Lottery Dreams Ch. 06: Smell of Fear

The Dirty Rabbit pub, was like no other. With its unique way of doing things and its special view of the law, things were run to suit the people who drank in it. When Charley and Old Dave walked through the door, the air was still full of revelation. Most of the men worked at Cobol, and once the police arrived, they simply drifted off. The factory had an ongoing battle with the pub and the way it managed to collect its workers, as well as a bitter dispute over the state it returned them in.

The landlord: "Mack the Knife", stood behind the bar. " Mac" to his friends, "The Knife", to his enemies, he was presently contemplating his next trip to Calais. Customs and Excise had delivered their final warning over his buying of duty-free drinks, so Mac was currently thinking about his latest plan to defraud the revenue when the men walked in. His present scheme involved brewing his own beer in a garage out the back. Only this microbrewery would be kept very secret. In fact, it was so secret that even the local Health Authority would have trouble finding it when several of his customers were later taken to hospital to have their stomachs pumped out. Mac was watching with amusement, as some of his customers hit the deck when Old Dave walked up to the bar.

"Seen Bob?" he asked, as customers fell all around him. The temptation to join them in a strong drinking session was very tempting right now.

"Hiding in the pool room in case the police pull him in," laughed Mac. A large chubby man, he found human nature amusing, especially when he was being paid to do it. "What's this about you all winning the lottery?"

"It gets around then?" was all Old Dave would say, as they made their way to the pool room.

"Hope you spend some of it in here." Mac could see endless scope for fun sessions, with the millionaires and his beer.

"You've had enough out of us over the years," said Charley, as they walked into the pool room.

Dark and dingy, and lit only by a single spot lamp hanging over the table, the pool room was seen as the seat of HQ for the government in exile. The opposition to the management at the factory. Here were plotted all the coups against Eurco and his cronies. Long into the night, men would gather around the table, and say how much they hated the place, and how they were going to get their own back on the bosses. And every Monday morning they would swallow their pride, and go back. Beaten like dogs.

But no more.

There was a new atmosphere now, as the men entered the room.

"How much?" was the first thing Bob wanted to know.

"£50 million on the first ticket, £200 million on the second." Old Dave walked around the table, looking at the coloured balls under the fierce light.

"Christ I can't believe it!" said Bob, swilling back his pint.

"Neither can we," added Charlie.

"Only we have a problem, Bob. Remember the ticket Charley gave you to chalk up on the blackboard?"

"What about it?" Bob stared at Old Dave, knowing there was going to be a problem, so terrible, he might not get his money.

"We need it, and badly."

"Why?"

"Because the damn Euro Lottery people will not give us all our money if we can't produce the ticket." Charley feared the worsted but waited all the same.

"You don't need the ticket, just the receipt," laughed Bob, emptying his glass.

"That's what we thought," said Old Dave. "But they will not budge, and we can only collect the smallest prize."

"How much is that?" asked Bob holding glass, and wanting another drink.

"Just the £50 million."

"Just!" laughed Bob. "Why not be content with that? Isn't it enough?"

"Not when we lose out on £200 million!" said Charley in disbelief.

"Christ, how much do you want? I can't imagine that much money in the world."

"Well we can, and we want the ticket." Old Dave looked sternly at him now. "Where is the ticket, Bob?"

"Bob let his shoulders fall as he stared at the floor. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't remember what I did with it." Bob could not look the other men in the eye as the truth came spilling out.

"Why the hell not?" Charley could hardly believe what he was hearing. The money seemed to be slipping away, and the evil of Cobol appeared to be winning.

"It was whilst Neville was getting his hands chopped off. I was about to write the numbers on the board, then there was a scream and lots of blood, and then I can't remember."

They just stared at each other over the pool table, not being able to even swallow, in case they woke from a dream.

"It must be still in the factory?" said Charley, as the scenario of that day's events ran through their minds.

"Yes, it must," added Old Dave.

"We'll have to go back and get it," said Charley, realising he would need all his courage now. "I hoped I had walked out of that place for good."

"Didn't we all?" Old Dave looked around the group. "You know Eurco will think he's beaten us?"

"He might not let us back?" Bob pointed out. "Have you thought about that?"

