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(Contains some London Cockney slang words)
A drizzly dawn placed Tower Bridge in soft focus as Duncan turned sharp left off East Smithfield to cross the Thames. Epping Forest was peaceful and he never regretted moving there, but South London was where he had an identity, felt safe. Another left took him past Tooley Street Magistrates Court and he blinked to obliterate embarrassing memories from his youth as he travelled on to Jamaica Road. Just a mile from his daily destination, his rugged features adopted a thoughtful frown as he dawdled in the slow lane. Back at Harebell Close in leafy Loughton, in their new magnolia house, a monument to thwarted ambition, Stacey would be getting young Allan ready for school. Later the postman would deliver more final reminders and she would sip her Earl Grey and think of a way to persuade him that she should go back to work.
‘Our business is moving.’ The old slogan repeated over and over in Duncan's head as he dragged open the gates and drove his decrepit Ford Granada into the yard. ‘If only,’ he thought, as he walked to the van. It used to be lines from songs, sometimes even upbeat numbers, but lately his inner voice had adopted a mocking, negative, tone. He placed the key in the ignition of the near obsolete Bedford TK pantechnicon. ‘Click.’ With practised resignation he brought the car alongside and connected the jumper cables.
“I know," he said to the vehicle whose bodywork and moving parts he had nursed lovingly for a year, "a new battery would make the difference - so would some paying customers."
A distant clock spire chimed eight as he picked up the milk, undid the padlocks and entered the nearly empty railway arch lockup. In the office he hesitated by the flashing light on the Ansaphone, then continued towards the makeshift kitchen to fill the kettle.
With the truck's engine ticking over sweetly in the courtyard and a warming coffee in the cup, Duncan's dour scowl melted a little. Gone too was the voice of doom in his brain reminding him about his unfulfilled ambitions in the furniture removal business. In its place was the chorus from Carousel and "You'll Never Walk Alone."
"Yellow Pages," he murmured, eyeing the Ansaphone, "change my luck!"
His one-truck business, MacKay Moves, finally had a listing in the classified directory. This would be the first day of customer response - if any - and he was nervous. Last throw of the dice. He rolled and lit a cigarette, fantasised about cash up front, all bills paid, a foreign holiday with Stacey and a new bike for Allan. He went tentatively towards the Ansaphone, pulled up a chair and pushed 'play'.
"Do what?" asked the speaker. "No I don't want to leave an effing message. What's the matter with people these days? Well, it's your effing loss."
There followed more bleeps, then a long agonising silence during which the second caller's brain could almost be heard fashioning a response. "Aw Gawd! Another one o’ them sodding machines is it? Thanks for nothing!" Click.
Duncan switched off and his haunted look returned. Yes, he was still walking through a storm, no he couldn't hold his head up high and yes he was feeling afraid of the dark. Terry's arrival was untimely, especially for Terry.
"Mornin’ Dunc. They've raised Tower Bridge again." He went straight to the coffeepot. "You wouldn't believe the traffic tail-back; right up the Old Kent Road."
"You'll have to go," said Duncan, staring past his employee at the blank 'Work Pending' board. Terry stepped into his line of vision, sipping the scalding black beverage, his face a contorted blend of sleeplessness, hurt and dismay. "Sit down Terrence, old pal," said his boss kicking a chair towards him.
The use of his full Christian name sounded ominous. "OK, so my time-keeping's a bit dodgy…"
"I can't afford to pay you Terry, that's all. I’m skint! Broke! Potless! I can't even afford me. I have a truck that should be in a museum, a porter who sets his own flexi-hours, enough bills to rival the national debt and a long-suffering wife who's probably being comforted by our local supermarket manager as we speak."
"Yeah but...the Yellow Pages?..."
Duncan sighed as he rewound the tape, replaying the first two calls. He let it run on, bleeps and silences indicating callers' reluctance to leave messages. But fortune smiled an eventually no fewer than six messages were noted, each requesting quotes for full house removals at a later date. He let the tape run on.
"Well? See – I told you."
"Yeah, not bad, but that's in the future, Terry. We have to survive in the present."
As Duncan went to reset the control a loud voice boomed from the machine causing him to fall back in his chair. "OK,listen up! Get this down and act on it. It's a big earner so get it right, understood? Cancel everything for Monday, right?" Spontaneous ironic smiles appeared on the faces of the listening duo. "There's a pony in cash up front and I'll double your normal price for the job plus a monkey for safe delivery, got it? Your place nine a.m. Monday. Be there! Name's Kane." Click.
