Pick Up the Pieces

by J F Straker

  ‘You know why not.’

  Andrew shrugged and collapsed his long body into an adjacent armchair. At twenty-eight he was already running to fat. With his rounded shoulders and bulging waistline and florid complexion he was a younger edition of his father, a retired major-general given to over-indulgence in the pleasures of the cellar and the dinner table, and who was constantly in debt. Luke, two inches shorter and three years older than his brother, had the dark good looks of his mother. A fitness fanatic, his body was slim and supple, his skin bronzed by constant exposure to Mediterranean and Caribbean sun. Both men were thin-lipped, with grey-green eyes set wide apart in faces more oval than round; but whereas Luke was clean-shaven, Andrew sported a drooping moustache and heavy sideburns. Normally conservative in dress, tonight Luke had copied the casual gear worn by his brother; although the handmade shoes, the tailored jeans and the heavy woollen sweater reflected his expensive tastes.

  ‘I wasn’t proposing to do anything,’ Andrew persisted. ‘Just take a look, that’s all.’

  ‘Maybe. But you’re emotionally involved. At least—well, “emotionally” is perhaps too delicate a word to describe your motivation in that direction. But you know what I mean.’ Luke took out a cigar, neatly clipped off the end, and lit it. ‘Are we all set for Clarence?’

  Andrew nodded. ‘No problem.’

  He was pouring himself a beer when the telephone rang. The two men looked at each other. Then Luke uncrossed his legs, laid the cigar carefully in an ashtray, and reached for the receiver.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘He’s on his way.’ The caller sounded breathless. ‘Left ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Good. How did it go?’

  ‘The take was less than we expected. Around eighty grand, he reckoned. No snags otherwise.’

  Luke frowned. A lot less, according to what Clarence had predicted earlier. But no matter.

  ‘He’s taken it with him, has he? All of it?’

  ‘Yes. We’re supposed to carve it up later. But about my cut, now. I’ll come out and collect, shall I, like what we arranged?’

  ‘You do that, Clarence.’ Luke’s lips twisted in a wry smile as he looked across at his brother. ‘Make it about three-thirty; we should have it sorted out by then. Think you can find the house?’

  ‘I’ll find it.’

  Still smiling, Luke replaced the receiver. ‘Well?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘All set. He’s on his way.’

  ‘I noticed you didn’t specify morning or afternoon. You don’t think Clarence will get it wrong?’

  ‘Of course he’ll get it wrong. Wrong for him, that is. I told him earlier we expected to be away long before midday.’ Luke looked at the clock. ‘Nearly one-thirty. That gives us bags of time.’

  ‘Bags of time is what I need. Finding one’s way around that garden in the dark will be no bloody picnic. Particularly with this wind.’ Andrew heaved himself out of the chair. ‘What say we go now?’

  Luke shrugged. ‘Suits me.’

  ‘Good. Shall I take a look upstairs before we leave?’

  ‘You get the car out,’ Luke said. ‘I’ll do the looking.’

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