The Hunger (10 page)

—I couldn’t do this without you. You’re the best salesman I’ve ever worked with.

When we were in a café in Berlin he said something to me I didn’t like. I threatened him. He hit me. He really shouldn’t have hit me. I chased him down the road. He was
knackered after a few hundred yards. I caught him, sat on him and used his head as a punchbag. His life was saved when some men managed to pull me off.

Gerry’s wife was worried about my temper. She told him to say this to me:

—You can sell but you can’t manage. This business is better without you. You’re out.

Gerry did as he was told. We were in a restaurant when he broke the news. I threw a table on its side and ran out. If I had stayed I would have killed him. He was grateful I didn’t kill
him and, years later when we met, he said:

—Thank you for not killing me. You’re a great guy, Lincoln, and you could sell condoms to the Pope but never try to run a business.

I said:

—You’re right. I won’t. I promise you now I’ll never try to run a business.

So I say to Esurio:

—I’ll call the business
Townleys.

—Not very original but it’s your business and you can do whatever you want.

—You’re right. Whatever
I
want.

December proves to be sensational. I pass the first challenge a week before Christmas. Then I do something really fucking stupid. I try to pass the second and third challenges
on the same day. The same fucking day. Which is also the day of the Sexy Santa Party at The Club.

8 a.m. The same fucking day. Which is also the day of the Sexy Santa Party at The Club

I’ve been awake for an hour. I’m in reflective mood. For once I’m alone in my bed. I was hammered yesterday but less so than usual. I was preparing myself for
today. I go out for a run. Westminster is beautiful in the hazy winter sunshine. I’m feeling good. I smile at people as I run. The streets seem strangely calm and meaningful, as if I might
actually accomplish something on them. In this moment I am certain only of my own success. I’ve arranged a meeting at a private members’ club in Kensington for ten o’clock
tonight. Inside every drunk is a tale of missed opportunity and I am determined not to miss this one. I spoke to Rik and some of his banking friends and they’re interested in backing me if
the current leaseholders allow me to take The Club over:

—We know you can get the best girls, so if it’s got a fully nude licence then we’ll definitely consider backing you.

—Of course it’s got a fully nude licence.

It hasn’t got a fully nude licence, but this is my Big Chance and I’ll do anything to make it happen. The fully nude licence is just a detail I’ll sort out later. Gerry used to
say:

—Business is about small details. The more boring your day, the better your business.

My problem is that I’m not so good at details. I believe:

—Business is about selling and, if you can sell enough stuff, the details will look after themselves. Business should be exciting.

I’ve arranged to meet Rik at the Sexy Santa Party about midnight, once I’ve gone over to Kensington and had a look. I have chosen today to drink and snort more than I have ever drunk
and snorted before because I want to prove a point. When I told Esurio that I was doing the second and third challenges on the same fucking day, I said:

—I want to show everyone that I can handle the booze and the gear, that I can close a deal with half of Colombia up my nose and perform better when my guts are like a distillery than most
men can when they’re sober.

—That’s a very noble ideal, Lincoln, and one that I am fully supportive of. We both know how good you are, whatever state you’re in, and now is your chance to really prove that
to the world.

So that’s why I feel so good sprinting around Westminster. I think I’ve run about six miles but I feel like I can go on forever. I feel Immense. Immortal. I stop off at the gym on my
way back to the flat and hammer the weights and the treadmill for just over an hour. When I’m finished I’m a ball of sweat.

At the flat Esurio is waiting for me. He has a list in his hand.

—This is what I believe you need to take today to pass the second challenge. The day is not a day as normal people understand a day to be. This day ends, Lincoln, when you either fall
asleep or collapse.

This is what the list says:

Esurio continues:

—I realise that you will be in no state to keep a check of your progress, so I will do that for you. You can be totally confident that I will be fair and scrupulous in my counting. Off we
go, then!

I begin in my room with a line of coke, a bottle of Stella and half a bottle of wine. This is the day my life changes. More madness than ever before
and
my own nightclub. I am
euphoric.

