by J F Straker
As days lengthened into weeks and months his bitterness increased. At the garage he was sullen and morose, flaring occasionally into violent outbursts of rage, but otherwise taking little notice of his companions. The day’s work over, he would go home, silently eat the meal Susan often had great difficulty in providing (the pound a week he gave White came out of the housekeeping money; he was not going to curtail his own spending) and then go off to the pub. Even there he did not mix freely with the company in the bar, but sat alone, drinking his beer and brooding over his misfortunes. On the rare occasions he drank with friends a quarrel usually resulted.
Susan was not sorry to be without him in the evenings. Her brother’s behaviour both worried and frightened her. Dave had offered no reason for giving her less money, and she attributed it to his heavy drinking. But what had caused the change in him she did not know and was too frightened to ask. She did ask Loften. But Loften seemed no better informed than herself, and was preoccupied with his own domestic affairs. His wife had left him; and although she returned a month later, their reconciliation was more in the nature of an uneasy truce. ‘We may share the same house, but we’ve had it as far as marriage is concerned,’ he told Susan on one of his increasingly frequent visits; and added, when Susan protested at his easy acceptance of the fact, ‘No point in flogging a dead horse.’
Molly Wells was both hurt and incensed by her fiancé’s behaviour. He came to see her seldom, and sometimes a whole week passed without their meeting. He was moody and quarrelsome, making no lover-like approaches. There was no further talk of marriage. Molly decided that he was cooling off, that he no longer wanted to marry her. He denied this; but when she left off wearing her engagement ring he did not appear to notice the omission.
The next time they met she handed the ring back to him.
‘What’s this for?’ he asked. ‘You breaking it off?’
‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’ she said tartly. ‘If you can’t be bothered to take any notice of me, there’s others as can. You’re not the only fellow in Chaim, Dave Chitty.’
She had hoped that this would reignite the spark that now seemed to be missing in him. But Dave made no further protest. He stood scowling at the ring for a moment. Then he thrust it into his pocket and walked off.
Hurt and bewildered, Molly went home crying.
‘I’ll have a word with him,’ her father promised her, distressed at her obvious unhappiness. He knew well what was wrong with Dave, but he could not explain it to Molly. Dave was so eaten up with self-pity that he had no thought or consideration for anyone else. Not even for Molly. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, dear — I’m sure of that. It’s just that — well, he’s upset because he didn’t get that job in London. He’d set his heart on it, you know — couldn’t talk about anything else. But he always reckoned you and he would be married first.’
‘Don’t you dare say a word to him,’ cried the girl. ‘If his precious job means more to him than I do, then I’m glad I found it out before I married him.’
‘How did Dave come to lose that new job?’ asked Mrs Wells, after Molly had gone upstairs. ‘That evening he came back from London he called in to see Molly, and he told me he’d got it. It was all fixed, he said. What went wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ said her husband. ‘Dave kept quiet about it — just said it was off. But it’s upset him proper, no doubt of that. And I don’t like him and our Molly falling out. It’s a shame.’
‘He could try elsewhere, couldn’t he?’ the woman persisted. ‘There’s other jobs.’
‘I suppose so. Perhaps he has. Dave doesn’t talk about himself much.’
He shied away from the topic as quickly as he could. Dave Chitty’s troubles were too closely linked with his own for him to wish to discuss them with Sarah. She had seemed to swallow the story he had told her as to why there was less money coming in. But one never knew with women.
‘She’ll take it badly,’ said Mrs Wells. ‘I hope to goodness she doesn’t get into trouble, the way girls do these days.’
‘Molly’s got her head screwed on right,’ said her husband. ‘She won’t do anything foolish.’
But he was not so sure of this when one evening some weeks later he saw his daughter getting out of a car at the end of the lane. It was obvious that neither Molly nor the driver wished to be recognized. Their leave-taking was hurried.
As the car backed and turned Wells recognized it. A deep anger filled him, and he grabbed the girl roughly by the arm as she came abreast of him.