"Now do you believe in miracles Duncan? That's over six hundred smackers. What if I do this job with you for free, then you can decide my future - how's that?"
"Terry, Father Christmas is a myth. He never really existed, so he's hardly going to show up in South London in early December. Can't you smell a stitch-up?"
"OK so it could be iffy, but the man's talking cash in hand. Six hundred quid for God's sake Dunc. We could buy luxuries like diesel and do long distance jobs again…"
"I'm blowing it out. We may be in trouble but we're still le-git."
The big Mercedes drew up with a screech of tyres and parked across the entrance. A tall, bronzed, slightly overweight man in a Saville Row suit emerged and walked swiftly towards the lock-up. Duncan went into the yard and met him half way, squaring his broad shoulders and thrusting his face into the visitor's. "I should move that car away from there unless you want your Monday to start as badly as mine."
"Do what?" asked the newcomer, his composure ruffled but only briefly. "Kane. I'm Mr. Kane. Don't you check your 'phone messages? You're working for me today."
"No, I'm working for me today and I won't ask you again." Duncan turned casually towards his truck.
Kane's right hand made a reflex move inside the lapel of his jacket, then checked. He swallowed hard. "OK, let's start again. I'm sorry if you misunderstood. My regular contractor let me down on Friday and this collection is top priority. It's only half a day's work top whack, it's pre-arranged and you'll be paid in readies. In fact I'll give you half the money now - how bad's that? Are you up for it?"
The trucker turned round. An appreciative whistle came from Terry, now standing next to the visitor. "Come on Duncan, the van's ready to roll…"
"I don't do bent gear and that Merc is about to become a mascot on my truck's bumper."
The would-be client laughed unconvincingly. "Bent. You mean stolen? Good heavens no." He laughed again. "On the contrary. The payment only reflects the urgency of the situation. Customer pressure you understand, and my appreciation of your co-operation. All you have to do is collect an antique desk from East London Freight Terminal and deliver it to my home in Amersham. The papers are in order and I've taken the liberty of consigning it to you for expediency." At that moment an electronic jingle could be heard in the distance. "Excuse me - my 'phone."
Terry was already sold. "You could treat the van to a new battery, pay off a few bills and still have enough to treat the missus to a night out."
"I've a gut feeling about this one Terry, he's just too convincing. Besides there's something vaguely familiar about him."
Like he could afford to be choosy? And what about Stacey and that smarmy supermarket manager who wanted her to work for him? Sure he trusted her, but she was too attractive and too naïve. Some ready cash to tide the business over for a few weeks was all he needed.
The customer returned from his car looking even more flustered. "Look, I know I've been less than tactful and I apologise. You have a business to run, I realise that. But I'm asking you - begging you - to help me out here. Please! Half a day's work? What do you say?"
Duncan crossed his sturdy arms and stroked his beard reflectively. "Freight terminal you say. I spent a whole day there once, collecting just two boxes."
"I've 'phoned to sweeten them up. I'll pay waiting time if necessary."
Terry was beside himself. "For God's sake Duncan, it's something to do if nothing else!"
"OK, but it better be kosher." He offered his hand, limply.
"Trust me, Mackay," said Mr. Kane, offering an equally insincere handshake and parting with the paperwork and money - which Duncan checked.
The deal struck, the customer's demeanour changed. "Right. Now be sure to keep your part of the bargain. And be warned - I don't tolerate cock-ups." He walked smartly to his car and sped off.
oooooOOOooooo
Driving along, with the unaccustomed elation of so much cash stashed in his denim jacket pocket, Duncan's smile returned, albeit reluctantly. The demons in his brain had whisked him to the Albert Hall for the last night of the proms. He was in the front row with the Hooray Henries, those pissed, poncey, over-privileged patriots, crucifying Blake's Jerusalem. "I will not cease from mental fight. Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand…."
But the unease was still there. At Whitechapel they had indulged the almost dry diesel tank. At the freight terminal the collection was unbelievably straightforward. Even the traffic on the North Circular Road and the M25 was so unusually sparse that by the time they left the motorway, Duncan was becoming paranoid. It was as if the whole operation had been carefully choreographed…by a ghost from the past...
"Gotcha!"
"What's up?" Terry had been dozing most of the way.
"Mister smartass Kane. Oh yeah, I've got your number now."
"You know the bloke?"
