‘The two cars were from Moggerhanger Limited, and I knew they wanted me safe in their manor because I was worth close to a hundred thousand when they got me. This was the hijack. The Green Toe Gang hadn’t known that Moggerhanger had suborned me, so clearly they didn’t expect it. Kenny Dukes got out of one car with three of his pals. One of them was Ron Cottapilly, the other was Paul Pindarry and the third I’d never seen before. Cottapilly had once been on footpad duty nicking wallets and jewellery after midnight in the West End. He held me up once with a knife – a terrible mistake for him, because I punched him so hard all round the clock and up and down the compass that he ended up pleading for his life. Him and Pindarry worked for Jack Leningrad, remember? Now they’re going straight, being employed by Moggerhanger.
‘Three blokes got out of the other car. One was Toffeebottle, one was Jericho Jim, and the other I didn’t know. All of them had claw hammers, and Kenny had a shooter. While the others smashed the windows, Kenny shot the tyres. Two of the blokes came for me, but I hit one, kneed the other, and was up the bank with more bullets whizzing at my brain box than I’d heard since Normandy. I zig-zagged. Do you know, Michael, every chap should do military service. A stint with the Old Stubborns is absolutely vital, because there’s bound to be some time in your life when you need the expertise, either to defend your country, or to defend yourself from it. It don’t matter which. But the old infantry training’s saved my life more times than I care to think about. Breaks my heart to see fat young chaps riding about on motorbikes or lounging on street corners. They should be learning unarmed combat, weapons handling, fieldcraft, marksmanship – basic training for life.’
My scornful look stopped him. ‘I’ve had none of that, and I can take care of myself.’
‘Ah, happen so, Michael, but you’d take care of yourself a lot better with it. Anyway, you’re different. But to cut a long story short, one of ’em chased me up that bank, but at the top I turned and kicked him so smartly under the chin he went rolling right back onto the hard shoulder. I don’t know what they feed people on these days, honest I don’t, because the others down by the cars, instead of coming up after me, just watched me kick this bloke as if they was at the theatre and we was actors on the stage. Honest to God, I thought they were going to clap. I’d have waited if I hadn’t seen Kenny Dukes reloading his shooter. Then I was off towards some houses in the distance.
‘It was afternoon and would soon be dark, so I had to get my bearings and reach civilisation. I tell you, Michael, I felt like an escaped prisoner of war, because listen to the state I was in. After landing and getting through the customs, while we were in the car park, they took my wallet and passport and my shoes as well. Would you believe it? I’m surprised in a way they didn’t give me the needle to keep me quiet till I got to a dungeon under Westminster Abbey or the London Mosque. They didn’t think the expense was justified, I suppose. Even so, they were taking no chances, though an ambush wasn’t expected.
‘Another thing was that when I shinned up that bank I didn’t realise I’d got no shoes on. Such was my impulse to get away I’d have run through hot coals and broken bottles. As for no money, a mere trifle. Identification papers had never bothered me. I’d never known who I was anyway, except that I was myself, and that’s all that mattered. If you know who you are, other people can get at you, and we don’t want that, do we? I can see those questions burning behind your eyes. Well, I’m in a right mess, I thought as I came to a lane. Luckily I’d done a bunk just beyond Junction Three, the London side, so the next exit for eastbound traffic wasn’t till Gunnersbury, about six miles away. It would take them fifteen minutes at the soonest to turn round, come back to Junction Three and swing north to try and head me off. In that time I could do at least a mile and lose myself in the streets of Ealing. I’d driven so much around London I’d got an A to Z in my head – of the main roads and districts anyway.
‘But money was the problem. It always is. It was what got me into the mess in the first place, and now it would have to get me out. I’d a few Swiss francs in coins in one pocket, and the equivalent of ten bob in the other – very useful for a bloke on the run, though not much cop for the likes of me. I had to think fast. I was walking so quick that in about twenty minutes – they hadn’t taken my watch – I got to Southall station. The sodium lights glowed, and I skulked along as if wanted by every police force or outlaw gang in the world. This wasn’t how I was feeling, Michael. It was tactical. I was really out of my mind with happiness at having got away. I knew that if they were looking for me they’d be expecting to spot an over-confident tall thinnish fellow walking along as if he owned the world – barefoot or not. So I pulled up the collar of my hundred guinea bespoke suit, fastened all three buttons, pulled my tie off and looped it round my waist, and sloped along in the shadows like a wino who’d just been given a talking-to by a do-gooder from Eel Pie Island. And as for that railway station, don’t think I would go into it in my present physical state. Not on your big soft cock. If they swung off that Gunnersbury roundabout and looked at the map that’s the first place their eyes would light on. They could be as tactical as I was when they’d been thwarted. I hope this tale’s something you’re learning a bit from, Michael. It’s a bit cautionary, like, in more ways than one.’
I gave him a nod.
‘Well, thank goodness the district was more like Bombay than Blighty, because I found an Indian Allsort store where I knew I could do a little trading, and went in out of the cold and dark. They had everything for sale, from cheap wristwatches and Russian junk radios to a second-hand clothes department behind a curtain. The chap who ran it was tall, very handsome and wore a turban. A couple of kids played on the floor, and his wife sat by the checkout.’