11 a.m.

The Boss, George, Jack, Mark and I are in an office at The Club. I look at a photograph from the 1970s of The Boss and Mick Jagger. George is talking. I’m not listening.
He knows I’m not listening, so he asks:

—What do you think, Lincoln?

—I think it will be a great party. Best Christmas party ever. I’ve got all the City boys coming and I’ve been hounding all the concierges at the five-star hotels to recommend
us to their punters.

—That’s great, Lincoln, but we weren’t talking about tonight. I was asking for your opinion on whether we should change the house champagne.

The Boss looks at me. He is not happy:

—Are you in this meeting or not?

—Sorry, Boss.

—You look hammered and it’s only just gone eleven.

—Give me a break. I’ve got a lot going on today.

—I’m always giving you breaks. So now that you’ve brought tonight up, what do you think we’ll take?

—I think we’ll break all records. I know you don’t like tipping the concierges.

—Too right. Everyone knows The Club. Where else are they going to send the punters?

—Platinum Lace, For Your Eyes Only, Sophisticats, Spearmint . . .

—Are you being smart?

—No, but some clubs pay the concierges and we don’t, so this time I’ve printed the leaflets and, for every one we collect at the door, I’ll personally pay them twenty
quid a punter from my own pocket.

—I don’t like it, Lincoln.

George chips in:

—If he remembers to do it and hasn’t stuffed his money up his nose.

The Boss throws a look at George, who backs off. I continue:

—I promise we’ll hit target. I’ve been on my phone all week and I know the boys are all coming. It’s going to be massive.

3 p.m.

I take some Kamagra. I am about to ‘inseminate my second lady of the day’ in the toilets at The Office and without the magic gel I haven’t got a prayer. When
I’m done, Esurio is waiting for me at a table in the corner.

—How am I doing?

—Very well, Lincoln. I expect you to pass with flying colours.

I feel sick. I clench my teeth and wipe my hand across my mouth. I have two bottles of Rioja and three vodka tonics on the table. My phone rings. It’s Rik:

—All on for tonight, Lincoln?

—Of course.

Esurio can see I’m struggling, so he says:

—Keep going, Lincoln. You never give up, do you?

—No. Never.

8 p.m.

I can barely walk in a straight line. I’m ecstatic. I’m going to run my own nightclub.

10 p.m.

As I walk up the steps of the club in Kensington, I stop and look up at the stucco-fronted four-storey Georgian house. I am with Maynard and a Wrap called Mia. The house is
moving. I struggle to focus. There are two doormen at the top of the steps. They look at me. It’s obvious they don’t know who I am. I say:

—Good evening, you probably know who I am. I’m Lincoln Townley. Your boss is expecting me for a meeting. I’m going to be taking over this club.

I think they look at each other but I can’t be sure because I can’t see straight. The bigger of the two doormen steps forward.

—Are you sure, sir?

I take a step towards him. I stumble. He grabs me by the arm to stop me from falling. I shout at him:

—Let go of me now!

He does. I fall. I say again:

—I’m Lincoln Townley. I’m here for a meeting with your boss.

One of the doormen goes inside. In a few moments he comes out with a tall man dressed in a smart casual jacket. He is languid and has the kind of quiet presence you never mess with. I ask:

—Who are you?

—I’m Luigi, the manager of this club. And you are?

—Lincoln Townley. I have a meeting with the owner about me taking over the club.

Mia and Maynard are holding one arm each to keep me vertical. Luigi is polite.

—I’m sorry, but Mr Green is not here this evening. Can you come back another day?

I wonder who I made the appointment with. It was with a man I met in the Townhouse. We were both drunk. He said it was his club but his name wasn’t Green. I don’t give anything
away.

—Sorry, my backers are expecting a report from me and I need to look around inside.

Luigi says nothing. He gestures me to come in. If I was sober I would have been gobsmacked that he let me in. Under the circumstances I simply believe it is the respect I should be given as the
future owner of this club.