"Firm I worked for a few years back, mostly tippers and skip lorries. Kane was the brains behind the business, although I only met him once. They had a junkyard near Watford and a contract to collect scrap metal from a high-class outfit in Harlow. But the waste we collected had precious metals hidden in it, and when the crunch came Kane's manager carried the can. He went down for a five stretch along with the other firm's security chief. Company went bust."
"So now he's doing antiques?"
"I doubt it somehow, he lacks the finesse. I saw his picture in the local press about a year ago. You'll like this one Terry. He's bought this house in Amersham but it's at the end of an unmade road. So he tells his neighbours he can build a tarmac road built for a reasonable price, and they all chip in some cash. Well, the new road crumbles with the first frost and the next rainfall washes it back to its original state. Caused a right hooha. They sued but he walked, on some technicality."
"Never mind, we'll soon be rid. Next left I think."
They had driven slowly down the narrow side road when the turning came suddenly into view. Duncan had to back up to take a wider sweep and saw that the surface was the worst he had ever encountered. He pulled in at the widest part of the lane and switched off. While they devoured the sandwiches and Coke from the filling station, he collected his thoughts.
How could he sink this low? Was it really twelve months since he launched the business on the strength of verbal contracts from the big stores? How naïve was that? Six months of lucrative work, delivering furniture direct from the department stores to customers in the home counties. A mortgage on a house in the country. Playing happy families away from the dirt and fumes of the city, could that be wrong? Just the timing. He hadn't expected a recession so soon or the bigger companies to undercut his prices. And he had no rainy day fund. Stacey never complained but he knew she felt insecure.
"Of course you know how to tackle roads like these don't you Duncan?" asked Terry, out of the blue.
"What?"
"Potholes," said Terry. "There's a way to beat them y'know?"
"I know; fill them in with asphalt - a proper job I mean - not Kane's cowboy workmanship." He patted the truck's dashboard. "This will test your suspension old girl, but I’ll be easy on you."
"Huh! You really don't know, do you mate? Speed Duncan! Hit them at speed! There was this driver I knew when I worked for Pickfords….."
"Pickfords! Do me a favour. I'm still trying to correct the bad habits you brought with you from that company."
"Straight up! I wouldn't tell you porkies. Think about it - when you go slow, the whole weight of the truck swings towards the hole, so it has to swing all the way out of it. That's how you can lose control of the steering. But, if you give it some wellie, one of the other wheels soon finds another cavity and that levels it out - know what I mean? Trust me, when you drive fast you set up a momentum that carries the van along on an even keel. Try it."
"Crap!" The premonition of impending doom was back. "But what the hell! Might as well go out with a flourish." He started the engine and drove slowly on to the driveway. "Hold tight then!"
Terry slipped a disc into the CD player and soon The Ride of the Valkyries resonated round the cab. Duncan accelerated and moved quickly through the gears to fifty miles an hour. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, which was continually threatening to spin out of his grasp. Even at speed it seemed a long country mile.
With the last house in sight and his arms numb with tension, he slowed to a halt. Everything that wasn't fastened down, and some things that were, now lay scattered on the floor.
"Phew! Last time I try to argue with gravity Terry...Terry? Terry, are you all right?"
He leaned across and pulled his dishevelled comrade off the floor.
"Can't think what you could've done wrong," Terry muttered.
They stayed motionless, collecting their thoughts. Then they faced each other, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "The bloody desk!" they shouted in unison.
The straps and blankets had come adrift but the piece of furniture had shifted only a few yards down the van. It was still intact, barring a loose back panel which seemed superfluous since a more solid backing plank was built into the desk, six inches or so from the outer edge. Although all the drawers had fallen out they were mostly undamaged. Brown shoe polish, the removal man's stock in trade, restored near normal colour to the scratches and panel pins were found to secure the wayward backing piece.
Within twenty minutes they had completed the delivery and collected the promised double fee with an extra twenty on top for "a nice drink". Still wary of Kane, Duncan declined the proffered malt whisky and soon they were rocking and rolling, very slowly this time, back down the driveway to the sedate strains of The Blue Danube.
They ate a hearty meal at South Mimms Services, as Duncan double-checked their earnings for the morning's work, all the time shaking his head in disbelief. He handed a roll of twenties to his mate. "There you go Terry - you did talk me into it after all."
"Look, I'm sorry Duncan. I mean about the potholes and speed thing - I really believed…… I'm just glad the van didn't get damaged."