‘“What can I do for you?” he asked me.
‘“I’m in trouble,” I told him. You have to come straight out with it at such times. I have an instinct, Michael. I can always spot a face that’s going to help me. I knew he wouldn’t panic, or turn me in after offering me a cup of strong tea with all the sugar I want, like your average Englishman – or anyone else, come to that. I laid my case straight in front of him. “I’ve been robbed, and this is how they left me. I’d just got off the plane after two years in the States, and these white thugs stuck me up at gunpoint, bundled me into a car, took everything I’d got and threw me on the motorway. Can you help me?”
‘“Piss off,” he said. “Get away from my shop, you National Front pig, or I’ll call the police, and even if they beat me up, burn my shop, club my kids and loot any stock that’s left they’ll still pin something on you for pulling them away from their tea.” These Good Samaritans always begin like that, but after half an hour’s chat and several cups of liquid boot polish I sold him my hundred-guinea suit for two, bought a suit and a pair of shoes for a quid that he’d got from a jumble sale for two bob, gave him a quid for the loan of a razor and permission to use it in his lavatory, then gave my foreign coins to his kids in exchange for an old cap, and parted the best of friends. I’ll never forget him. He saved my life and, what’s more, Michael – forgive me if at this point I get sentimental – he knew it, too. The robbing bastard was the salt of the earth. Ah, Michael, I love people! They never let you down – most of ’em.’
‘If you shove all your platitudes up your arse,’ I said, ‘you’ll grow into an oak tree. Get on with your lies.’
He scratched his nose. ‘After that, it was easy. I didn’t get a train to Wales, or the Cotswolds – if trains run in them places anymore. Nor did I hitch as far out of London as I could get. Not your cunning old Bill he didn’t, as that fiendish psychologist would tell them I had when they woke him up next morning. I got into London unspotted, and went to my flat to get money I’d stashed away for emergencies, and a case of things to tide me over. Then I rented a little fleapit room in Somers Town, thinking it better to be in the eye of the storm than on the periphery where an unexpected hurricane can blow up at any minute. That’s bad for the n
erves, and I don’t like things playing on my nerves, especially when it’s not necessary. We used to call it the indirect approach, Michael, remember? Nowadays it’s known as lateral thinking. When I was a kid it was plain common sense. So then I wrote to you, and put an advert in The Times and here we are. And that’s my story. Now you can see what a fiendish three-cornered fix I’m in.’
Three
I didn’t believe a word of it. The only fact I got from such a rigmarole was that Dr Anderson the psychologist was in the pay of Moggerhanger and the Green Toe Gang. That rang true enough, because he was the brother of the ex-husband of my wife Bridgitte, the father of Smog, and both Andersons were as villainous and devious as they come. The present Anderson was obviously selling information from one gang to the other.
It didn’t surprise me but, true or not, Bill seemed relieved that the story was off his chest and that he had found someone to listen to whom the information would be as deadly to know about as it was to himself. To me he was like the plague, and always had been, a carrier of downfall and death. Everything that had gone wrong in my life had been due to him, yet why had I answered his summons to London? He was brother, uncle and childhood pal rolled into one, and with me till the end of my life. It is only fair to record that a lot of the good things that happened had been due to him as well. ‘I’m thinking,’ I said, seeing the question on his lips.
‘You’d better be.’
‘I know you’re in trouble. I believe it now, but don’t you ever learn?’
‘Learn?’ He almost jumped off his chair. ‘Learn?’ he repeated, as if it was a new word he liked the sound of. ‘Michael, I learn all the time. Every minute of my life, I learn. I go to sleep at night asking: “What have I learned today?” And I wake up in the morning wondering: “What can I learn?” But the sad fact is that I’d need six lives to learn enough to do myself any good. I could learn everything there is to learn and still get stabbed in the fifth rib down by that little fact I’ve left out.’
‘But why someone like me, who can’t help you in the least? The logic is absolutely beyond me.’
He drained his empty cup for the third time. ‘You may not believe this, but the reason is, I’ve got nobody else. Nobody I can trust, I mean.’
I almost wept with pity. ‘I’ve been out of circulation for ten years, living a domestic though far from peaceful life at my railway station, so I can’t possibly be any help.’
He grasped my hands. ‘You can, you can, Michael.’
‘All I’ve done is wash up, play with kids, make do-it-yourself repairs on the waiting room, ticket office and station master’s quarters now and again, and a bit of planting in the garden. I’m out of condition, as flabby as a baby seal.’
He put on his sulky look, knowing I was as fit as a flying pike. ‘If there’s one thing I remember about you it was your quick thinking and the startling versatility of your ideas. Makes my blood run cold, some of the things you got up to – which is better than it not running at all, or spilling over the pavement out of control. Come on, Michael, put that thinking cap on and let’s have some good advice.’
‘You know how to flatter me. But give me a minute.’