"He'll let us back. He wants us trapped there forever."

So together, they walked out of the pub and back into the nightmare that was the factory.

But they found things had changed, once they stood before the factory gates. Cobol had shut down. As they waited before the locked gates, the men had mixed feeling about being there. This was something that had taken up most of their adult lives, and now that it had closed, a part of them had closed too.

What was to happen to them?

"They shut it down," said Nigel, as they stood there. He had been loitering around the factory all day, since the incident, and just could not leave it alone. "They actually shut it down. I can't believe they finally did it. Alright for you lot, your bread's already buttered."

"Not quite," said Old Dave looking through the bars of the gate. "Why shut it down? I mean, they are not on strike or anything? Once this is over, they could have just carried on."

"Winding up order," replied Nigel hanging his head. "Whatever that is."

"It means someone else put a stop on the place," said Charley.

"What?"

"It means someone, or some other firm, actually took legal action to close it down."

"Why the hell would they do that?" Old Dave had a bad feeling about all this. Certainly, their old jobs were gone, and the workers were finished, but this might stop them from getting their hands on the rest of the money. It was a bad coincidence.

"All the same," pointed out Bob, "we have to get in there and find that ticket."

"What ticket?" Nigel could feel a window of opportunity opening up for him here.

"Look, Nigel, we know you had ways of getting in and out of the factory when no one else could." Old Dave stood over the little man, in order to confide in him. "If you can get us in there, we'll cut you in for a million?"

"What!" cried Bob. "Why give him any of our money?"

"You shut up!" snapped Nigel.

"We need him," said Charley. "Hell, we can spare a million. Back in the Rabbit, you were all for leaving it?"

"So I'm greedy."

"Nigel we have to find that missing ticket. The playing ticket for the Euro lottery? We need it to claim our prize." Old Dave wondered if he could trust the man.

"You don't need that to get your money, just the receipt," laughed Nigel.

"With these people you do, and we don't have time to go into all that. Will you help us?" Old Dave knew the little man was treacherous, but they were trapped.

"Where do you think you left it?"

"Somewhere near the guillotines," said Charley.

"That narrows it down."

"Look, maybe you can just get us in there?" asked Old Dave.

"What, and risk the sack?"

"Nigel you are about to get a million pounds for Christ's sake! Jobs are not going to matter." Old Dave knew this was not going to be easy. "If the place is wound up, you won't have a job to go back to. Think about that?"

Nigel did think, and although his natural instinct for survival told him not to share his secrets, he gave in. "Come with me."

They walked around the factory to a tall group of trees. Through these, they climbed down to a low ditch. At the end of which, stood a small tunnel mouth.

"Through there." Nigel pointed into the darkness of the tunnel.

"What is it?" asked Charley.

"It's a way into the factory," replied Nigel.

"Where does it come out?" asked Old Dave.

"In the old washrooms," continued Nigel.

"In the old washrooms? That's the sewer!" Bob suddenly realised what this meant. "You dirty old bastard, no wonder you smell all the time? You have been crawling through the old toilet. Oh, God!"

"It's just a way of getting from A to B," Nigel defended himself, putting on an air of dignity.

"You can't expect us to crawl through a shit house?" Bob was clearly against the idea.

"You would crawl through shit for a million pounds."

"There must be an easier way in than this? Dave, why can't we just bribe the security guard?" Bob took a step back from the tunnel mouth.

"Because Eurco would find out, and stop us getting our money."

"We don't have to tell him?" Bob looked at the others.

"He would find out, I just know it." Old Dave looked hard at the tunnel and then at Nigel. "Where does it come out?"

"The old washroom. There's a broken manhole cover. You can just climb through and get over the roof. No one can see you."

"Right, let's go," said Old Dave looking over his shoulder.

"I still say bribe the guard," said Bob.

"He's right," said Charley, "it's this or nothing."

"Right come on," Old Dave followed Nigel as they made their way down the ditch and into the dark of the tunnel.

"Disease in every step," said Bob gloomily.

Nigel was so used to taking this route, he even had a torch ready on a shelf. "I've used this over the years whenever I wanted to nip out for anything."

"Is this how you get out to the bookies?" asked Charley, treading carefully.