‘Ouch!’ she cried, startled. ‘You didn’t half give me a fright, Dad.’
‘I’ll give you more than that, my girl, if I ever catch you with White again. What the hell do you think you’re playing at, going out with a man like him?’
‘I’m not playing at anything.’ She tried to sound haughty and indignant, but her voice was not properly under control. ‘Mr White very kindly offered me a lift back from the pictures. Nothing wrong in that, is there?’
‘There might be. Is this the first time?’
‘No. But there’s no need for all this heavy-father business. He’s a very nice gentleman, and he’s always behaved quite properly.’
‘You tell that to Dave,’ Wells said grimly.
‘I’ll not tell Dave anything. Dave and me are through; I’m free to do as I please. Why shouldn’t I go out with Mr White if he asks me?’
‘Because I’ll beat the living daylights out of you, that’s why. White’s got only one use for women, and I won’t have him trying it on you. Get me?’
‘Yes. But really, Dad, I —’
‘You do as I say, Molly. Your ma and I have given you a pretty free hand, but this is where I put my foot down. You’ll have no more to do with Andrew White.’
‘But suppose he offers me a lift, as he did tonight? He’s your boss, Dad. No sense in offending him.’
‘You let me worry about that,’ said Wells.
As they walked the few yards to their home she said sadly, It’s not much fun for me, Dad, without Dave. I used to look forward to him taking me out, even if we didn’t go anywhere in particular. But now — well, it’s so dull. You can’t blame me if I want a bit of fun now and again.’
He pressed her arm gently. ‘I’m not blaming you, my dear. You enjoy yourself all you can, so long as it isn’t with White. He’s out. And don’t worry about Dave. He’ll be back.’
‘I’m not worrying,’ she said. ‘He can drink himself silly for all I care.’ As they turned in at the gate she added, thinking aloud, ‘A car’s so much nicer than a bus. I hate buses. And I hate waiting for them, too — particularly on a cold evening after the pictures.’
‘Maybe,’ said Wells. ‘But buses are safer.’
Worried, he mentioned the incident to Wickery and Forthright. ‘I don’t think she’ll do it again,’ he said. ‘I scared her good and proper. But she’s young and high-spirited — and White’s not a bad-looking chap, even though he’s old enough to be her father. And then there’s the glamour; him having a car, and money. She feels flattered like.’
Wickery nodded. ‘She misses Dave, I expect. Why not speak to White?’
‘What’s the use? According to Molly, all he’s done is to offer her a lift now and again. No harm in that, he’d say. And no more there isn’t; it’s what he may be planning that worries me. You know what a nasty bit of work he is. He hates our guts, doesn’t he? Suppose he’s aiming to get at me through Molly, same as he got at you through Doris?’
‘I don’t think he hates us. He just likes kicking people around and watching ‘em squirm,’ Forthright said bitterly.
‘I’ll make him squirm if he tries any of his tricks on Molly,’ said Wells. ‘Settle him once and for all, that’s what I’ll do.’
Loften came into the workshop, and the discussion ceased. But later Wickery took Wells aside. ‘Did you mean what you said about White, Pop?’ he asked. ‘About settling him if he got fresh with Molly?’
&n
bsp; ‘Of course.’
‘What would you do?’
‘Do? I don’t know. I hadn’t got around to thinking about that. Hope I won’t have to, neither.’
‘No. But if you do?’
‘Well — beat him up, I suppose.’
‘You’d have a job. He’s younger than you, and a damned sight bigger.’
‘Oh, well...’ He stared at Wickery, perplexed. ‘What’s biting you, Bert? You got something up your sleeve?’
The other hesitated. Then he said, ‘I’ve had enough. I’m through with paying blood money to White, damn him!’
‘Any special reason?’
‘Doris. She’s in the family way.’
Wells thought this over. ‘You mean you’ll need more money for the kid?’
‘Yes. We’re in debt already. By the time Doris has got all the things she needs there’ll be nothing over to live on. And that’s not all. In a few months she’ll have to stop working here — and what’s White going to say about that?’
