a day at the spa

It had been some operation, the robb’ry came off rather well

They’d beat the teller to it, she’d no time to sound the bell

The bag had filled with money, wealth like nothing he could dream

And in his eye did Savvy Jacky sense a little gleam

But then all hell had broken loose – the guns! The shouts! The noise!

He spun amidst the wreck and smoke to look for all his boys

He saw them, cowering, on their knees, their hands behind their heads

He saw him then, a hulk and towering: ‘I’ll take that, thanks,’ Nick said.

 

‘Nick!’ He cried, and lion-like, he bellowed out his rage

His mouth a snarling rictus, the lion seething in a cage

For trapped he was, his armless men sat helpless on the floor

Without their guns all they could do was watch Nick out the door

‘With all that lovely money,’ Trev would later on lament

And Ed and Nige and Morris, they all knew just what it meant:

The promised break, the trip away to sunny old Marseilles

Was now a dream in ashes: the Boss was cancelling today.

 

In the other room they heard him speaking on the phone

The details of the refund struck, the holiday all gone.

They heard him say goodbye, they heard him moving to the door

Cast down and in their cups their eyes remained upon the floor.

Savvy Jacky saw his boys had given in to drink

He took in their glum faces, and he paused for time to think.

He had a heart, did Savvy Jack, and it told him what to do:

‘I’ll cheer you up, boys! Yes I will! A spa I’ll take you to!’

 

If skeptical they started out, they all soon changed their tune

They were massaged, hot-rocked, sauna-ed , they all had facials done by noon.

Indulged, relaxed and manicured they were feeling at their best

They all agreed glycolic peels is what they should do next.

‘But first,’ Jack said, ‘a mud bath! That will really do the trick!’

But not another step they took, for there stood their nemesis: Nick.

Nick paled beneath a kiwi mask, a towel trembled on his head

He clasped his robe together, and was clearly filled with dread.

 

Not a word was spoken, all were rooted in their place

Every breath was held and shock was plain in every face

The tableau, still and frozen, might have kept on without end,

Until blithely and oblivious into the scene came Glenn.

‘I have those oils you asked for, Nick,’ he said, obsequious.

‘I’ll leave them in your room for you, you’re in what? Number 6?’

 

The tableau smashed, and they all broke and dashed away as one

Glenn was rattled to his knees, an oily mess and stunned

He watched them bolt across the spa, he watched them jump the chairs

He watched them pushing through the place, he watched them with despair.

By now the frantic group of men had reached the narrow stairs

Grimly keeping hot pursuit they bolted on in pairs.

Nick and Jack were at the front, Nick’s elbows working hard

A good one got Jack in the ribs; Nick jumped on by a yard.

 

But in his haste he clipped the last step at the very top

He crashed down hard, he hit his head, it brought him to a stop.

Breathing hard came Jack and Ed, they landed several kicks

Nick’s torso only saved by Trev, who yelled out, ‘this is six!’

‘Noo!’ Nick groaned, ‘it’s mine!’ he cried, but no one heard his pleas

Morris held him, Trev bent down and frisked him for his keys.

‘Here, Boss, it’s your due,’ Trev said, handing them to Jack

Jack shook Trevor’s hand: they’d have their treasure back.

 

And when the door swung open on the scene in Nick Bane’s room

He felt a lifting of the pain, a shifting of the gloom.

On Nick’s bed sat Jack’s own bag, the one they’d filled with money

The one they thought would take them to the lands of milk and honey.

The reverie was halted by the moaning of his rival

He thought it prudent not to stall, but focus on survival.

He looked around his team of men, he saw their glowing faces

‘Trev and Morris, Nige and Ed, now we can go places.’

 

And go they did, with one last kick to quiet Nicky Bane

Heading to the airport, for the plane to old Marseilles.

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