as if this sort of thing happened to him every day. Flicking his cigarette ash onto the floor, he carried on chatting to his neighbor before they both inched away. I must have stunk of piss.
Trying to hum a tune, anything to look like a seasick drunk, I decided to take my backpack off. I must have looked stupid sitting with it on my back. Slumped forward and with the coordination of jello, I made a complete mess of it. After fighting with the straps for a while I just quit and collapsed.
Announcements were being made on the PA. My head was swimming. Were they talking about me? Were they appealing for witnesses?
The man next to me stood up and so did his friend. They started gathering together their bits and pieces. We must have arrived.
There was a sudden migration of people, all going in one direction. I just had to try and keep aware of what was going on. I moved off behind them, stumbling among the crowd. Everybody seemed to be giving me a wide berth. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care, as long as I got off the ferry.
My mind was in control but my body wasn't obeying orders. I bumped into a Finn and apologized in slurred English. He looked down at my wet clothes and glared aggressively. All I was focused on was staying with the herd and keeping the backpack on my back. I just wanted to get off the ferry and find somewhere to hide while all the shit in my body did what it had to do and then left me alone.
Following people with strollers and plastic bags, I lurched down a covered gateway and joined the line for immigration. The woman said nothing as she checked my passport. I swayed and smiled as she eyed me, probably in disgust, and stamped one of the pages. Picking it up at the second attempt I staggered on through to the arrivals hall, focusing really hard on making sure it went back into my inside jacket pocket.
Outside, the cold wind buffeted my jacket as I staggered across a snow-covered parking lot. The whole area was brightly lit; most of the cars had a layer of snow, and a few were having ice scraped off them as bulging plastic bags were forced inside and exhaust fumes filled the air.
I could see the top half of the ferry behind me, beyond the terminal, and could hear the metallic rumbling of cars and trucks leaving the ship. In front of me was darkness, then, in what seemed the far distance, some very blurred lighting. That was where I needed to go. I needed to find a hotel.
Reeling against a line of vehicles, I got to the end of the parking lot and hit dark, snow-covered waste ground.
There were a number of well-worn tracks heading in the direction of the lights in the distance. Way over to my right, a convoy of headlamps trailing back to the ferry were heading the same way. I started following a track and immediately fell down, not really feeling anything.
Carrying on as best I could, I was soon in darkness and walking through trees. To my left was a large vacant warehouse. Stopping to rest against a tree, I fixed my eyes on the lights ahead and could hear the faint noises of cars and music in the distance. Things were looking up. I pushed myself off the tree trunk and staggered on.
I didn't even see where the boys came from.
All I felt was two lots of arms grabbing me and dragging me toward the decaying building. I couldn't see their faces in the darkness, just the glow from a cigarette stuck in one of their mouths. My feet were dragging along the ground as my attackers crunched their way through the lumpy snow. I tried to resist but put up the fight of a five- year-old.
Fuck, next stop a 3x9.
They threw me against a doorway which had been filled in with cinderblocks. I managed to turn so I hit it with my back, but it knocked the wind out of me as I slid down onto my ass.
The kicks started to rain in. All I could do was curl up and take it.
At least I was aware enough to know that I'd be too slow to escape or retaliate. I'd have to wait until they'd finished the softening-up process, then see what I could do. No way was I going to let these fuckers take me away if I could help it.
My hands were up around my head to protect it, knees up by my chest.
Each time a boot connected my whole body jerked. The drugging was an advantage as I couldn't feel the pain, at least for now. Tomorrow I'd be suffering.
Maybe I could get hold of one of their weapons? At this range, even in my condition, I couldn't miss, so long as I could manipulate the thing once I'd got it. You never know until you try, and I'd rather go down trying than not try at all.
The attack stopped as suddenly as it had started.
The next thing I felt was the backpack being pulled off my back, and even if I'd wanted them to, my arms couldn't have resisted being pulled back as the straps dragged down them.
I was pulled over, exposing my front, and one of them leaned over me and started to unzip my jacket. His own was open; now was the time to react.
Lunging forward, I pushed my hands deep inside his coat. But there was no weapon; he didn't even have one in his hand.
Hands, elbows, I didn't know what they were, hammered into me, pushing me back against the wall, and there was nothing I could do to help myself. I was back at square one.
They both started laughing. Then it was a few more kicks and some cursing in Russian or Estonian. That quickly stopped as they pulled my arms out of the way and finished undoing my jacket.
I was lying in slush and could feel the freezing wetness soaking through my jeans as if the piss wasn't enough. The jacket was pulled open and I felt their hands going in, pulling up my sweatshirt and sweater, feeling around my stomach, going into the pockets. These were strange places to be searching for a weapon, and it took a while for it to dawn on me. I wasn't being weapons cleared, I was being mugged.
From that moment on I relaxed. Fuck it, let them get on with it. I'd be as passive as I could. There was no need to mess with these people.
I had more important things to do than fight muggers. Besides, in my condition I would lose.
They were pretty slick for street thieves, checking around my stomach for a tourist's money belt, with fast whispers between them in whatever language as they did their work. The cigarette still burned in front of my face as they hovered over me. Finally, ripping Baby G from my wrist, they were off, their footsteps crunching in the snow.
I lay there for several minutes, feeling relieved they hadn't been American.
A truck stopped on the other side of the building, its engine idling.
There was a loud hiss of air brakes and the engine revved as it drove on. In the silence I heard more music. Then I just lay there, totally out of it, wishing I was in that bar or wherever it was coming from.
The most important thing now was to not let myself fall asleep. If I succumbed I might go down with hypothermia, just like drunks or junkies when they collapse in the streets.
I tried to get to my feet, but couldn't move. Then I felt myself drifting away. The urge to sleep was just too strong.
29
Friday. December 17, 199B I came round very slowly. I became aware of the wind blowing past the doorway and felt some of it push its way into my face. My vision was still blurred and I was feeling groggy. It was like being hungover, only several times worse. My head still didn't feel completely linked with my body.
Curled up among the beer cans and rubble I was numb with cold and shivering, but that was a good sign. At least I was aware of it; I was starting to switch on.
Coughing and spluttering, I attempted to sort myself out, trying to zip up my jacket with shaking hands to trap some warmth. I could hear a high-revving vehicle moving in the distance-I wasn't too sure how far away, but it didn't seem far. I listened for the music; that had gone now. Once the vehicle moved on there was no more noise apart from the wind and me coughing up shit from the back of my throat. The zip only got halfway as my numbed fingers kept losing their grip on the small tab. I gave up and just held the top half together.
Attempting to get my head into real-life mode, I checked inside my jacket. I knew it was pointless; they'd taken everything, both the Davidson passport and the money I'd changed. It wasn't worth worrying about the loss; it wouldn't bring them back. Knowing if the contents of my socks were still intact was more important; feeling around with numb fingers I pressed down inside my boots and made contact with the dollars. Even more surprisingly, I still had my Leatherman on my belt. Maybe they weren't as slick as I'd thought, or maybe it had no
