Michelin Start-Up

“I can’t believe I fell for another of your stupid ideas.”

“How was I to know they had guard dogs.”

“You plan ahead, you muppet! You survey the location, jot down times of comings and goings, and discreetly make enquiries as to their security setup.”

“I did all that! Even made friends wif one of the secretaries, Jan. I’d bring her sandwiches each lunchtime, and we’d sit on that wall just below us, talking.”

“And…?”

“You know. What she did on the weekends, what films she’d seen. Normal chitchat.”

“Anything about operating hours, security cameras, and do they have any fucking guard dogs?”

“Nah, I wanted to get to know her a bit better, first. Rome wasn’t built in a day. It takes time to gather intelligence.”

“Eric, you’re definitely living proof of that.”

Tom Daley and Eric Watkins perched precariously up a tree trunk inside the yard of their local meat processing plant, avoiding two large German Shepherd dogs loudly barking up at them.

“We fall and we’re their dinner,” Tom worried. “Can see the headline now, Dogs knacker knacker’s-yard thieves. Pasted right next to the page three topless girl in tomorrow’s Sun newspaper.”

“This ain’t a knacker’s yard. It’s a meat processing plant,” Eric corrected him. “They don’t kill anything here.”

“Yeah?” questioned Tom. “Tell that to the dogs.”

Recently released from doing a stretch in prison – the result of a bungled bank heist that Eric miscalculated, Tom had hoped to use new culinary skills learned inside to launch his career as a chef outside. However, after Eric had visited him in prison and ran afoul of a real-live-chef inmate, Tom’s name was blackballed amongst many of the fine dining establishments dotted around 1970s London. However, Eric concocted a novel idea to kickstart Tom’s culinary career. Short on funding and long on ideas, he took the initiative to help his struggling friend out. With no chance at a normal business loan from a bank, Eric acquired an old food van from his uncle, then fitted it out for use as a mobile Bistro, before presenting it to Tom as a way of apologising for messing things up.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tom wondered. “How’d you afford the van?”

“Contacts here, contacts there,” replied Eric, nonchalantly.

“But you don’t know anyone.”

“No, but me Uncle Charlie does. And, since going straight he’s started a reclamation business.”

“Reclaiming what?”

“Various means of transportation for those in need.”

“So, the van’s nicked?” Tom’s realisation almost made him lose his tenuous grip of the tree.

“Untraceable, me uncle says,” Eric assured.

“Bloody hope so. I used the last bit of my release money getting the signs painted.”

“I dunno why you named it after a tyre manufacturer.”

“What!?” Tom grunted.

“Michelin.”

“It’s not… Michelin, you tosspot,” Tom argued. “I’ve named myself after a French chef, called Michel – and it’s Michel In Camden. It’s a play on the name of the awards given to top chefs. That piss artist you found to do the lettering, forgot to leave a space after the N.”

“He was a bargain. Cash plus pints.”

“Where did you find him?”

“He was graffitiing the word, Bollocks late one night - on the side of a police van in Camden Lock. It looked so artistic; I knew he was the one for the job. The missing space after the N was due to the piece of paper I gave him, being folded in half. Right after the N. He must’ve just turned the paper over and continued writing without realising.”

“Another cock-up,” Tom chastised.

“How was I to know he couldn’t spell?”

“You wrote it down for him!”

“I know! Just goes to prove how thick some people are,” Eric ignorantly commented. “Come to think of it, he misspelled the police van graffiti as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“He spelled it B.O.L.L.I.X.”

“He’s Irish, you wanker.”

“That explains it.”

“That’s how they spell bollocks,” Tom continued.

“Well, then next time, I’ll get a bloody Englishman to do the job.”

“What do you mean next time?”

Eric shrugged his shoulders at the question - before ignorance restored its place in his head.

“Only stands to reason, dunnit?”

“What stands to reason?

“Today, your Michel in Camden. Who knows where you’ll be tomorrow.”

“If I ever get down from here in one piece, first place I’ll be is in the toilet.”