Inside the club is tired. There’s a bar and a lounge area on the ground floor. Luigi offers us all a drink. I notice one of the doormen is standing close to us. I ask where the toilet 3is.
I piss and take another three lines. By the time I’m back at my table there’s a vodka tonic waiting for me. I down it in one. I walk down a narrow flight of stairs to the basement.
I’m doing fine until I miss the last step. One of the bar staff who happens to be standing at the bottom of the stairs catches me. I can hear Esurio:

—You’re doing splendidly, Lincoln.

—I know, I know.

I turn to Mia and say:

—I want another line.

She says:

—No more. You’ve had enough.

—Enough! Of course I haven’t had enough. There’s always more. I’m going to take another line whether you like it or not.

She starts crying. I ignore her. She storms out of the club. Later on I learn that she went back to her flat, packed her stuff and took a flight back to Denmark. When I get back to my table on
the ground floor I order another drink. I say to Maynard:

—I could make a proper go of this. This whole place needs freshening up and I’m the man to do it. Rik knows how good I am. I’ll sell this to him.

1 a.m.

I don’t know how I got back to The Club but I am here. The place is heaving. The Boss is sitting on his throne in the restaurant. I go up to him:

—You see. The Club is bursting.

He leans towards me.

—Yes, it is. Now take a look at it and imagine what you could do if you were sober.

I think:

—It makes no difference whether I’m drunk or sober.

I feel sorry for The Boss that he can’t see this, but out of respect I say:

—Yeah.

I walk downstairs and see Rik with two dancers, one on each lap. I say:

—It went well.

—What?

—The visit to the club.

—What club?

—The one in Kensington.

—Oh, yes, of course, that club.

—I think they were really impressed with me.

He’s not even looking at me. His eyes are full of tits. I continue:

—If we make a few alterations to the layout and fill it with girls, it could work brilliantly.

—I like the bit about filling it with girls.

—And naked grannies.

—What?

He doesn’t get grannies the way I do. I change tack.

—And naked fannies.

—Yeah, even more brilliant. You’re a helluva guy, Lincoln. A man worth busting the banks for. Cheers!

—Cheers!

I walk towards the stairs to go back up to talk to The Boss when everything folds in on itself and The Club is twisting and a carousel of lights, sound and naked female flesh spin before my
eyes. I hear voices, laughing, screaming, crying, and my heart is pounding like a wild beast roaring inside my chest. I need a drink. I need a line. I need them more than I have ever needed them
before. I’m dying. I want to die. I want all this madness to end and I want it to go on forever and ever and everything is fading and coming back, fading and coming back. My legs are
paralysed and I’m running faster than I have ever run before. I’m standing on top of the highest building in the world and grovelling about in the dark in a deep pit and there are
people with me. I don’t know who they are and they’re laughing at me, spitting on me, honouring me as their god. There are caravans and dead fathers and smashed-up toys and blood lying
on the road and music keeps banging inside my head and Wraps are everywhere. I’m lost in a dark forest and running along deserted beaches and swimming in rivers that wind endlessly on and I
can hear Esurio. He is mocking me:
You’re mine now, Lincoln, mine. There is no way out now, Lincoln; you can never get away from me. We are friends forever.
And he’s leading me
to a tall cliff. I have chains around my hands and feet and a metal collar around my neck, and he is pulling me closer to the edge. I look over and I know this is the end. There is no way back now.
I lower my head. I am tired beyond exhaustion. Spent. The last thing I see is the vast ocean pulling and twisting in its own fury. Calling me. Esurio releases me. He knows I have no need to be
pushed. I want to lose myself without hope of ever finding myself again and I step over the edge. I can see Esurio laughing and dancing as I fall into the sea. He watches me sink down deep and it
is so peaceful under the water. Dark. Dark. Dark. I know I can rest now. It is over. I am carried far out to sea and in the deepest dark I see lights, ghosts that have swum here for centuries, and
they are stroking my body and whispering to me:
Rest now, Lincoln, Rest now, Lincoln, Rest now, Lincoln . . .