The Benchminder

by Stan Mason

Howard turned away to find a seat near Rigby’s desk. He was quite prepared to face the vigil ahead although he felt less patient than he showed by his outward appearance.

  ‘Betty,’ called Rigby, suddenly reminded of another task. ‘I need someone to get to Croydon branch. Get hold of Evans! I want that helicopter here whether Premises Department have worked out whether the roof can hold it or not!’

  ‘As they haven’t determined whether it can go on the roof,’ she informed him, ‘I’ve arranged for it to be at the heliport awaiting your instructions.’

  ‘Doesn’t Premises Department realise we have an emergency here?’

  ‘You know what they’re like,’ criticised Howard, intruding into the conversation but, from his facial expression offered by his senior executive, his effort was not appreciated.

  ‘Felix Bristow!’ blurted Rigby suddenly, pushing the plate of sandwiches away from him to the far side of his desk. ‘That’s the man I need.’

  ‘Your old personal assistant,’ commented his secretary flatly.

  ‘He’s in Money Market Division. Get hold of him, will you? Tell him I’ve got a very important job for him.’

  Betty Brewer began to search through the bank’s internal telephone directory before dialling a number.

  Rigby blew out his cheeks as if near to mental exhaustion. ‘This is one hell of a job, Ben,’ he confided. ‘One hell of a job!’ He reached out for his gold cigarette case but found it to be empty. ‘Do you have a cigarette? I seem to be out.’

  Howard reached into his pocket and offered a half full packet of cigarettes to the senior executive. ‘Word has it you;ve been giving the police a real pasting on this robbery.’ He produced a lighter which burst into flame at the touch of a button.

  Rigby leaned across to accept the light. ‘Where do people get all this news? You must have a long deep grapevine, that’s all I can say. Is it always accurate?’

  ‘As accurate as any other rumours in the bank,’ returned Howard sharply. ‘Is it true... about the police, I mean?’

  ‘We don’t see eye to eye, that’s for sure. They’ve threatened to report me to the Chief Executive whether I succeed or fail. That’s the way they feel about it.’

  ‘That’s a bit rough , isn’t it?’

  ‘It depends on which way you look at it. They believe it’s a hoax. They’re convinced that the bomb’s a dummy and the bandit’s a confidence trickster. My belief is that he does have a real bomb and that he means to use it if necessary.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’

  ‘Deep in trouble if I’m wrong and nowhere if I’m right. I’m on a hiding to nothing.’ He blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘I know that bomb’s real. I can feel it in my bones!’

  ‘Can you really be that certain?’

  ‘For years I’ve had to rely on my own judgement with thousands of lending applications. If I haven’t learned to make correct decisions by now, I may as well give up.’

  ‘If you manage to pull this off without the loss of life, you’ll be regarded as a hero.’

  ‘Come on, Ben,!’ I’m not looking for chocolate medals. There are three human-beings in deep trouble out there and I’ve a job to do. There’s no time to play hero!’

  ‘The Group newspaper will make a great spread of it,’ cut in Betty Brewer.

  Rigby laughed loudly. ‘The Group newspaper!’ he guffawed. He took a swig of coffee, rolling the liquid round in his mouth. The last thing he wanted to be was a hero. If he was branded with that term it could affect his departure after three months which was the deal he had made with MacDonald.

  As soon as his secretary had finished talking with Money Market Division, she answered another telephone call. ‘It’s Chief Inspector Church on line three,’ she told him, conveying the message in level tones.

  ‘Yes, Chief Inspector,’ began the banker politely. ‘Any news?’

  ‘I was going to ask the same of you,’ replied the senior police officer. ‘Time’s running out and you’re getting nowhere, Rigby. What do you intend to do about it?’

  ‘Have you seen the front page of the Evening Gazette?’

  ‘Do you realise that a good lead might not come for hours, if not days... maybe never? The man’s not going to hang around indefinitely waiting for you to come up with a solution.’