“Yeah, but what if at some point you need to expand. Maybe get a second van and get a spot in say… Kilburn. You’d then be Michel in Kilburn. Better still, as you expand the business, you could get interchangeable signs for wherever you go. Michel in Peckham, Michel in Marylebone. Me uncle would supply the vans.”

“Which would eventually lead to me being Tom in Wandsworth Prison again. I don’t ever want to go back there.”

“Yeah. Too many crooks in that place. Plus, you said you outstayed your welcome there, anyway.”

“No, Eric. I didn’t outstay my welcome. I requested a transfer because you put me in danger by shouting out in the visitation hall that the poisoner cook – my mentor - was attempting an escape.”

“You hurt my feelings,” Eric petulantly commented.

“When!?”

“Slapping me in front of everyone.”

“I was trying to make you an innocent bystander, so they wouldn’t think you was in on it.”

“My cheek hurt for a week.”

For the first time in their long friendship, Tom realised that Eric possessed feelings of vulnerability. There was a disarming sensitivity in those stupid baby blue eyes that relayed life’s complex messages to a simple brain. Feeling a growing sense of empathy welling up inside of him, Tom needed to express it.

“You fucking baby! I hardly touched ya. If I really wanted to hurt you, your bollocks would have been what hurt for a month. You’re just lucky that because of overcrowding conditions, I got transferred to a halfway house after the review board took into account my good behaviour and gave me an early monitored release.”

“Glad I could help,” Eric’s facetious opinion poked at Tom, while he looked around for a means of escape from the dogs.

“We need to get out of here before someone comes,” Tom stated.

“I’ve got an idea,” Eric enthusiastically offered.

“No, Eric.”

“Dogs chase sticks, right?” Eric solicited. “Wot if I break a branch off this limb and throw it? That’ll give us time to jump down and slip back out the hole we made in the fence.”

Before Tom could protest the idea, Eric snapped a twig from the tree, whistled to the dogs, then threw the small stick. The two dogs watched it sail past them but displayed no interest in chasing it.

“Try a bigger stick,” Tom suggested.

Acknowledging, Eric leaned further out from his perched position, attempting to snap off a larger piece of branch. The resulting sound of a bough breaking and Eric shouting, “Fuck” pierced the cool night. Unable to reach Eric’s outstretched hand, Tom watched helplessly as Eric disappeared through the foliage, followed by a thudding sound and a dog’s yelp.

“Eric!” Tom cried out.

With adrenalin pumping through him and a total disregard for his own safety, Tom quickly descended to ground level - ready to tackle the guard dogs single-handedly and rescue his friend. As Both feet touched down, Tom dropped into a defensive crouch ready for action. However, as the dust settled, he saw Eric sitting between the two large dogs, getting his face washed by the overexcited pooches.

“Just a couple of lonely puppy dogs, mate.” Eric cheerfully pointed out - as he petted each dog behind their respective ears. “Can we take ‘em home wif us?”

“Best leave them be, Eric. If they go missing, someone will know we were here.”

“Aww,” Eric giggled - as a big wet dog tongue found its target on his lips. “I like them.”

While Tom’s impatience grew. Eric ruffled the fur of one of the dogs, repeating,

“Who’s a good dog. Who’s a good dog.”

“When you’re done with your love-in, do you think we can get out of here?”

“Not yet,” Eric uttered. “We haven’t got what we came for.”

“Eric!?” Tom’s sense of peril put him on edge.

“It’s alright, Tom. One thing I did learn in my lunchtime chats is that as of three days ago, the alarm doesn’t work and they’re waiting for it to be replaced.”

“Who told you that?”

“I overheard her manager talking to one of the butchers. Sumfin about the little hammer in the alarm bell rusting off, and instead of a bell, it just quietly vibrates. So, it don’t matter if we set the alarm off. No-one will hear it.”

“I’m not sure, Eric. It sounds too easy.”

Without hesitation, Eric and both dogs ran over to a door with a sign that read, “IN.” Dangling a key attached to a makeshift string necklace, Eric held it up for Tom to see.

“Where’d you get a key?” Tom breathlessly asked, approaching Eric.

“People are careless,” Eric boasted. “Specially when they sit on a wall at lunchtime, eating sandwiches.”