"That, and to smuggle crisps and things, that the blokes ordered from the shop."

"Oh, don't say the poor bastards ate food that came through here?" Bob was clearly appalled at the standard of hygiene.

"You are too squeamish. Once you have been in the army you can stand anything. I've been through worse," laughed Nigel.

"I can't see a thing. Are you sure we are going in the right direction, Nigel?" Old Dave had lost all sense of direction now.

"Just up ahead."

"It would be ironic to end our days trapped, and lost down here. Just when we are sitting on all that money," said Charley.

"Yeah, a big laugh," came Bob.

The tunnel finally came to an end, and they stood by a ladder. "This is where I go topside," said Nigel.

Gingerly he climbed up the ladder and poked his head through the manhole. Seeing there was no one about it, he carried on. The others soon joined him, pleased to be out of the smelly gloom, and into the fresh air.

"What a dump," said Bob, as they looked around the ruins of the old factory. "The asylum seekers are welcome to this."

"Keep you're voiced down!" snapped Nigel. "There are still people in the factory."

"What the hell are they doing?" Charley wanted to know.

They walked through the rooms, that made up the old part of the factory. Across broken glass; dead birds, and peeling paint, to a broken window.

"Yeah, what business would they have being here, if the place was too close?" Old Dave looked through the broken window into the factory yard and the scene beyond. "Watch out, there's Eurco!"

With that, they all ducked down. Even the man's name struck terror. Charley risked a peek through a crack in the woodwork.

"Looks like they are moving the machines."

"They are!" cried Bob. "They are taking the bloody guillotines out."

"That might make it easier to find the ticket?" said Nigel.

"Hardly," said Bob sitting back down on the dirty floor with an even darker look.

"Why not?" asked Old Dave still watching the yard.

"Because I think the ticket fell in the guillotine," came Bob's bombshell.

"What! How the hell could it get in the machine?" Old Dave wanted to know.

"When I think back, it was not on the floor or anything. I must have laid the tickets on top of the guillotine, whilst I was writing the numbers down." Bob continued.

"What's that got to do with the ticket being in the machine?" asked Old Dave. "I don't understand how you think it got in there?"

"I do," came Charley. "I think I see what Bob's getting at. Once we lost an invoice on the shop floor. Eurco went mad. One guy even got the sack over it. Well, a few weeks later I was changing the blades of the guillotine, and as I took the side covers off, low and behold, there it was. The invoice had slipped down between the metal covers into the guts of the machine. No one would ever see it unless the machine was in pieces, but I found it."

"What happened to the invoice?" asked Nigel.

"I threw it away in the bin before Eurco could find it and blame me."

"He would as well," said Bob. "So that's why I think the ticket has fallen in the machine. The same way the invoice did."

"There's the bloody machine being taken away." Old Dave was close to panic now.

The plan to rescue the ticket was not going well. No one wanted to let 200 million pounds slip away, and yet neither did they want to confront Eurco. Such was his power over the men, that not one of them had the guts to stand up to him. Somehow they knew it would mean letting him get at the money. Although they were desperate to seize the wealth, they were strongly reluctant to confront the man.

So they sat there in the gloom of the evening and watched Eurco supervise the loading of the heavy machines onto the trucks, and watched with him as they left the factory. Something was clearly wrong.

"Where are they going?" asked Charley as they peeked, like naughty schoolboys through the cracks.

"Someone must have brought them," replied Old Dave, squatting by the broken window.

"Who the hell would buy clapped out junk like that?" said Bob.

"Someone starting up a new factory," said Old Dave. "Someone who was going to fill it full of asylum seekers."

"Why can't we buy the machines?" came Charley.

"That's right!" Bob joined in, with the idea.

"What if they find out why we want to buy them?" Old Dave threw a damp cloth over the whole scheme. "Then they could hunt for the ticket, and even find it."

"It's worthless without our half," added Charley, trying to see their faces in the fading light of the old building.

"We can't cut anyone else in." Bob had grown very hard on money matters since he had realised just how much he had won. "I've got enough problems stopping my wife from getting her hands on it."

"Let's forget this for now, and go back to the solicitor's office?" Old Dave could see them all nodding in the gloom, and slowly they made their way back to the tunnel.