  ‘Come on, Church!’ spat the banker irately. ‘Someone has to know the man! He doesn’t live in a vacuum!’

  ‘Don’t be too sure of that!’ criticised the police officer, enjoying taunting the banker. ‘We had a case three months ago where the only relative of a criminal worked on a night shift and never bought a newspaper. He was a night watchman who slept the whole day. The criminal was killed by the police but we still didn’t find out his identify for ten weeks which proves you can’t rely on the media.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me!’ rattled Rigby irritably.

  ‘You’re wasting everyone’s time. The man hasn’t got a bomb. It’s probably his lunch in that holdall. Don’t; be fooled by the wires he’s holding.’

  The banker slammed his fist down on the desk in annoyance. ‘We’re not playing games here, Church! That bomb’s home-made and it’s dangerous!’ There was a pause until he calmed down again. ‘I’ve installed two further telephones.’

  ‘Really... well let me tell you you’ve let yourself in for hundreds of crank callers. Every one with a sad story that’ll get you nowhere. I know that from experience.’

  ‘I think we’ve exhausted this topic,’ growled the banker keeping his temper in check. He replaced the receiver angrily ending the conversation. ‘The great stupid flat-foot! Sorry, Betty, but the man makes me see red!’

  His secretary and Ben Howard stared at each other for a moment at his irrational behaviour. They had never seen him under such stress before. Then Betty Brewer resumed her work while Howard lit a cigarette. The three of them sat in silence for a few minutes until there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in!’ shouted Rigby. ‘The bloody thing isn’t locked!’

  Felix Bristow entered the office with a puzzled expression on his face. It was a year since anyone in the bank had shouted at him and he had forgotten that his old boss could be fiery in the heat of the moment.

  ‘You asked to see me?’ ventured Bristow quietly. ‘There was a call that you wanted to see me.’

  ‘Yes, Felix, Can you find time to do a small job for me? It’s very important.’

  ‘Of course, Mr. Rigby, but I do have a lot of work to do in my own office.’

  ‘Damn your office! I’ll square it with your Chief. Sit down over there and make yourself conformation because I’ve a proposition to make to you which you have every right to refuse. If you don’t want to do it you must tell me. Do we understand each other?’ The other man nodded slowly. ‘It not an order from a senior executive of the bank but a personal request from me.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Bristow, becoming more curious.

  ‘I have to tell you that the job is risky and may put you in danger. You need to understand that.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘I presume you’ve heard about Croydon branch.’

  ‘The whole of Head Office is buzzing about it.’

  ‘A reporter from the Evening Gazette has arranged for a dozen special copies of the newspaper to be made available to me. I want you to collect them and fly by helicopter to the branch and deposit them outside the front door. Make sure they’re not blown away by the breeze.’

  ‘But why should I be in any danger?’

  ‘Well you may survived the helicopter trip but the branch could be blown sky-high at any time. The risk is negligible but I’m bound to point it out. What do you say?’

  Bristow shrugged his shoulders aimlessly as though it didn’t matter one way
or the other. ‘Can you clear it with Mr. Masters, my manager? When do I start?’

  ‘You’ve started already,’ exclaimed the senior executive. ‘Take a taxi to the offices of the Evening Gazette and then to the heliport. Ask the pilot not to land you too near to the branch and tell him to wait to bring you back. I don’t want you stranded in Croydon all afternoon.’

  ‘You can rely on me, sir,’ returned Bristow eagerly. ‘Why am I delivering newspapers to the branch?’

  ‘Don’t confuse the issue, Bristow! Never ask for whom the bell tolls... it tolls for thee! Telephone me as soon as you delivered the newspapers... before you go back to the helicopter. Now get moving!’

  The man sprang to his feet and moved swiftly towards the door. ‘Consider it done,’ he said briefly in a parting shot.

  ‘Put me through to Carlisle,’ Rigby ordered his secretary, attempting to round off his ruse once Bristow had left the room. ‘I want to speak with him.’

