Chapter 10

 

Gopal was unable to provide Milton with much information on the Carter’s Bar or the Pyramids complex.

“They don’t like Asians like me going in there much,” he had said on the way back to the Pheasant Hotel. “It is very nice and they only like the rich Asians, Europeans and Arabs going in there.”

Stardust had told him to be there at 9.00 p.m., but Milton didn’t want to seem too keen and arrived at the bar an hour later. It was indeed an incredible building. The brochure he had read the day before informed him that it was one of the city’s leading entertainment complexes with a number of restaurants and bars.

Carter’s was located at the top of a marble staircase and a burly doorman saw his white face and waved him past a small queue of Asian couples.

He felt guilty as he edged past the couple at the front and into one of the most elegant bars he had ever seen. The high roof had colonial-style fans blowing cool air onto the revelling masses below.

The bar sprawled the entire length of the club to his left, so he edged past a couple of chatting English girls and ordered a beer. He overheard the girls talking about their schedules and jumped easily to the conclusion that they were air hostesses.

He turned away from the bar, leaned back on his elbows, and saw that the club was packed with beautiful European-looking women and an equal splattering of blokes.

It looked like a free-for-all and the alcohol was flowing like a river.

It could have been Ibiza in the height of summer.

The place was electric, but he knew tonight was probably the most important night of his career. He had to infiltrate and this was his big chance. Cock up tonight and he could probably kiss goodbye to any chance of finding out the real story of Carson Jacks. With it he could probably kiss goodbye to his career.

His head rotated around the club like that of an owl on its perch and he soon noticed a mob of seven well-dressed thirty-somethings sitting on sofas and easy chairs in the far corner of the club.

They laughed loudly and looked like a typical bunch of British lads enjoying a Saturday night on the town, only this was a school night. It was Tuesday.

Milton monitored them for a short while and noticed both Stardust and Chalky. He was in business.

The table was covered in empty beer bottles and a number of smaller glasses that showed they had also consumed their fair share of shooters.

Then Milton, who was standing in the crowd about ten yards away from them, was pushed out of the way by a waiter who was carrying a tray of flaming drinks at shoulder height and making his way towards the table. His arrival at the table was met by cheers of approval from the gang who swiftly grabbed a glass each.

Stardust declared, “One for all and all for one.”

The flaming beverages disappeared as quick as they had arrived and the cheers continued as the glasses slammed down in unison on the table in front of them.

Milton knew he had to make his move.

He walked up the two steps towards the men and was spotted immediately.

“Here he is, fellas, the one and only John Milton,” heralded Stardust.

This was met by a ranting chorus that made him feel as though he had gatecrashed a stag night. “He is the meanest, he sucks the horse’s penis, John Milton is the horse’s arse!”

Milton felt he had already made new friends.

“Come and meet the lads, Milton.” Stardust put his arm around Milton’s shoulder and led him into the lion’s den.

Stardust rattled off a load of nicknames and Milton tried to remember as many as possible but it was like listening to road directions. He remembered the first couple and just nodded as the others were announced.

However, then he was told a name that he had heard plenty of times over the last couple of weeks.

“Hi Milton, I’m Carson Jacks, nice to meet you. Take a seat. Come and join us.”

Milton was almost star-struck as he took a seat. He had built up a hatred for this man over the previous couple of weeks and yet it was one of the warmest introductions he had ever experienced.

Jacks resembled his black and white photo on the driving licence but, if the truth be known, he was a hell of a good-looking bloke. He was just under six feet tall with dark, spiky, ruffled hair. It was the sort of style that Milton saw on the wall of his local barber’s shop, telling punters that they too could look like the model in the picture for just 100 quid.

Although the club was dark, there was enough light to see that Jacks had dark brown eyes. He had a square jawline chiselled with dominant cheekbones. Milton guessed he was about 12 to 13 stone with an athletic build.

To be honest, there was only one word to describe the way Jacks looked, or maybe there were two: Perfect. Bastard.

“Stardust tells me you came to his rescue yesterday,” said Jacks. “You should have just left him in the sand considering how much work he did when he got there.”