"My own fault mate. I have suicidal tendencies sometimes. I just felt we were being manipulated and it made me angry. I like to be in control of my life."
oooooOOOooooo
They were back at the yard when they found the white tablets; as they were folding the blankets they'd used to protect the desk. It was something Duncan always insisted should be done at point of delivery, but he’d preferred to put space between Kane and himself first. The pills were in small polythene packets, scattered profusely around the floor.
"What the hell are these?" asked Terry selecting one for closer inspection. "Hang about 'though, I know, I've seen them on Crimewatch UK."
Duncan noted the 5 stamped on each tablet and the maker's initials. He held one to his mouth and licked it. "Yeah, probably Speed – Dexedrine," he said, absently placing them in his pocket.
"How can you tell from the taste?"
"I can't. I've been watching too many gangster movies. I knew someone once who used uppers."
"But how..?"
"That sodding desk! The false back must have been crammed full of them. I just knew that job would come back to haunt us. Pass me that sack, sharpish Tel."
They filled the sack, stashed it under the folded blankets and secured the rear door of the van. The speeding car swung through the open gates, screaming to a halt dangerously close to them as they walked to the office.
"I'll handle this Terry. Take the store keys. Phone the Bill and tell them to get here like yesterday." He folded his arms to stand his ground but mostly to disguise the fear inside him. "Mr. Kane! Something wrong?"
The irate customer stopped a foot away from Duncan, his expression a mixture of distaste and disbelief. "Did somebody put you up to this MacKay, or was it just a sudden death wish?"
"Do what?"
Kane sighed. "The easy way is hand over the gear. The hard way is having your place torched just for starters. Are you beginning to understand me?"
Crazily Duncan tried to recall whether fire insurance was one of the unpaid bills. "Gear? Oh, gotcha! You must mean the packets of pills we ditched back there. You're not saying you wanted to keep that stuff are you? Don't you know the harm out of date medication can do?"
"You saying you dumped them? Where?"
"Oh, about half a mile down the lane from your house."
"Right, call your mate out, we're all going back there in your van - now!"
"I'll go with you but you don't need Terry, and anyway he doesn't need to know. Let him stay."
But Kane fetched Terry from the lock-up and escorted both of them to the truck. Duncan drove away slowly, regularly checking his rear view mirror for sight of a squad car, but none appeared.
His passenger seemed to read his mind. "That would be really stupid, driver. Remember this, if the police get involved you're the one in trouble. The cargo was consigned to you, so you're in deeper than you think. You were selected from Yellow Pages and today is just the beginning of an on-going business relationship. You'd better believe that. You didn't really think I was Santa Claus did you?"
They travelled in heavy traffic along the Embankment then up to White City where they picked up the A40. Glancing in the rear view mirror at the Hanger Lane underpass Duncan spotted a police car amongst the trailing traffic and decided to go for broke. He had been holding to the speed limit, but now he gradually accelerated to eighty miles an hour on a down slope. Aware of the increased momentum, Kane shouted to Duncan to slow down. Simultaneously glancing in the mirror, Duncan could see the expression of disbelief on the patrol car driver's face. As he activated the flashing blue light and siren, Duncan applied the brakes.
Kane's reaction was swift. "Listen to me MacKay. I have a gun pressed against your mate's ribs here and I'll pull the trigger if you say anything out of turn. Think hard."
As Duncan slowed to a halt he glanced at Terry who nodded confirmation, beads of sweat appearing on his brow. "O.K, O.K. For God's sake be careful with that thing."
The police constable had donned his cap and walked over to the truck as Duncan wound down his side window.
"I can't believe what you just did there driver; unless you wanted a speeding ticket for this old heap to impress a likely buyer. Anyway, climb down from the cab and bring your tacho disc."
"Be cool or he's dead," whispered Kane, prodding Terry with the gun in emphasis.
Duncan walked to the roadside and towards the police car. Keeping his back to the truck he handed over the tachograph read-out. "Don't look back at the cab," he said as they made eye contact, "this is a hostage situation. I was speeding so you'd pull me over. My passenger is a basket case and he's carrying a gun. He's into drugs and my mate's life is on the line if he even suspects I'm talking to you."
The amazed officer instinctively looked past Duncan without raising his head. "That's original, I grant you. Let's see your licence, driver."
Duncan produced the document from his wallet and handed it over. "What can I say to convince you?"
"Can you come out here Frank?" the policeman shouted to his partner. "Bring the breathalyser will you? This one's suffering hallucinations."