  Betty Brewer tapped out the number and waited for the reply. ‘Line one!’ she told him eventually.

  ‘Carlisle, it’s Rigby. Anything yet?’

  ‘No, sir,’ came a tired voice. ‘Nothing yet.’

  ‘You sound faint. Are you all right?’

  ‘I suppose so. Holding up as well as can be expected.’ The tension had built up inside the Assistant Manager to such an extent that he had become somewhat claustrophobic.

  ‘Are we talking alone, Carlisle? Is there anyone else listening on the line?’

  ‘There’s no one else, sir.’

  ‘You told the man that a representative from Head Office was on his way, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes... I told him that.’

  ‘Well keep calm because there’s been a change of plan. Listen carefully. In a short while, I’ll telephone you and you’ll put me through to the manager. I’m going to tell him that the man from Head Office has been mugged at the traffic lights in Croydon, Everything he had with him was stolen... including the other keys to the safe!’

  Carlisle almost fell off his chair unable to stop his hands from shaking. ‘Oh. no!’ he exclaimed dispiritedly. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ ordered Rigby sharply. ‘Just

  keep cool! You’ll put my call through to the Manager. Then I want you to go to the front door and collect the newspapers there. Take them in to the Manager’s office and show him the Stop Press. It contains news of the mugging. The bandit will then believe it to be true.’

  ‘Why... isn’t it true?’

  ‘Carlisle, stop asking stupid questions! We’ll have to take it step by step from then on. Do you understand what I’ve been telling you?’

  ‘Yes, sir. After you phone and talk to the Manager, I collect some newspapers outside the front door and take them into him.’

  ‘You’ve got it! What are you doing at the moment?’

  ‘I’m doing the work of the foreign and security clerks. It helps me to keep my mind off the situation.’

  ‘You’re doing fine, Carlisle. I’ll ring you again in about half an hour or so.’ He replaced the receiver and turned to his secretary. ‘You know, that man deserves a medal. I’m damned sure I wouldn’t stay in a branch where a lunatic was threatening to blow it up... not even for the Chairman himself!’

  There was a knock on the door and Rigby experienced an awful sensation that Bristow might have returned to ask further questions instead of getting on with the task. He need not have feared, however, because the door opened slowly and a man brown overalls shuffled into the room nervously. ‘I think someone ordered a television set, is that right?’ he enquired tentatively.

  Betty Brewer stood up and pointed to a corner of the room. ‘Bring it in. There’s an electric point over there.’

  The man retreated to the hallway to return with a portable television set complete with its own aerial which protruded from the top. He placed it on top of a two drawer cabinet that reached to waist-high level.

  ‘Yes put it there,’ confirmed Rigby, eager to see the news presented by the media.

  The television was plugged into the electric point and switched on. After tuning it in and testing the reception, the engineer obtained a signature on his delivery note from Betty Brewer and moved towards the door.

  ‘By the way,’ called out the senior executive before the man could leave. ‘Did anyone stop you or question you when you came to this floor?’

  ‘No,’ replied the man surprised at the question. ‘No one did.’

  ‘Damn!’ swore Rigby in annoyance. ‘I don’t think that security exists in any shape or form on this floor. Make another note to remind me, Betty.’ He turned his attention to the television set and then looked at Ben Howard. ‘I want you to watch that screen for any news flashes and alert me when they come on. ‘

  One of the new telephones began to ring and then the other one chorused in harmony. The two men reached across different receivers crossing the wires which tangled in the middle. Both conversations continued at a rapid pace but Rigby’s call proved to be the shorter. After expressing his gratitude to the caller, he replaced the receiver in the wrong cradle cutting off the other line.

  ‘You’ve cut me off,’ cried Howard in anguish. ‘You put your receiver in my cradle!’

  The senior executive stared at the telephones to realise that the wires were still crossed. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised sheepishly. ’Blast... it was a stupid thing to do!’