A roar of laughter from the other guys met the comment. Stardust’s response was a middle finger flicked in the general direction of them all.

“Well, I don’t like to see anyone in trouble. Military training taught me that,” said Milton, unleashing his fairy tale.

“Who did you serve with?” asked Jacks.

“The Grenadier Guards.”

“Interesting. How long were you in for?”

“Almost eight years, until the wife decided enough was enough.” Milton had tightened up his story that day and researched plenty of information on the Grenadier Guards to make it watertight.

“Yeah, sorry to hear about the wife. Stardust told me about that too. Any tours of duty?”

“Well, the usual, Northern Ireland twice, Germany for three years and the odd field trip to Belize and Cyprus. Nothing too exciting really.”

Milton could not work out if he was being interviewed or interrogated. Whichever, he knew he had to be on his toes. His interviewer-cum-interrogator may have drunk plenty of booze but he was still in complete control. He spoke well and was a smooth operator.

“Well, it is all in the past now, my friend,” said Jacks as he drew Milton’s attention to the swathe of pale-skinned beauties adorning the bar. “Here in Desert England it is all about now and the future. No time to wallow in the past!”

“Desert England?” enquired Milton.

“Yes, Desert England. Look around you. You will see more English people in the bars and nightclubs here than you will in any city back home. Tens of thousands of us here,” said Jacks. “And as you may have noticed, we are in the middle of a desert. Hence, Dubai is known to us expats as Desert England.”

Milton acknowledged the clarification and figured it would not be long before some travel company picked up on this excellent marketing slogan.

“Stardust tells me you are looking for a job? Consider tonight as your induction to Expatriatedotcom. If you survive it, we will see what we can do. If you do not, just give us your dog tags and we will make sure your immediate family are informed,” Jacks said in a serious voice as the rest of the guys sat and stared with poker faces as though their chief meant it. Milton felt a sudden sense of uneasiness.

But it did not take long for Jacks’s straight face to break into a smile and a laugh, which sparked off another drunken chorus. This must have been a stag night.

Milton spent the next hour drinking a mixture of flaming concoctions and exotic beers imported from countries he never even knew existed. More importantly, he was getting to know the man who could hold the key to this whole operation, Carson Jacks.

He was class. He did not give away anything about himself but managed to extract plenty of information from Milton. He was getting to know his potential new recruit.

Each time Milton asked about Expatriatedotcom, Jacks simply replied that he would learn plenty if he got through the night, and, to Milton’s dismay, the next day.

“Your induction does not just finish tonight, Milton. Wait until tomorrow!” said Chalky with a wink from across the table.

Milton felt that he was sitting with a film star. Everyone in the bar seemed to know Jacks. Girls were flirting as they walked past and tried to catch eye contact. The lads outside his powerful inner circle were all pretending - or wishing - to be his friend.

Milton deduced that this was a man he would have looked up to and admired in his younger days: surrounded by friends, captain of the football team, never without a girl and always one in reserve. Carson Jacks would never have suffered from acne. School work would not have been a problem. For sure, his mother would never have caught him in his room, trousers down, with a third-hand copy of Razzle.

There was no clear accent, maybe southern although chipped away at over the years to create a clear, unique tone.

The guy was simply class.

Not surprisingly, Milton was now starting to feel fairly drunk and he was proving a hit with his new ‘friends’. He was actually enjoying his night and felt accepted. They all seemed a good bunch.

There was Kirk. Apparently he gained his nickname from Captain Kirk.

“This man will go to places that no other man will go,” said Stardust during their introduction. “Whether the woman is green, blue, has two heads or three eyes; Kirk will crack it. The man has no morals or standards! He is a 24-carat dirty sod!”

Chalky was called Chalky, not because of some tired old slant towards his brown skin, but simply because his name was Simon Chalk.

Then there was Lenny, who achieved his nickname due to his reputation as being the group’s hard nut.

“He is bloody tough,” said Stardust. Indeed, Lenny was a brute of a man but again friendly enough. A kind of gentle giant, in the same way as the man he got his nickname from, Lenny McLean the notorious London hard man of the seventies, eighties and nineties.

