? No, not at all. She’ll be good for you Andy, she’ll do what I could never do and keep you honest. Do you want us to run her parents home?”

“Oh no Andy.” Sarah interrupted “I haven’t seen mum and dad in such a long time, I want to spend some time with them before I go running off again. Let them stay on board for a few days Andy. You seem to have the room.”

He nodded and agreed. Helen laughed. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when Andy Howth was pussy whipped.” He didn’t seem to see the funny side.

Get it done.

A Woman of Conviction Ch. 4

4

The cops came and arrested us first thing. I thought about going in the full Bogart get up from the night before, but instead pulled on a pair of jeans and two-tone shirt from my bag. Helen had evidently gone for the theatrical look. She wore a white padded jacket over a green summer dress, pink headscarf and Marilyn glasses. There were no cuffs, no hands pushing us down into the car, we even travelled in the same vehicle, an officer sat between us. After they’d read us our rights they said very little else.

We were taken to Stanley Road Police Station, just south of Bootle. An eyesore of a building, all faded redbrick, concrete colonnades and midnight blue trimmings. We were escorted through the back, buzzed in, then to a lift, up two floors, out into a corridor, into an open plan office and finally into a big corner office.

“Well, well, well.” a man said as we were shown in. “If it isn’t the troublesome twosome. Well come in, come in, it’s not like you haven’t led us a merry dance already.” He leant against a desk, palms at 90^o, pipe in the corner of his mouth. He had the moustache of a sergeant major and everything about him screamed, ‘Cop’. He was one of the old school, you’d spot him from the other end of the Smithdown Road. Even his wardrobe was of a palette I’m guessing hasn’t be manufactured in about 30 years. There was a dark green wax jacket hanging on the back of the door and I’d have been unsurprised to find a deerstalker in his desk drawer (next to the Bells).

“Where is she?” he pointedly asked Helen.

“Why does everyone think I know where Sarah is? I’m not even looking for her.” She sighed and gave the man the once over. “Is it Detective Inspector?” Nothing. “Chief Inspector?” A slight tilt of the head. “Chief Inspector? Ok, well Chief Inspector, Sarah’s parents are, naturally, worried about her. They want to know she’s safe and they came to me for help and I said I’d see what I can find out and if I can say she’s safe, job done as I’m concerned. I have no loyalty to Sarah.”

“Then why remove her clothes from the house?”

“Her clothes? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” She gave a huff. “Can we sit down?”

“Oh, yes of course?” We sat in two chairs that looked like they’d been nicked from a Sixth Form Common Room. “Now then,” Helen said, “you said something about clothes being taken.”

He sized her up. “When my officers attended the murder scene, the bedroom drawers were stuffed with women’s clothes. Two days later, a neighbour calls the station to report his catching of two people hopping his fence from the Lennox place. My officers checked, noticed someone had been in through the back and discovered the ransacked drawers.”

“So the neighbour said these people were carrying bags of women’s clothes then?”

The Inspector sat back, sucking on his unlit pipe. He sighed. “That they didn’t.  I suppose you’re going to try and tell me that wasn’t you.”

“I think it would be very foolish of us to deny that at this point.” I intervened. “Everyone in this room knows it was us.”

I almost laughed. Between us we were doing a fine job of pissing on his parade. He looked crestfallen, but rallied, “And what business was it of yours disturbing a crime scene?”

“Oh I don’t know.” Helen replied. “Something about all of this didn’t add up. Where was Sarah when Lennox was getting shot?”

“Well I hope it was worth it. I hope you found something good.” His sarcasm was getting a little wearing by this point. I guess Helen felt it too.

“I found that none of your officers know how to pick a lock. Or know, logically, where a man like Lennox would keep a key.”

He smiled, pensively. “So that was you was it? I wondered how we’d missed that first time.”

“Well, we thought about relocking it, but figured that would be seen as obstructing an investigation.” He made to speak, but she raised a hand. “It was wrong of me to break in and for that I’m sorry. What can I say? I’ve had some bad influences in my life. But I swear to you that those drawers were empty when we were in there. Whoever took them, it wasn’t us.”

The same dejected look. “How did you find us?” she asked, biting her lip to conceal a smile.

“Two people matching your general description were reported at the Royal Liverpool yesterday afternoon. It was only when we pulled the CCTV last night that one of my officers said, ‘Oh, that’s our Helen’. She married your aunt’s brother or something.”

“Auntie Val?”

He nodded “And it’s only her glowing report that’s keeping you from the cells while we decide what to do with you.”

“Hi ya Helen.”

“Oh hi ya Val.” Helen said, spinning around. “When did you come over?”

“Came over last July.”

“Cool beans. How’s Uncle Paul?”

