weeknighters chapter 1 (1998)

Driving through night. Hurtling past silent, sleeping houses. Turning on to a dual carriageway. Car clock glows orange in the dark, says 00:27. The roads are virtually empty. The dial on the speedometer climbs slowly from 60 to 70 and beyond.
Jez hunches in the front passenger seat. He is freezing in this rickety, draughty old dinosaur but he gave up trying to work the air conditioning a while ago. His voice comes from somewhere in the dark mass of his body in his overcoat, but it's hard to tell exactly where.
"It's bloody freezing. Are you sure you can't get some heat into this ridiculous car?"
Nick's eyes are wide and intense with concentration on the tunnel of headlight in the darkness ahead. They glisten as he turns his head slightly towards Jez to snap, "Hey, abuse the car when you've got one, alright? And I don't remember you complaining about not having to drive. Drunken bastard."
Jez examines the driver's glowering side profile for a moment before laughing, "Ha ha, you've got the fear haven't you?"
"Well forgive me if I seem a little serious. I'm just trying to get us there in one piece."
"No none of that. You've got the fear. It's blindingly obvious, you pussy."
They pass a road sign. Next exit for Birmingham. Straight on for London and Bristol.
Nick tries to justify his fear to the unforgiving Jez.
"Look, I'm just trying to see the idea through. It was a crazy idea. There we were on a Thursday night in the pub in the middle of nowhere as usual, bored and skint as usual. So we decide to escape the countryside, to go clubbing in the city. Which city? Any city."
Jez interrupts, "Oh, there goes the exit for Birmingham. That rules out one city anyway."
As if in agreement, Nick's foot does not flinch from the accelerator. The car keeps heading straight into the night. Nick shifts in his seat and continues, "I mean, we just dived in the car and now we find ourselves speeding directionlessly along . Some of us are feeling the beginnings of sobriety. I'm just trying to see the crazy idea through."
"To finish what you began," says Jez.
"What do you mean I began?"
"Well you're the one who's so frustrated with living with your parents. Christ, you've only been back a month. But you're always moaning about 'this rural prison' and plotting your escape to the city, where you'll suddenly have a new life and a new life-plan."
"If we're dishing out blame here, Jez, we never would've had to leave the Cottagers Inn in the first place if you hadn't got us in that situation with those guys."
"I was having a laugh. They knew that," protests Jez.
"That's not what they said to me."
"Alright, whatever, just put your foot down, let's get there."
Nick raises his eyebrows, shrugs, asks "Where?"
Jez thinks for a moment then explores some of the many pockets and folds in his great, crumpled overcoat. He finds his quarter bottle of Bells, takes a slug and shakily proffers the bottle. Bright moonlight seeps round the edges of the clouds that traverse the sky. There is a silver sparkle on the bottle as Nick raises it to his lips. The liquid sliding down his throat feels warm and good. The afterburn of the whisky causes him to cough a few times. The coughs turn into chuckles. Nick is actually relaxing. He focuses on the spreading warmth in his body and the improving mood in the car. The car drifts towards the verge of the road. Nick suddenly notices and yanks the steering wheel, swerves the car back on line and laughs.
Here's another road sign. The dual carriageway will shortly filter on to a motorway. Their spontaneous idea in the pub car park, the cry "Let's blow this joint!" is fast becoming a solid commitment. They did it to escape things like commitment. The big road sign looms over them. Motorway. The very car seems to gulp.
However, Nick is holding on to his new-found amusement at life and what he's doing with his.
"I just remembered, some of my mates from college moved to Bristol. We could stay with them, but I don't know what they'd think about us turning up in the middle of the night like this. Chances are we'd freak them out!"
Jez does not join in with Nick's laughter at their ridiculous behaviour. He seems deep in thought. A mumble emerges from somewhere in that sagging heap of overcoat and person, "It said next exit for last service station before motorway. Why don't we hit the services? Buy some time and some munchies."
Nick agrees and steers the shaking car to the left. The orange indicator lights flicker forlornly in the darkness as they leave the dual carriageway, winding down towards a roundabout. They turn left at the roundabout and approach an oasis of artificial light crowned by a glowing Shell sign.
They are now on a regular B road. The entrance to the garage forecourt meets the other side of the road. Opposite the entrance is a lay-by next to the lane in which Jez and Nick are travelling. Jez has been watching the garage intently. He sees it is quiet. He tells Nick to pull into the layby. Nick thinks this a little odd but obeys, feeling too spaced to bother about details.
The car rolls to a halt and Nick turns off the ignition. A sobering experience. The car suddenly lies silent and still and they survey the surrounding landscape of unhealthy patches of grass between worn tarmac roads. Nick stretches and yawns, "Shall we get our munchie..."
He breaks off. Jez is staring earnestly at him. Nick isn't prepared for this. He hadn't expected to see any more of Jez than that grubby overcoat for the entire journey, let alone be confronted by the dilated pupils in his dissipated mug. However, Nick has faced this burning stare before. He soon recovers his composure and teases Jez, "Uh oh, it usually means trouble when you get that look in your eye Jez."
"I know, I know," says Jez. "But we have a situation here. A situation that must be dealt with. We've come this far but we must go further. But in what sense? I mean, do you really still feel like going all the way to the city to end up in some club? Did you ever feel like it for longer than a second? We came on this journey for other reasons. Now we must address these issues and conclude the journey. In other words," he reaches into the back of the car and brings forward a double-barrelled shotgun, "let's hold up that petrol station."
Nick sounds less calm than Jez.
"What the Hell are you doing with that thing Jez? Don't stick it up in the air like that. Someone else might see it. What are you trying to do? Get us arrested? Kill us? Hey, don't point that barrel anywhere near me. And keep it down you madman. Why, Jez, why do you have a gun in my car? My car ..."
Jez lays the gun across their laps and makes calming motions with his hands.
"Alright Nick, calm down. Keep it cool. The gun is in the car because you picked me up after I'd been shooting with Dad last week (remember I had to do the father-son bonding thing), and I left the gun in here then. And now we're going to bond with the little man in the garage!"
"Yeah, then with a prison cell, you mad bastard."
Jez grips the butt and the barrel of the shotgun and leans towards Nick, "No, not mad. We can do this. We put scarves over our faces and storm in there. There's only one sorry sod in there and he doesn't care what happens to Shell's money. Our faces are covered. The car's not on camera because it's over here. In under two minutes we're out of there, scot-free, off clubbing in style or back home to pack our bags because we can finally afford to move out. Under two minutes. It's that easy. Now are you in or are you a poof?"
"You've obviously thought a lot about this," says Nick.
"You betcha. It's easy. Are you in?"
Nick looks back at his companion, who is almost phosphorescing with the intense strength of his conviction. Nick looks at him for a moment then lets out a hyena laugh.