  ’I thought we might have something too,’ claimed the younger man in annoyance. ‘The woman who called said she was a relative of the bandit.’

  ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘Very little. You cut me off before she could give me any details.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll call back.’

  They sorted out the wires on the telephones and began the vigil. Ten minutes passed by but the instruments remained silent. Rigby felt sick at heart at the lost opportunity. Not many people would have muffed the first real chance of a breakthrough as a result of sheet idiotic stupidity. He sneered at himself inwardly that a senior executive of the great Imperial Bank could not even replace a telephone receiver properly when it really mattered. ‘I’m going to the wash room,’ he announced suddenly. ‘If anyone needs me I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  He walked out of the office and took his time to reach the wash room. It’s was quiet and peaceful in there and he stood with his hands resting on each side of the wash-basin staring into the mirror. He took particular notice of the red and yellow tracks that streaked across the whites of his eyes, indicating his run-down physical condition. It was only to be expected when sleep came so hard to purchase. The cause was a dream that haunted him regularly which he couldn’t expunge from his mind and it drained him gradually as it took its toll. He dreamt that he was in his house ready to proceed upstairs to his study to work on some papers. As he was about to pass the open bedroom door, he looked inside the room, surprised to find everything in darkness because the curtains had been closed. To his horror, after switching on the light, he discovered Sandra in bed with a young man and rage built up inside him. He dragged the man violently from the bed and swing his open right hand to strike him underneath the nose, smashing his front teeth. Then he swivelled round aiming a blow with the side of his left hand at the man’s solar plexus. This forced the stranger to bend double with pain and then Rigby chopped him swiftly at the back of the next to render him unconscious. When the lifeless lover collapsed on the floor, he focussed his attention on Sandra intending to harm her as well... and that was the point when the nightmare always ended. It was a regular feature at night which disturbed the natural rhythm of his sleep and he seemed unable to exorcise it from his mind.

  It was just after two o’clock when Rigby returned to his office. He walked over to the window to view the scene at the front of the
bank. His mouth was still dry and he had lost the inclination to eat the refreshments thoughtfully provided by his secretary. The demands of the day were beginning to take effect and he felt drained of emotion as well as extremely tired. In normal circumstances when fatigued occurred, his humour would emerge and the wit would flow fast and furiously from his lips. Not so today! It was stifled under a considerable weight of responsibility he had to carry, Down below, the demonstrators had started to melt away Tired arms allowed scarlet banners and placards to slip unnoticed to the ground while rough voices grew more hoarse from chanting and shouting. It was not unexpected to see exhausted demonstrators who had vented their tempers, and earned dry throats in the process, to leave the area in small groups.

  Abdul had kept his word. He had dispersed the crowd in just over an hour. Whether he would continue his protest by the legal method was entirely up to him. However he would benefit from the shares if he ever sold them. It was his prerogative to do as he wanted. Of particular merit was the fact that Rigby had quelled the demonstration effectively and efficiently in a very short time. As the demonstrators drifted away, the bank’s employees started to return from lunch to sigh with relief at the departing horde. The City was very mundane and much respected for its conformity; it thrived on ritual and tradition. Demonstrations and other acts of violence tended not to be appreciated by those who worked there.

  Rigby moved away from the window and returned to his desk uttering a heavy sigh. The problem of the bandit at the Croydon branch weighed very heavily on him. He had not expected to taste defeat on his first day on the job and it was testing him to the full especially with the sarcasm and criticism of the senior police officer.

  ‘Well Betty,’ he invited, trying to shake off the feeling of discontent and disappointment. ‘What pearls of wisdom do you have for me today?’

  She pressed her lips together as her mental processes churned into action. ‘You haven’t eaten anything for lunch. How can you make decisions on an empty stomach? If you continue in this way, you’ll soon need treatment for an ulcer.’

  ‘I see,’ he retorted as one small spark of humour ignited into his tired brain. ‘You’re in one of your jolly moods today, are you?’