The little man looked his dismay. ‘Phew! That’s a stinker, isn’t it? That’s real tough. Poor Doris! She’d have been so pleased about the kid, too.’
‘She’s still going to be pleased. She doesn’t know about the money, and she isn’t going to. She’s going to stop work, and she’s going to have the baby. And she’s going to have everything she needs for it, too.’
‘How are you going to manage that?’
‘Look, Pop. It’s over a year now since the accident. What can White do if we just draw our pay and then refuse to hand him his quid?’
‘Go to the police, like he threatened.’
‘Can he? We’ve been a pack of fools, Pop, to go on paying him for so long. He can’t split on us now — not a year after it happened. He’d be what they call an accessory, which is just about as bad as doing the job yourself. He’ll kick up rough and try to throw his weight about, but I don’t think he’ll go to the police. If he does he’ll land himself in gaol along with us.’
Wells thought this over, his brow creased in concentration. ‘It sounds all right,’ he admitted. ‘But he’s a fly character. We’d be taking a big risk, I reckon.’
‘Oh, yes, there’s a risk,’ Wickery said impatiently. ‘But isn’t it worth it? Harry and I think so, anyway.’
‘You’ve spoken to Harry?’
‘Yes. He’s all for it. He’s fed up with staying at home every evening, never being able to play darts or have a drink. And then there’s his Ma. The doctor says she’ll never get well if she stays here. Harry’s got to take her to live at the seaside, he says, if she’s to have a chance. That’s what she needs — sea air. And that cottage of theirs is damp as hell.’
‘What about Dave?’
Wickery shook his head. ‘Dave’s going to be tricky. He’d agree, of course — he hates White as much as any of us, but —’ He hesitated, frowning. ‘Harry thinks we might go a bit further than what I suggested. He says he’ll need capital if he’s going to move, and he wants to break into the garage and try to get back some of the money White owes us. I don’t like the idea myself, however much I could do with the extra cash. Particularly if Dave’s with us. Dave’s the sort of chap who might ruin everything.’
‘You can’t leave him out,’ said Wells. ‘You and Harry may have it all planned, but you can’t do nothing without me and Dave being in on it. We agreed to that, didn’t we? Not that I’m saying I like the idea; I’d want to know a lot more about how you was going to work it before I’d make up my mind.’
‘We haven’t got it planned — we’ve just talked about it, that’s all. And we weren’t aiming to do anything without you. But Dave — well, we’ll see.’ Wickery had guessed how it would be. He had warned Harry that they couldn’t have Pop without Dave. ‘The main thing is to get cracking. There isn’t much time — not for me, anyway. The kid won’t wait.’
3 The Way to Freedom
It was hot in the Forthright cottage. Bert Wickery loosened his tie and then sorted the cards in his large, capable hands, the knuckles of which were accentuated by grease and grime from the garage. Slowly he counted the probable tricks, pausing at eight and searching for another.
‘May as well risk a bundle,’ he said.
Chitty laughed unpleasantly. ‘Quite a gambler, aren’t you? Doris’ll be wondering what’s happened to all her matches, the way you splash ‘em around. Maybe you wouldn’t shout so loud if it was real money we were playing for.’
The others made no comment. They played the hand listlessly, their thoughts elsewhere. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the slur and snap of cards collected and laid down were the only sounds in the room. As the last trick was played Wickery leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
‘Solo doesn’t seem to be my game,’ he said. ‘This is the third week we’ve been playing, and I still haven’t got a bundle.’
Chitty pushed his chair back noisily and stood up. ‘It’s no good without money,’ he said impatiently. ‘You chaps all overbid your hands. There’s no sense to it.’
Wells edged a finger round the inside of his collar. ‘Phew! It’s hot in here. Mind if I open a window, Harry?’
‘Go ahead,’ said Forthright. He went over to the radio and tuned in to the Light Programme. A burst of applause filled the air. As it died away a woman began to sing, her voice lush in the sentimentality of a popular song. Forthright came back to the table and began to shuffle the cards. ‘You playing, Dave?’