JT was called JT because his name was John Thomas. The lads had decided it was cruel enough being called John Thomas and so did not warrant a nickname.

Finally there was Pups. He was only 22 and the puppy of the group by some margin. He had a baby face, which made him look even younger.

Milton quickly established that while the group’s favourite pastime was taking the piss out of each other, Pups, as the most junior, was at the butt end of a majority of the jokes.

“Pups struggles to get into most of the places around here because he looks too young, but that is no excuse for him being a virgin too,” said Stardust, who appeared to be the main comedian.

“He is in our YTS scheme, aren’t you Pups?” He looked at the youngster who nodded while at the same waiting for the expected punchline. “Young Tosser on Speed!”

Again roars of alcohol-induced laughter met the joke and Pups accepted it once again by shaking his head and joining in the laughs. Not as loud as the others though.

Milton had not enjoyed a night like this since his pre-marital years.

“Right lads, finish your shandies, it is time to move to the Planetarium,” announced Jacks as they gulped down what was left of the liquor and rose in unison from their chairs. The crowd appeared to part to let Moses and his followers through to the exit.

Milton could see that that Jacks commanded respect in this town and was very much the guv’nor of the manor.

The group walked down the stairs, out of the complex and into the warm night air. They arched a left and walked for another 50 yards or so to a doorway guarded by three burley black bouncers.

“Evening lads,” said one in a deep English accent.

The group filed through one by one, but Milton was stopped by a chunky hand on his shoulder from one of the men.

“Sorry, mate, you can’t come in here in those. No jeans allowed on a Tuesday night. Come back tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Milton thought.

Jacks, who had already walked through, returned to the door.

“It’s all right Tyson, he’s with me,” he said to the man mountain.

“Sorry, Mr Jacks. Management says we have to be strict on a Tuesday because we’ve been squeezing too many in,” the bouncer said to Jacks apologetically.

“I understand.” Jacks placed a reassuring hand on the bouncer’s shoulder, which was met by a sigh of relief from the suited doorman who towered over him.

Another sign that showed Milton that Jacks was well respected. Even the doormen were wary of him.

Jacks led his group away from the door and towards the car park. As soon as they were out of sight from the bouncers he told them to huddle around him.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” he said. “We’ll all go in and Milton you wait by that window there.”

He pointed to a small rectangular window with misty glass about seven feet from the ground. It was slightly open.

“That’s the window for the toilets. When we go in we’ll tell the blokes on the door that you have popped home to get a pair of trousers.

“Pups, you go straight to the toilet. Take off your trousers and hand them to Milton through the window. Wait in the bogs until Milton comes in to give you them back. John, you just slip them on over your jeans.

“Once inside, no one can tell if you’re wearing trousers or a g-string. You okay with that, Pups? Milton?”

Both of them nodded and the huddle broke. It was as if they were approaching the final seconds of a basketball match and Jacks’s team was planning its last raid. Half the team, though, was giggling as Jacks’s alcohol-induced plan was unveiled.

Milton walked to the window and the group headed back to the entrance.

Milton could vaguely make out the doormen accepting Jacks’s story.

“He only lives around the corner and should be back soon in trousers,” he told them.

Milton leaned against the wall under the toilet window, still out of view of the bouncers.

During his five-minute wait he saw some of the most beautiful women he had ever set eyes on walk past. Some were wearing next to nothing and he knew he had to get inside that club.

Whether it was the alcohol or the buzz he was getting from mixing with his intended targets, Maggie and the kids seemed a long way away at that moment. And not just in terms of miles either.

“Milton, are you there?”

He could see Pups struggle to find him through the open window. From the commotion, Pups was either on someone’s shoulders or being lifted up.

“Yeah, I’m here Pups,” he whispered in reply.

“Okay, here are my trousers. Don’t be long ’cause I’ve only got very brief briefs on, if you know what I mean. I’ll wait in the last cubicle on the right. The furthest from the door.”

Pups disappeared and Milton started to put the trousers on over his jeans. As he buttoned them up he heard someone rush towards him.

Jacks appeared with Lenny, JT, Kirk, Chalky and Stardust.