"I'll still get my million?" Nigel piped up, as they walked by torchlight through the tunnel.

"What!" cried Bob, who never liked Nigel, even suspecting him being involved with his wife's dirty dealings. "Why should we?"

"You found out what's happening to the old guillotine? Without me, you would never have known! You could have been looking for that ticket forever."

"He's right Bob," said Charley, with some reluctance, for he suspected Nigel for some of his undoings also. "We can spare it. Fifty million between us leaves a lot left over.

"We'll just have to be content with the fifty million for now," said Old Dave making his way out of the tunnel, and up the side of the ditch, back to the world.

"Hell, you lot will take a lifetime to spent fifty million between you," laughed Nigel, scrambling up alongside them. His spirits had picked up somewhat since the promise of the money. "Can't image you even want the other money?" He pointed back to the factory.

"We are not letting it go," said Charley. "I know that much. There must be a way to get that machine? Where would they take it?"

"Storage? Or another factory?" Old Dave had been wondering himself.

"We can always bribe one of the drivers to tell us?" came Bob's idea. "We could even bribe them to sell it to us?"

"No," said Charley as they walked back up the hill to the town. "Somehow I think we have to get at that ticket without anyone else knowing."

"Too many cooks spoiling it already," Bob shot a glance at Nigel.

"I mean without Eurco knowing. Somehow I think he'll spoil it for everyone."

Back at the solicitor's office things had changed. The Euro lottery had been anxious for the winners to claim their prize and had flown one of their executives down to find out what was going on. The men watched the helicopter make its way over the rooftops, as the light was fading.

The pilot had clearance to land anywhere he saw fit. Granted him by the highest authorities. When a company wheeled as much clout as the Euro Lottery, you could fly just about anywhere you wanted. So the executive was landed, and on finding that Ampswell was little more than a one-horse town, walked across the playing field, with the rotors still whirring, to find the one and only taxi. It would have been quicker to have walked the distance to the solicitor's office, by the time he negotiated his fee. But after all, Ampswell had few visitors who flew in to meet lottery winners.

Life for the next few days was more like a dream. Charley often wondered what he would do in the first few days, of winning the lottery. But now he actually stood there, he was confused. The Euro lottery had thought of everything and even laid on a Doctor of psychology to help them over the shock of winning.

This shock had never even started until they arrived in London to receive the prize officially in the form of a huge cardboard check, and a press conference. There were a lot of camera flashes and a lot of celebrates, few of which they recognised. But all helped down with plenty of free drink. With the drink, came the realisation that the men had finally achieved something in their lives, and they were loving it. The one celebrity they did know, was Natasha.

She stood there before them, in real life, and the men could hardly believe it. Two days before, they had only seen her as a poster on the factory wall. That and the porno channel. She was polite enough but saw so many of these winners, one group just blended in with another.

It was not long before factory life had been left far behind. The men were simple reactionaries and soon forgot about their previous lives. They became blind to the needs of the, now, unemployed Cobol workers and Charley was no exception.

Of course, his lovely wife tried to come back into his life. Tearful and full of regrets, she appeared on his doorstep the day he got back from London, and the bright lights of a TV appearance. She had mysteriously had a blazing row with Brian, and now saw the error of her ways. Charley was her only true love, and the sooner she returned to her proper place, the better. After all, they had taken an oath before God?

Charley found it touching she had discovered God, round about the same time, her conscience had returned. Strangely he was not as angry about her naked greed as he supposed he should be. Would he have done the Same? Was he really any better? Plus there was a sneaking suspicion amongst the men that they secretly did not deserve the money. That they had gained it for the wrong reasons.

The Euro lottery has foreseen all this, and even provided some counsellors, to help them get over the shock, and the guilt, of winning the money.

"No one tells me how to spend my money!" came Bob, in an obvious show of defiance, the first day of the London reception. "I intend to be careful with my share. Careful, but I want to have fun in the process. No counsellor is going to wrap me in candyfloss, and try to con my money out of me."

The counsellors had seen it all before and waited. They watched, as the agents took them all down to the Rolls Royce showrooms, and waited as they did a tour of Savile Row, and still came back looking like they had picked up a bargain from a car boot sale.