“Yes, yes,” the Chief Inspector interrupted, “if we can break up this mother’s meeting ladies, back to the matter at hand if you don’t mind. Why are you involved with the shooting of one Scott Gallagher? A known associate of Messrs Brett and Kurt Nicholson. A former associate I was led to believe”

Helen hung her head at mention of the scroat. I explained the situation.

“And are you both aware that Mz O’Connor is wanted in connection with a number of high profile robberies?”

“Yes.”

“But you want to know she’s safe? Has it ever occurred to you that she’s probably safe in a Nicholson safe house? Her partners in crime.” Helen admitted this had been a possibility before the events of the previous night. “A bluff!” he replied on hearing our report. “To throw you off of the scent.”

“Possibly, but I don’t think so somehow. Though you are right about one thing, wherever Sarah is, I’m sure she’s safe, laughing at everyone.

“The young lady has plenty to laugh about. Unofficially they’ve stolen £9 million over an eleven week period. We’re still not sure how they do it.”

“I suppose you’re sure Sarah is involved.”

“Quite sure. Auntie Val, have the TV set brought in here if you please.” A TV and DVD player were wheeled in on a wooden-metal frame. It was becoming more like school by the second. Val plugged it in at the wall and inserted the disc the Chief Inspector handed her.

We saw a series of CCTV extracts. The images were grainy, but the chain of events looked similar in each location. Sometimes it was a bank camera, but more usually a jewellers. A couple walk in. The guy is wearing a golf shirt and Kangol hat, but they don’t suit him, you can tell he’s dressing above where he feels comfortable and it’s adding to his stress. He never once looks relaxed. She, on the other hand, is in total control. Sometimes she’s wearing jeans, sometimes a dress, but always does all the talking. It’s usually a man at the counter, occasionally a women, but the speed at which it happens is phenomenal. She talks to them, engages in some light physical contact and before you know it the assistant is removing items from beneath the counter or emptying the till of cash and watching as the couple load up. A couple of times the assistant even puts the jewels straight into the woman’s  bag. And just as Lenny had said, the assistants do indeed hold the door and wave them on their way. I looked at Helen. She had her best poker face on.

“I think we can agree that that proves that.” the Chief Inspector said as the disc ended.

“I agree it looks bad for Sarah.” Helen replied. “But like I said, if I can say she’s safe, job done.”

He leaned back in his seat a moment. “I won’t deny I could use your help. But I need to know there’ll be no more secrets between us.”

“Agreed. What do you need?”

“Well...” The phone went. “Hello. Yes, she’s here now. He’s what? Oh is he now. Ok, we’ll be right down then.” He had that stern look again. “Well it seems that young master Gallagher has regained consciousness and is asking to speak to Mz Marr.” Helen beamed like the dawn breaking. “Sergeant, kindly arrange transportation to leave immediately.” The officer left the room, while Val and a male colleague milled around. The Chief Inspector turned to his paperwork, pipe in the corner of his mouth. No one spoke.

Helen ducked her head to catch the Inspector’s eye. “Can I ask how the investigation is going? Do you know if the same person killed Lennox as shot my friend yet?”

“I doubt it.” he said, guffawing.

“Meaning?”

He pulled out a gruesome picture from a file. “Meaning that this is the man we suspect of having executed Lennox. Hi name is, was, Daniel Kitson. Wanted in connection with a number of killings in the North West. Must have had an attack of guilt. On Thursday morning he put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.” The image showed most of the back of his head was gone.

“Oh god, that’s horrible.” said Helen, a hand over her mouth.

“Agreed.” he said, returning the picture. “The curious thing is where Mr Kitson chose to end his life.” We looked blankly at him. “Does Maple Avenue mean anything to you?” We smiled, looked at each other, then shook our heads. “No.” we said. “It’s where Sarah O’Connor’s parents live.”

“My god.” I said. “O’Connor mentioned that at the boat.”

“Yes.” Helen replied, guardedly. “Very curious.”

The sergeant came back and we were escorted in reverse through the maze and out to the carpool. We waited for the car to arrive. The Chief Inspector exchanged banter with a colleague.

I watched Helen. She was in her own world. I said, “Weird that guy killing himself near the O’Connor’s, eh? Funny coincidence.”

“There’s too many coincidences here Sam.” The voice came from the same distance as her expression. “Something still isn’t right. Why can’t I see it?”

We were whisked away to the hospital, the Chief Inspector riding shotgun, the same officer sat between us. It was a short ride down to Prescott Street.

Craig Murray stuck out on the ward like a badly suited rhinoceros. The Chief Inspector, or Reynolds as we discovered he was called, approached Helen’s goon, but Helen reassured him of Craig’s usefulness. “Takes a thief to catch a thief. Besides, I trust Craig more than your officers at this point and I can’t have Scott coming to any more harm because of me.”