“Come on, let’s go,” Jacks said to Milton.

“But what about Pups?” asked a concerned Milton.

“Let’s just say it’s part of his growing-up process,” said Stardust as the group headed towards the taxi rank, howls of laughter left in their wake.

As the two taxis pulled off, all Milton could think about was poor Pups, stranded in a cubicle in just his pants and shirt and waiting for his trousers to be returned.

With each time the toilet door opened, he could imagine Pups enquiring, “Milton, is that you?”

For sure, anyone that entered the toilet would think Pups was waiting for a gay friend to join him in the cubicle.

The whole scenario made Milton worry for Pups. But boy was it funny!

Pups was forgotten by the time the two-car convoy reached another city centre hotel. Just to the left of the entrance was a doorway flanked by two showpiece Harleys.

“Where are we going now?” Milton asked Stardust.

“The best club in the world, my friend, the Rock Bottom Café,” interrupted JT, finishing the sentence with a poor imitation of an American accent.

The seven men entered and were met by another bouncing club with what sounded like live rock music being blasted from the stage situated just out of view to the left.

The place was packed and Milton noticed that everyone seemed to be walking around with pints of green liquid. It looked like some sort of acid.

“Welcome to the Rock Bottom Café, Milton, the home of the Bullfrog,” said Jacks, who pointed to the drink that had commanded Milton’s attention.

The men walked through the crowds and into a slightly smaller back room housing six pool tables. The area was not as busy and there were seven pints of the green stuff known as Bullfrogs on the bar already. Apparently one of the lads had placed the order on their mobile phone from the taxi en route.

Milton could see the men tuck into their drinks and decided to give it a go.

He took a big gulp and was pleasantly surprised.

“That …” he said pointing to the pint, “… is very good.”

“Four white spirits topped up with Red Bull. We see it as God’s own concoction, sent from the heavens to make us happy,” JT roared as the men gulped down the best part of the pint in one.

Kirk, who had spent the night surveying the abundance of talent, announced, “Are you guys going to stand around here playing with each other all night or are we going to find some women?”

He led the way out of the pool room and into the main area where the band was playing on a slightly raised stage.

It was a full five-piece rock band playing classics and the crowd were jumping around like kangaroos on springs.

“That’s what Bullfrog does for you, mate,” said Jacks to a shocked Milton.

Lenny and JT finished their drinks and jumped into the bouncing masses as Milton stayed close to Jacks, Kirk, Chalky and Stardust on the side of the ‘dance floor’.

“This city is alive seven nights of the week,” Jacks shouted in Milton’s ear over the noise of the band’s rendition of ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ by The Clash.

“It’s a young man’s town and even if you’re not so young, like us, it sure makes you feel young which is just as important. This place has everything: sunshine, money, women, beaches and, most importantly, Bullfrogs.”

Another tray of the green stuff arrived.

As the night progressed into a green haze, the mob dispersed. At one point he did bump into Pups, who saw the funny side of the practical joke. He said they always picked on him but he was game for a laugh anyway. He had managed to buy a pair of trousers from someone in the toilet for the equivalent of 100 quid.

“I’m sure they’re only worth a bloody tenner,” he had said.

The last time he saw Lenny and JT they were pogoing to some Sex Pistols number and he remembered seeing Kirk living up to his reputation by walking arm in arm with a larger-than-life woman heading towards the exit.

As for Chalky, Stardust and Jacks, they seemed to just disappear at some point as people do on a piss-up. Having said that, it was now 3.00 a.m. and he had been with them half an hour earlier, so it was hardly as if they had sneaked off.

They had all gone their own drunken separate ways.

 

Milton staggered into the lobby of the Pheasant Hotel and the same guest liaison manager was sitting at his desk smiling.

Milton was pissed and knew he was going to regret it in the morning. He had just experienced one of the wildest nights of his life but was fearful of what tomorrow held.

Had he let anything slip during the night? He was extremely drunk but hopefully he had kept to his story.

Jacks had told him that tomorrow was part two of his induction. He was confident he had got through part one unscathed. But what was in store for him tomorrow?