After Frank explained the procedure to Duncan his colleague outlined the driver's claims.
"Oh God, you've got to help us - please!" Duncan took a deep breath and blew hard into the mouthpiece. "Now do you believe me?" he asked, handing it back, "maybe you could tail us up and….. "
Frank took the initiative. "What d'you reckon Mike? The story's too damned daft to be a wind-up. The test's negative. Tacho and licence OK. We'd better run with it. If we don’t, and someone gets hurt……"
Mike took over. "Yeah, OK we'll buy it driver, but just one hint that you're having a laugh and your feet won't touch. Where are you headed?"
"He lives just outside Amersham. Look, I have to go or he'll suspect. For God's sake don't let us down."
"We'll radio for back-up. Don't worry, it'll be a covert op. You OK?"
"I'm shi…..just holding it together. Remember my mate's life is at stake."
Duncan climbed back into the cab and Terry managed a feeble smile as they drove off.
Kane was now agitated and sweating profusely. "Took your bloody time, didn't you? Thought for a minute you were arranging your mate's funeral. Check your mirrors - are they following?"
"Yeah, they're still with us. Hang about. Phew! Yeah, it's all right, they threw a left at the last junction."
But for the steady throb of the engine, the remainder of the trip passed in silence. Duncan stole an occasional glance at Terry and was surprised to note that he now seemed totally unconcerned. He was toying with a classical music CD and engrossed in its cover. The journey seemed endless.
God, what a mess! Sold his scruples for a wad of readies, just to buy some time for an ailing one-horse empire. There was nothing between Stacey and that store manager, was there? She just wanted to help pay the bills. Sure he just happened to live next door but he did have a vacancy - didn't he?
Eventually the entrance to the driveway appeared up ahead and he slowed to a crawl then swung wide to negotiate the sharp turning. In the rear view mirror he could see at least two police cars at a discreet distance. He gripped the steering wheel hard as it reacted to the first pothole. Then he looked across to check the status of the others in the cab. At that moment Terry leaned forward, placed the CD in the player and switched it on.
At first The Ride of the Valkyries only evoked in Duncan painful memories of their earlier traumatic experience on that road. He glowered across at his sidekick who only smiled and nodded towards the road ahead. Only when Terry leaned back to grip the frame of the seat firmly did his mate's meaning become clear. By swinging the steering wheel wildly from side to side, Duncan effectively unsettled the other passenger. As he did so he accelerated sharply and applied jolting gear changes to add to the effect of the potholes. The truck was soon lurching dangerously along the track at speed, the heaving and swaying threatening to turn it on its side.
Much later, he slowed considerably to check that his mate was still seated as they approached journey's end. Earlier he had been vaguely aware of a hapless Mr. Kane being thrown around the cab mercilessly by the momentum. Now he was slouched in the seat and lolling lifelessly.
"Hold tight Terry," Duncan shouted, then braked hard causing the dishevelled gunman's head to impact with the dash.
Terry removed his hands from the seat frame and rubbed them together to revive the circulation. Then he pressed the stop button on the CD player that had continued to play Wagner at peak volume.
Duncan sighed, nursing the ligaments of his wrists, which seemed to be swelling up. He eyed the pathetic unconscious figure of the gunman. "Call that a road?" he said, smiling.
Terry smiled across at his long-suffering friend. He shook his head slowly signifying despair. "You still haven't got the hang of it even yet, have you Dunc? That was too fast!"
The first of the squad cars pulled up seconds later. An armed response unit took up positions behind the hedgerow. Terry picked up the handgun and passed it to Duncan who laid it gingerly on the floor by his feet. In he rear view mirror he caught sight of Frank and Mike organising a loud hailer. He pulled the Dexedrine packet from the top pocket of his jacket, studied it for and while then dropped it on the floor by the gun.
"Don't know about you," he said, "but I could murder a drink right now. So tell me mate, if we were on Crimewatch, what would we do next?"
Ends.
Some definitions!
pantechnicon - large furniture removal van,
dodgy - suspect,
big earner - lucrative job,
pony - £25,
monkey - £500,
stitch-up - confidence trick,
iffy - probably illegal,
quid - £1,
blowing it out - cancelling,
le-git - legal,
top whack - maximum,
readies - cash in advance,
straight up - truthfully,
porkies - pork pies (lies),
the Bill - police,
basket case - psycho,
wind-up - irritating scam.
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