He made to object, but it was half hearted and Craig stayed where he was. We went to ICU, everyone remaining outside expect Helen, who washed her hands, steadied herself, and was taken to a bed halfway down the room. The scroat was all hooked up to machines and fluids and didn’t seem to be moving. Helen covered her mouth with a hand as she approached. She knelt beside his bed, touched his face with her other hand, then kissed him on the forehead. He stirred and I could see his eyes opening and looking at her. His lips moved, but I guess she couldn’t hear, ‘cause she lifted her ear to his mouth. It was only a flash, a brief wave that passed over her face. Most anyone would have missed it. I saw it.

She kissed the scroat once more and walked out to us. “What did he have to say?” Reynolds asked.

She didn’t look at him for a moment. Then she gave a relieved smile, “He just said not to blame myself.” I watched her. “Chief Inspector, do you need anything else from me today? This whole thing has left me exhausted and frankly I’d like to go home and have a good cry.”

He tensed. “Well I suppose there’s nothing more we can achieve today.” He pointed his pipe at her. “But you hear anything and you contact me immediately, you understand?” She nodded and he handed her a business card. “My Sergeant will arrange a lift back.” He wandered off down the corridor.

For a time there was silence. Then, out of the blue came, “That’s right, he asked about her.” I looked at her. “Sorry.” she said. “Forget I said that.”

Only the driver came back with us, Helen sitting behind him, me riding shotgun. She stared out of the window all the way, glacial in her stillness. I didn’t know what the scroat had told her, but I could see her mind was racing.

Arriving back, she shuffled down the path behind me. Then the car drove off and she came to life, rushing off ahead to the boat. I was confused, coming down the stairs to find her leafing through address books, throwing the rifled ones to the floor. Finally she found what she was looking for, took out her mobile phone and started ringing numbers:

“Hi, this is Helen Marr. Who’s that? Oh hi ya Fran, how’s Dawn? Cool beans, listen you haven’t got anything new in have you? No? Ok, thanks. What, ok email me the details and I’ll let you know. Bye.”

She went through this routine three times, plugging in her hands free earpiece, doodling on a pad on her lap. I paced the room. On the fourth call, I heard, “You have. Yes, that’s the one. Came in last Friday? No, that’s brilliant, thanks.” She hung up. “Right, I need to go out.”

“Ok” I said. “You don’t want me to come?”

“Not this trip.” she said, heading determinedly for the stairs.

 “What did the scroat really say?” I called. Halfway up she stopped.

Her shoulders dropped and she gave a huge sigh. Then she jerked her head back at me. “He said it was Sarah that Lennox was stealing. Sarah is what the Nicholson’s are after.” Then she was gone.

I paced the living room, boiled some water, checked the inbox and picked up Helen’s notepad. The inbox confirmed we’d bought two more ‘Do It Yourself’ covers from the seventy or so versions that were released of the Blockheads album. I made a note to ring Phill. The notepad was mostly the usual scribble. At the bottom she had virtually scratched the word, ALP in thick lettering. I retrieved the address book from the chair, still open at the right page, and rang the fourth number down. I got through to Birkenhead Docks. I asked if Alp was there. “You mean the A.L.P.? Sure, same berth as always.” I took the details, paced some more and finished my tea. I went to my car, thought for an age about what I was doing, then punched the postcode into the satnav and drove all the way to the Queensway Tunnel and over (under) to Birkenhead.

Of course, the satnav stopped working in the tunnel, took an age to reload coming out and then sent me the wrong way. I found the docks using the dying art of reading a road sign. I soon spied Helen’s car, but she was nowhere to be seen. I parked up besides the Micra and walked towards the Mersey. There was no one about that I could see. The dock was wide, I counted eight ships berthed, seven steel hulled crafts and one wooden sailing boat up ahead of me. I don’t know why, but I walked towards the wooden one.

I saw her hiding herself as I approached. She was crouched down behind a van. I concealed myself behind a wall and checked she hadn’t seen me. She was starring fixedly at the ship. It towered above us. Written in ornate gold lettering across its stern I made out the words: ‘Anna Livia Plurabelle’. “A.L.P.” I mouthed.

And then a third person appeared and there could be no mistake who it was. He approached the vessel, spied Helen right away and made for her. I went after him, but he suddenly darted away and I lost him. Helen saw me and ran in my direction. “Get out of here.” she shouted through cupped hands. “Get out of here.” And then she stared at a point behind me and screamed, “NO!” There was a blinding light and a sharp pain in my shoulder and I felt my legs go from under me. Even after I hit the tarmac, I kept right on falling.

Get it done.