They're lucky. The garage is empty. And it's open. They don't have to stand at the outside counter and ask an attendant behind bullet-proof glass to fetch them two Yorkies, a bottle of Coke and all the money in the till. Jez kicks the door open and explodes into the shop, his overcoat billowing behind him and his gun announcing this pheasant-shooting desperado's arrival.
They are clearly visible for the first time since they climbed into the dark car. However, they have made an effort, albeit pathetic, to hide their faces. The beady eyed security cameras mutely survey the scene, recording every detail in black and white for the men in black and white...
The first man wears a dark overcoat and a scarf around the bottom half of his head, from the bridge of his nose downwards. He has dark eyes under bushy eyebrows and untidy, probably brown hair that spills down the sides of his face and scarf. He points a double-barrelled, 20-bore shotgun at garage attendant Neil Mostin then shouts at him while approaching the sales counter.
The second man is 5.10 or 5.11 in height, the taller of the two by about 3 inches. He wears dark shoes and jeans, a light woolly jumper and a black donkey jacket. The jumper is stretched up and hooked over his nose to conceal the bottom of his face. However, the outline of his chin and jaw is vaguely perceptible through the jumper. On four occasions during the incident the jumper starts to slip off the man's face and he grabs it, pulling it back over his nose. Perhaps a freeze frame of one of these occasions would provide a glimpse of the man's whole face. He has short, spiky hair and large, probably green or blue eyes. He is unarmed and stays behind the first man but is clearly an accessory to the armed robbery.

Nick enters the shop less aggressively than his gun-toting companion. Jez is yelling at the unfortunate bloke behind the till, whose facial expression has rapidly changed from complete boredom to shock.
Jez shouts, "Don't move or I'll blow your head off. Don't move an inch. And don't touch that alarm. Don't think I can't see your hand move. If you touch that alarm I'll blow your fucking head off."
Jez advances on his victim. Nick searches the aisles of the shop for any hiding customers. There aren't any. Good: they only have to deal with the attendant. But Nick is uncomfortably conscious of being watched by the roving eyes up near the glowing strip lights. Across the shop, Jez is telling the attendant to empty the contents of the till into a plastic bag. But the attendant is also experiencing the unconsidered, action-packed high of an adrenalin rush.
He returns Jez's steely glare through eyes partly shaded by a green Shell baseball cap visor and says, "I dunno mate. That gun's pretty slim. I don't reckon it could do me much harm. Now why don't you just walk away and we'll pretend this never..."
Before the attendant can finish his act of trembling defiance, Jez is clutching his right ear, pressing the cold end of the gun hard against the left side of his head and giving him a few sinister words of advice.
"Oh yeah? You wanna get wise with me? Don't be stupid mate, it'll cost you your life. I mean that. And don't doubt it, this gun could kill you. At this range, it would blow your ear clean off. So, do you want to hand over the money and keep the side of your head or shall I just pull the trigger now?"
Jez pushes the hard steel further into the attendant's temple. Nick sees Jez's finger slightly squeeze the trigger. Feels sweat oozing out of every pore. Sees the attendant tense, as if preparing to act, to sweep the gun aside. Prepares to dive against Jez, to scream "No! Stop!" (don't take his life, don't ruin our lives). Time stops, body tenses, finger squeezes, skin oozes. Nick feels his jumper sliding down his face. Suddenly the attendant sighs and relaxes, a physical resignation: this job pays £3.50 an hour - why should I risk my neck for Shell? Nick grabs his jumper and pulls it back over his nose.
Look at those notes tumbling into the bag, surrounded by pound coins spinning through the air. The robbers exchange happy glances.
"Hurry up," shouts Jez.
The attendant is working as quickly as he can, holding a waterfall of cash above the bag.
"And don't touch that alarm until we're long gone or I'll be back in here," shouts Jez.
Tripping across tarmac to the car. Heads spinning. Jez turning to check on the attendant. One last look. Into the car. Let's get out of here. Sharp u-turn and flying away from the scene. Pulses slowing down but the car no longer feels cold.
"How much have we got?" asks Nick.
"80, 90... most of these are fives. There's probably about a hundred quid each; the bastard must've emptied the till earlier. Still, it's enough to score one hell of a smoke. Let's head back and visit the hippies. They'll still be up. They'll give us a smoke."
Nick agrees, puts his foot down. Back on the dual carriageway. The car is silent for a while. The clammy scent of adrenalin blows out the window, disappearing into the cool night air. Nick chuckles.
"You clown," he does a hammy impression of a macho gangster, "do you wanna keep the side of your head or shall I just pull the trigger now?"
Jez laughs. In the dark. In the car with no heating. Going to see the hippies with a bag full of cash.