‘Two, if you like.’ He looked as if his worries were over, though I could have told him that, having brought me back into his life, they were about to begin. I was in no mood to impart comforting advice too soon after he had made it obvious that perilous times were on the cards for me as well. ‘In view of the seriousness of your situation I believe the only game we can play is one of diplomacy. What I suggest is that you get into a taxi, drive straight to Lord Moggerhanger’s residence and give yourself up. It’s your only chance of survival.’
You’d have thought the National Anthem was about to be played, the way he stood up. I’d never seen him paler. ‘So that’s what Moggerhanger told you to say? I can see it all now. As soon as I escaped from the hijack he got straight onto you, knowing I would contact you sooner or later. He offered you a good fat fee – half at the time and half on delivery – to meet me, listen to my woes, and then advise me to “drive straight to Lord Moggerhanger’s residence and give yourself up”. Michael, I would have thought better of you than to try and pull a thing like that. I suppose this place is surrounded, is it?’ He looked out of the window, then sat down. ‘Or maybe not. It ain’t worth the expense, not when you can lead me there like a Mayfair poodle in a taxi. But it won’t work. They’ll never get me.’ He tapped his pocket. ‘I pack a little thing in here to help me.’ He stared at me, and stood up again. He was acting, but it was too early to guess what his game was. ‘I’m not such a fool as not to know that in the end I’ve only got myself to rely on.’
I did my best to look scornful, but I didn’t move, which is perhaps what convinced him. ‘Listen, if all you’ve told me is true, then you’re trapped.’ I was also a dab hand at acting. ‘It’s only a matter of time before you’re caught, though nobody’ll kill you, because they want the money back. That’s what they all want. And they won’t mind letting six months go by. They’re patient. They’ll only kill you after they’ve got their hands on the money. Now, if two gangs are out to get you (and they are, from what you tell me) then you’ve got to set them at each other’s throats even more than they are at the moment. Of the two gangs, I think Moggerhanger’s lot are the ones to deal with because both you and I know him from a long time ago. I don’t see any other possibility.’
‘You’re a lunatic,’ he said.
I put on a bright smile. ‘Lunatics survive.’
‘Michael, I don’t think you’re born.’
I disputed his flippant assertion. ‘I was born so long ago I’m dead. Bridgitte left me last week, and took the kids.’
‘I’m sure it served you right. Even so, I don’t see why you should want us both to commit suicide. The take-one-with-you attitude is all very well, but not among friends.’
‘I’m not suggesting you crawl to the Villa Moggerhanger and blurt out pointblank why you’ve come,’ I told him. ‘Approach him on another pretext. Tell him you want to join up with his organisation. The Green Toe Gang got their hundred thousand back. It was in your suitcase. You didn’t get your share, and you want your revenge. He’ll understand that. Anyway, let’s get out of here. I’m feeling like an alcoholic drink.’
‘I don’t think I need tell you, Michael, that I find our meeting particularly discouraging. I really do. Moggerhanger would just trade me in for half the money. He doesn’t mess about. During the transfer he would take the lot. Come on, then. Let’s go to The Hair of the Dog. They’ll be opening about now.’
He put on his coat, and took my umbrella – being in such a low state that I couldn’t tell the light-fingered bastard to put it back. We headed up Charing Cross Road, Bill in front, neither of us saying anything because of traffic noise and the difficulty of walking side by side among so many people. A middle-aged man with a dog on a lead intended passing us on our right but the dog, wanting to go along the wall for a sniff or two, got entangled in Bill’s legs.
Even Dr Anderson the demon psychologist would be hard put to it to find a reason as to why some people are born with an animus against our canine friends. Perhaps whoever hates dogs had a particularly hard life in his (or her) younger days, which of course was true of Bill. Such types resent dogs because they regard them as lower than human beings and don’t see why they should have a better and more carefree time than they did. Other people who dislike dogs may well be mentally unstable, or stricken with some physical ailment which makes them irascible and intolerant. In any case I don’t suppose they can stand the whining fawning bloody pests shitting all over the streets.
Not that Bill reacted violently when the dog tangled with his legs and sent a few squirts of amber piss against his trousers. He had his own troubles, and wanted to be on his way with the least fuss. But he prodded it quite gently, it seemed to me, who had by this time caught up with him, with the end of my umbrella.
The result wa
s extraordinary, to say the least. The black dog, of medium size and uncertain breed, and no doubt a gentle and fetching creature as far as dogs go, gave a squeak and rolled on its back, shivered along the belly, shook all paws and howled.
Bill stepped over it, and so did I. Neither of us realised the seriousness of what had happened. The man bent to look at what was ailing his pet, not for the moment relating its peculiar condition to the seemingly light prod dealt by Bill. He may not even have noticed. We speeded up, to the tune of the man wailing that his dog was having a fit. Perhaps it was dead. As quick as that. It maybe wasn’t as bad as he thought, though something had certainly gone wrong as a result of the playful tap from the umbrella.
Running away from trouble seemed undignified, and I thought here was an opportunity to act on my idea of being more honest and responsible. ‘Let’s go back and see what’s wrong.’
He grabbed my arm, the berserker tone in his voice taking on a quality that I hated but which my blood could not ignore: ‘Run! For fuck’s sake, run!’
Life Goes On Page 4
