Title: Aftermath (2/?)
Genre: Mad Dogs
Rating: Adult for language, etc
Word Count: 1,225 this part
Summary: What happened after the final scene in Series 1? Part One was written some months in advance of Series 2, but this part was started four days before, using hints gleaned from various interviews and articles. As with ‘Poolside’, which was written during Series 1, this story will follow the on-screen adventures but deal with those scenes which took place ‘off screen’ if you like. Or, if I’m going to be honest, ‘the naughty bits they couldn’t show’... LOL.
Previously: ‘Look, we don’t have time for this...’ Rick stammers. ‘We don’t know how many of ‘em know about this. Let’s just go!’ He looks pleadingly at them.
‘Youse two aren’t thinking this through, are ya?’ Woody says. ‘If we turn up at the airport like this...’
‘You’ve got a point,’ Baxter agrees. ‘And he’s bleeding like a fucking stuck pig...’
‘How we gonna clean him up without any water?’ Rick asks.
‘Plenty of water in the pool...’ Woody says, and grimaces. ‘Even with the blood, it’s chlorinated...’
‘Warm water, we need warm water...’ Rick says. ‘Dirt and blood will come off easier...’
Baxter’s mind is working overtime now. ‘Right, right, we can do this. Barbeque. Saucepan. Water. C’mon, let’s do it!’
Mad Dogs 2 - Photo copyright Sky1
Aftermath: Part Two
Baxter takes charge. ‘Woody, you’re good with the first aid so you look after him; Rick and I will get the barbeque going. Hang on... Rick, where’re you going?’
‘I’m getting the passports, man... you said yourself, we can’t go anywhere without 'em.’
‘Yeah, I did...but let’s get this going first so’s Woody can clean him up. Then we’ll go and grab the bags, change...’ Despite the heat, Baxter suddenly shivers. ‘Someone just walked over my grave...’
‘Look, I can’t do anything for him until we’ve got that water going,’ Woody points out. ‘Bax, why don’t you go and grab the bags? Rick and I’ll get the barby going.’
Rick scowls but Baxter is already moving towards the villa, leaving him with little choice.
Baxter enters the silent house, wondering why he isn’t more petrified that there might be other mafia men laying in wait for him. But there had only been one person in the car which had passed them, and he’s in the pool, he reasons as he runs through the bedrooms, grabbing clothes and stuffing everything he can see into bags and cases. In his own room, he discards the still wet cargo pants and grabs a pair of chino’s and a shirt from the wardrobe before ramming the rest of the clothes back in his bag. He looks around for a towel and wraps the soaked chinos in it before ramming that in, too. Then he checks that his passport is still where he’d left it (it is) and rifles quickly through the other men’s bags, removing their passports and shoving them all into his satchel. Once he’s satisfied that everything is present and correct, he gathers the bags on the landing and takes them downstairs. It takes two trips but finally he’s got everything in a pile by the door. He loops his satchel over one shoulder and steps outside into the glare of the sun.
‘I’m going to get the car,’ he tells Woody and Rick, who have got a pan of water going on the barbeque; it’s far from hot enough though and Woody has ripped Quinn’s ruined shirt into strips and is busy cleaning the wound as best he can with water Baxter assumes is from the pool to judge by the colour.
‘Don’t s’pose you noticed if Alvo had a first aid kit anywhere?’ Woody asks him as he walks past.
Baxter shakes his head. ‘Didn’t think to look, mate. I’ll get the car and load it up, and then I’ll have a look.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Rick says, dropping the stick with which he’s been poking desultorily at the coals. ‘This is never gonna heat up in time anyway.’ He’s seen Baxter’s satchel and his eyes narrow in suspicion.
Baxter drops the keys into Rick’s outstretched hand. ‘I’ve got all the passports,’ he says, meaning don’t do a runner on us.
Rick nods as he curls his fist around the keys and drops his gaze, walking away with a sour look on his face.
Baxter finds a rather shabby first aid kit in one of the kitchen cupboards and takes it out to Woody.
‘Doesn’t look like Alvo ever used it,’ he mutters, and Woody grunts thanks, concentrating on the task at hand.
‘How is he?’ Baxter tries again.
‘I don’t think he’s lost too much blood,’ Woody says. ‘Bit hard to tell really, but it looks like the bullet just went straight through the flesh.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Baxter says in heartfelt tones. ‘Don’t think my surgeons skills would be up to the job, somehow.’
Woody glances up. ‘You’re a surgeon?’
Baxter snorts amusement. ‘No! About the only thing I’ve ever operated on is the Sunday joint...’ he stops, swallows, remembering the last time he'd had one, sat around the table with his girls.
‘You all right, Bax?’ Woody finishes cleaning around the wound and applies a sterile plaster to the torn skin.
Baxter nods. ‘Yeah, s’pose so... I wonder what the girls are doing, that’s all...’ he swallows.
Woody murmurs agreement. ‘Probably best not to think about it too much,’ he says, and indicates Quinn’s arm. ‘Hold it up for me?’
Baxter does as he’s asked and Woody deftly winds a crepe bandage around Quinn’s upper arm.
Woody ties off the bandage as Rick brings the hire car to a skidding halt on the driveway. He leaps out. ‘I’m gonna get changed,’ he says, striding past them.
‘Hang on – let’s get Quinn sorted out first!’ Woody shouts, but Rick is gone. Baxter chews his lip. If Rick notices his passport is missing...
‘I’ll get him a shirt,’ he says hurridly. ‘then we can get him into the car.’ He looks down at the still unconscious Quinn. ‘Should he be out this long?’
Woody shrugs. ‘Dunno. But he is a bit older than the rest of us, so... maybe.’
Baxter nods and hurries into the house, where Rick is pulling on a clean-ish shirt. ‘I see you didn’t waste any time getting changed,’ he says.
‘Didn’t fancy sitting in wet pants for the rest of the day,’ he mumbles as he pulls a white shirt from Quinn’s bag. He thrusts it at Rick. ‘You help Woody dress him and I’ll get the bags into the boot.’
Rick scowls at him but takes the shirt and does as he’s bid. Baxter grabs the bags.
‘Woody, d’you want a clean shirt?’ he calls as he walks past.
‘Yeah, just grab me something would you Bax? Thanks.’
Baxter drops his bag and Rick’s cases into the boot and goes back for the rest. When he dropped them into the boot he unzips Woody’s bag and pulls out the first thing he sees. ‘This OK?’ he holds up a blue t-shirt. Woody glances across as he and Rick half-carry a slowly-recovering Quinn round to the nearside rear passenger door.
‘Great, mate, thanks.’
Baxter waits until both men are engrossed in getting Quinn into the car and darts to the side of the pool where he quickly retrieves the bag of Euros and steps back to the boot; he’s just slammed the lid down when Rick steps up beside him.
‘We ready then?’
Baxter nods and steps around him. ‘Yep. C’mon, let’s go.’