‘No. I’ve had enough. I’d rather talk about what’s going to happen to White.’
‘There’s a long while to go before we pack it in,’ Wickery pointed out. ‘We may as well play cards as twiddle our thumbs. As for White — I thought that was all settled.’
‘Not for me it isn’t. I think we ought to do him in. And Harry agrees with me, don’t you, Harry?’
Forthright did not answer, but went on shuffling the cards, avoiding the three pairs of eyes now focused on him.
‘Well?’ demanded Wells. ‘Do you, Harry?’
‘I don’t know. There’s a lot in what Dave says. If we take this money and then stick our toes in we’re leaving White a free hand. Bert says there’s nothing he can do; but he’s a crafty devil, and he won’t take it lying down. He’s safer dead, and that’s a fact. But murder...well, I don’t know about that.’
Wickery rounded on them, distrust and apprehension in his eyes. ‘You cut that out, all of you. When this thing started we were just going to refuse to pay him his damned quid. Then Harry had this idea of trying to get back some of the money he owes us. I didn’t like it, and I still don’t like it; but if that’s what you want, all right. But murder!’ He shivered. ‘God, no!’
‘It’s just talk — they don’t mean it.’ Wells tried to reassure him. He didn’t much care one way or the other what happened to White, but he didn’t want Bert upset. Not at that stage. ‘If it came to the point they couldn’t kill a man in cold blood any more than you could.’
‘Oh yes, I could,’ said Chitty. ‘It’d be dead easy. And there’s no question of cold blood where White’s concerned. Every time I look at the swine my blood boils.’
Forthright nodded. ‘I feel like that too,’ he admitted. ‘When I hand over his blasted quid I want to poke him on the snout instead. At first I used to tell myself it was a sort of justice on us — his blackmailing us because of Mrs Gooch, I mean. But not now.’ He sighed. ‘It’d do me a power of good to knock his ruddy block off.’
Wickery tried to pull himself together. The plot was getting out of hand. What had begun as a simple stand against White’s tyranny was developing into a major crime. If he didn’t stop it...
‘There’s to be no murder and no funny business,’ he said with all the firmness he could muster. ‘Unless that’s understood right now you can count me out. And if you try to carry on without me I’ll warn White.’
‘It wouldn’t be because you’re related by marriage, I suppose?’ Chitty’s tone was calculatingly i
nsolent. ‘The dear wife’s uncle, and all that?’
Wickery controlled his temper. ‘I’ve put up with a good deal from you, Dave, but I’ll not stand much more of it. You know damned well that I’ve suffered more from White than any of you. I just don’t happen to like murder, that’s all.’
‘Bert’s right,’ said Forthright. ‘Murder’s a nasty business — we’d best leave it alone. We’ll just take the money and then, come Friday, refuse to pay him his blasted quid.’
‘You’re sure he still keeps the money in his room?’ Wells asked Wickery.
‘Doris says so. It’s in a metal box under his bed.’
‘How much do you think there’d be?’ ‘I don’t know. I didn’t like to ask Doris too many questions, in case she smelt a rat. But several hundred quid, I imagine.’
‘Do we take the lot?’
Wickery frowned, hesitating. ‘Yes, that’s a point. If we take more than he owes us it’ll be stealing. I don’t like that. But the box will be locked — we wouldn’t be able to open it in his room. Too dangerous.’
‘You fellows make me sick,’ exclaimed Chitty. ‘What is this, a Sunday school outing? Of course we take the lot — and anything more we can lay our hands on.’
‘Hear, hear!’ said Forthright. ‘If we’re going to do the job don’t let’s be squeamish about it. The amount won’t make any difference if we’re caught. White owes us a damned sight more than two hundred quid, or whatever it is we’ve paid him.’
‘Well, when do we get it?’ Chitty demanded. ‘I’m sick of all this talk.’
‘We could make it next Tuesday,’ said Forthright. He turned to Wickery. ‘Okay by you, Bert?’