“You little tea leaf,” Tom commented in a light-hearted aspersive manner. “You surprise me, Eric.”

Turning the key in the door lock, Eric pushed the large rectangular button on the door face to open the one-way entry.

“This is IN and that door on the other side of this large window is OUT,” Eric instructed. “Jan told me that the push buttons can be leaned on to avoid any contamination when carrying sides of beef in and out.”

“Clever Clogs,” Tom replied.

“Yeah, saves the doorknobs from getting all greasy with bacteria,” Eric jested. “Jan said it was funny to see the butchers wearing white coats with big red patches across their bums from backing into the doors to open them.”

With a friendly pat on each of their heads, Eric ordered the dogs to stay outside, then led Tom into the building. A small flashing light emitted from a black box attached to the wall overhead the door. Tom nudged Eric for an explanation.

“Must be the broken alarm,” explained Eric. “Can you hear it?”

“No,” replied Tom.

“Exactly! So, come on!”

Grabbing a couple of white coats and hats from a wall rack, Eric handed one set to Tom.

“Ere, put these on. We’ve got some meat to collect, and you don’t want to get your clothes all smelly. If anyone was chasin’ ya wif dogs, they could just follow your scent.”

“Who’s going to be chasing me?” Tom nervously asked.

“No-one, mate.” Eric confidently replied. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

“Oh.”

“So, don’t worry. It’ll be like money for old rope,” Eric added. “When you cook up your Gordon Blue, Fill-It Mig-non steaks for your customers, no-one will know where you got the meat from.”

Leading Tom across the open-plan floor to the Chiller Room situated against the opposite wall, Eric pulled on the large door handle to the Walk-in cooler and stepped inside - while Tom lingered outside in the large hall. Almost immediately, Eric reappeared with a side of beef thrown over his shoulder.

“Ere, make yerself useful and hold this.”

Slinging the raw slab of beef over Tom’s shoulder, Eric returned to the cooler, as Tom staggered from the big weight of prime choice beef precariously balanced on his shoulder.

“Take it out to the van, while I get sumfin to feed the dogs,” Eric shouted through the cooler’s open door.”

Taking short but hurried steps, Tom headed toward the exit. However, upon reaching the door, he realised he was standing at the entry portal, preventing him from progressing any further. The alarm’s intermittent flashing light once again caught his attention, but this time it seemed brighter… and blue, like a police car’s beacon.

Back in the walk-in cooler, Eric had managed to cut a couple of pieces of meat to give to the dogs. Lifting a smaller leg of beef onto his shoulders, he had started towards the door, when he was surprised by Tom silently blocking his way out, sporting an annoyed look stretched across his face.

“Eric,” Tom started calmly. “Could you please repeat word for word, the conversation you overheard about the alarm needing repair?”

“What for?” Eric replied.

“For my own curiosity. Especially that bit about the rusted-off clanger. As close to the exact words as you can.”

“Alright,” Eric agreed. “Jan’s manager was talking about how the alarm was going silent, so they needed to replace the broken rusted hammer with a more modern one.”

“Alarm going silent?” Tom questioningly repeated.

“Yes, mate.”

“As in silent alarm?”

“Yeah, it didn’t work, so it needed replacing.”

It was then that the penny dropped, allowing poor Eric the realisation that the conversation he eavesdropped on, had a completely different meaning to the one he interpreted to Tom.

“Eric?” Tom queried in a tone of voice about to combust.

“Say no more, Tom!” Eric commanded as his first line of defence. “We’re leaving.”

Attempting to exit the chiller room, Tom continued to block Eric’s passage through, then calmly hung the heavy piece of beef on a floating hook dangling from the overhead rack.

“It’s too late, the police are outside… YOU PILLOCK!” He screamed – his breath instantly freezing in the room’s cold air.

“I must ‘ave been off my rocker to believe you could come up with an idea that was more than half-brained. In fact, I’d even give you credit for coming up with something that was more than one-sixteenth brained. But I can’t!”

“It was a simple mistake, mate,” Eric tried to rationalise.

“No, Eric. A simple mistake is dialling a wrong phone number or forgetting to feed your fish.”

"I don’t ‘ave any fish,” Eric hesitated in recollected thought.”

“I’m wasting my breath,” Tom resigned. “We’re nicked.”

Eric peeked over Tom’s shoulder and saw the flashing blue police car light filling the dark hall. Biting his bottom lip trying to think quickly, Eric lifted his index finger - and not for the first time in their relationship, he said,

“I’ve got an idea.”

“No, I’ve got an idea,” Tom countered. “Let’s just give ourselves up and go quietly.”

Eric quickly pulled the walk-in cooler door closed.

“What are you doing?” shrieked Tom. “That can only be opened from the outside!”

“Right,” exclaimed Eric. “Strip off!”

“What? It’s fucking freezing in here.”

“We’re gonna keep each other warm.”

“How?”

“We’re gonna spoon.”

“What!? Are you serious?”

“Trust me, mate. It’ll work out.”

“I’m not playing naked spoon games with you! I’m turning myself in… HELP! WE’RE IN HERE!” Tom shouted.

Prompted by the noise emanating from the locked walk-in cooler, two Women Police Constables cautiously approached the door. Hearing what sounded like a tirade of foul language faintly escaping from the sealed room, they drew their truncheons, then forcefully opened the door – ready to do battle, but instead, had to quickly stifle a guffaw of giggles, as they were presented with two naked men wearing white hats, laying one behind the other on a bed of gunny sacks, covered only by their white butcher coats.

“Thank fuck, you’re here,” Eric gratefully stated. “We were stocktaking and accidently got locked in here when everyone went home.”

Attempting to stand, Eric realised he was naked in front of two WPCs – who bashfully turned and faced the other direction, allowing the two men the opportunity to dress.

“We were freezing in ‘ere,” Eric explained. “I saw a film once where the best way to keep warm was to use body heat.”

“So, you both work here, do you?” Asked the taller of the WPCs.

“That’s right,” Eric answered.

“Can you prove that, sir?”

Thinking quickly, Tom smilingly answered, “We have a key. Show them, mate.”

Eric dangled the key in front of the amused WPCs, who were still not completely convinced.

“Shall we see if it works, sir?” The taller WPC suggested. Re-dressed, Tom and Eric led the constables to the door, where Eric successfully demonstrated the key’s utilisation.

“Whoever left us in ‘ere must have turned the alarm on before goin’ home,” Eric suggested.

“Yes, but the question is, who set the alarm off?” The taller WPC asked.

“Was the door unlocked when you arrived, Constable?” Eric asked.

“Funny enough, it was,” she replied.

In unison, Tom and Eric looked at each other and recited, “The dogs!”

“They must ‘ave heard us shoutin’ for help,” Eric explained. “Then nudged the special trigger handle, opening the door and setting the alarm off. Whoever that stupid bugger is that locked us in the cooler, forgot to lock the front door.”

With a short whistle, Eric called the dogs over.

“Rex, Jasper! Here boys!”

Like happy little puppies greeting their owner returned from work, the dogs bounded up to Eric, licking him on the face as he crouched to pet them.

“We weren’t sure about these two,” the shorter WPC said. They looked right vicious.”

“Not to those they know,” Tom perceptively answered.

“Right then,” said the taller WPC. “If you don’t need any medical help for frostbite, we’ll help you lock up and go.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Eric, grabbing a couple pieces of steak to feed the dogs.

Locking the front door, Eric ordered the dogs to stay, then joined Tom and his escort. Waving as the WPCs drove away, Eric turned smiling at Tom, then teasingly asked him,

“Was that a T-boner you were poking me with when we was spooning?”

“You tell anyone about this, Eric, and I’ll kill ya.”

“Shall we go back for the legs of beef?”

“Eric, was that silent alarm not loud enough for you?”

“Yeah, sorry abowt that. Fancy a pint?”

As the two shivering friends walked towards their van, Tom muttered,

“You’re buying.”

“No problem.”

“Double brandies all night, till we’ve defrosted.”

“Just need to stop by a phone box first to break open the cash drawer.”

“…ERIC!”