Incredulous, Jack spluttered, ‘Fucking bartering? So what do we get? A handful of beads and mirrors?’
‘No, but we do get the use of a car and all the bags of well-rotted manure we can carry away.’
‘What the f …’
Annie smirked and said, ‘That last bit was a joke, you know, about the manure. But if we do take the job, we’ve solved our car problem. Personally, I think it’s a real no-brainer.’
Feeling that his previous dull boring life in the city was now a world away and prepared to trade almost anything for a couple of quiet hours of serious drinking time, perched on his favourite stool back in the Royal Bar, Jack pleaded, ‘Look Annie, I’m way out of my depth. I don’t know anything about the country and all the crazy shit that goes on down here. I’ve never even owned a pair of wellies, for God’s sake.’
‘You’re right, but you’ll learn fast. Okay, which one will we do first?’
‘The rustling job, I think. So we can get hold of the new wheels. With that big bash at the back end, the blistered paintwork and fire damage, Senga stands out like a sore thumb. If by any chance Burke did come looking for us down here, we don’t want to make things easy for him.’
Chapter 25
Jack and Annie pulled up outside a neat stone-built farmhouse. As they got out of the car and looked around, Jack unerringly stepped in an extremely fresh, steaming cow pat and exclaimed, ‘Oh shit!’
Smirking, Annie tip toed successfully through the brown-stained obstacle course, towards the front door and commented ‘Correct. Hey, you must be some kind of detective. Relax will you, boss, everybody’s got some of it on their shoes down here. It makes you look like a local.’
Struggling to get the worst of the stinking mess off his shoe, Jack grunted back, ‘Yokel, more like.’
‘Look, we’re back at work now, okay, so let’s just try and be professional and focus on the case. Oh, I nearly forgot, we’ve to remember that the farmer has some kind of speech impediment, which he’s apparently very self-conscious about. But Emma says it only appears when he gets really angry and starts swearing.’
Right on cue, a burly, ruddy-cheeked son of the soil, straight from central casting, appeared from a nearby shed and, after wiping his hands on a filthy boiler suit, he offered a hand in greeting, which Jack inspected closely and then shook with obvious reluctance.
‘I’m Thomas Kemp, you two must be the private eyes.’
In the absence of any response from Jack, Annie did the introductions. ‘Yes, pleased to meet you Mr. Kemp, I’m Annie James and this is my boss, Jack Davidson. I understand you’ve had some valuable stock stolen recently.’
The farmer looked Jack up and down accusingly then said, ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’
Turning away as he continued scraping his soiled shoe on a clump of straw, Jack muttered in reply, ‘No way … thank fuck.’
Annie quickly interjected, ‘I was actually born in Kirkcudbright, and Mr Davidson here is from Glasgow.’
‘Handled many rustling cases, have you?’ said the sceptical farmer.
‘Nope, but on the plus side, I have seen every cowboy film John Wayne ever made.’
Digging Jack sharply in the ribs with her elbow, Annie said, ‘Perhaps you could just tell us exactly what happened Mr Kemp.’
Bristling at the memory, the farmer’s rumoured speech impediment swiftly slipped into top gear. ‘What happened was some sneaky ba ba bastards cut my fa fa fucking fences and stole fa fa fifty of my ba ba beasts, that’s what ba ba bastard happened. Three weeks ago it was.’
‘Any idea who might have done it?’ enquired Annie.
‘Oh I know the ba ba bastards who done it alright, I just can’t prove it and neither can the police. They’re too busy chasing ba ba bastard drug dealers round here to bother about me, or my beasts. Don’t get me started about the local police, they’re just fa fa fucking, ca ca ca …’
‘Cunts?’ added Jack, trying to be helpful.
‘No … ca ca clueless.’
Suddenly taking more of an interest in the proceedings, with the prospect of an early conclusion to the assignment, Jack eagerly asked, ‘So you actually know their names?’
‘Oh aye, they’re the ba ba Barlows. They’ve a farm up in the hills near Laurieston Forest. Not that they’ve ever done much in the way of proper farming. That would be too much like hard work for them. Trailer trash is what they are, always been in trouble ever since they could walk. There’s three ba ba ba …’
Once more, in an attempt to move the stuck needle on the farmer’s gramophone, Jack prompted, ‘Bastards?’
‘No, ba ba brothers. Big tough looking ba ba bastards they are. Anyway a neighbour told me they were heard laughing and boasting, about stealing my beasts, to their scum bag pals in a local pub, the Cross Keys Inn, just outside Laurieston village.’
‘And are you thinking they might come back again for a second go? That would be a bit cheeky, surely.’
‘I don’t know, but there’s been three similar cases within fifty miles of here in the last year and they all happened exactly the same way. It’s always at the full moon, when the weather’s dry and clear so they can work without any lights. They do their homework in advance and only target remote fields, with cattle that are ready for market. Then they cut the padlock off a gate, or cut through fences and round up the beasts, load them onto a cattle transporter and away down the road they go, to meet up with a buyer and get paid a load of cash for one night’s work. I told the local police all of this, but they looked at me as if I was ba ba bastard mad.’
Jack exchanged glances with Annie and then asked, ‘So how much do you reckon your cattle were worth?’
Wincing, the farmer replied through gritted teeth. ‘It was a right sore one. I reckon I would have got the thick end of £30,000 and it was eighteen months’ work to get the ba ba beasts ready for market.’
‘So what exactly is it you want us to do?’
‘I’ve just got a nagging feeling in my water, because I’ve seen the Barlows driving slowly past my place twice in the last week, like they were sizing things up for another go. Anyway the next full moon’s at the end of this week and there’s no rain forecast. So what I want you to do is watch my fields for four nights in a row, in case the ba ba bastards show up again. If they do, try and get pictures, registration numbers and then follow them till the police can be bothered to put in an appearance.’
Scratching his chin, Jack considered the proposal. ‘I see, and in lieu of an actual fee, I understand that, for four night’s work, you’re very generously offering us the use of a vehicle, for the time we’re down here working in the area. Is that correct?’
Enthusiastically the farmer replied, ‘That’s right, a lovely little motor she is.’
‘Can we perhaps see it, before I give you an answer?’
Ominously the farmer then replied, ‘Of course you can, she’s round the back. I’ve just been chasing all of the chickens out and I’ve given her a good hose down, so she’s looking good and ready to go to work. I’ve even put a couple of gallons of diesel in her. But, ahem, don’t be asking me what colour it was.’
Fearing the worst, Jack and Annie followed the farmer to the rear of the farm house, where an ancient dilapidated, soft-top Land Rover was parked. Jack snorted and shook his head in disbelief. ‘Wait a minute, I’ve sure I’ve seen this before, on a television programme about the Second World War. I think it was in the Western Desert in North Africa, with Montgomery. Excuse us for a minute will you, Mr Kemp.’
Jack took Annie by the arm and walked her out of the farmer’s earshot. ‘Annie, this is completely mad. Four nights work babysitting a herd of bloody cows, in exchange for the loan of that bloody death trap. I don’t believe it. And remember last week you were taking the piss out of poor old Senga.’
Logical, calming and thinking of the bigger picture, Annie then counselled, ‘Look, the people who live around here are a bit conservative, especially the
farmers. Everything works by word of mouth and recommendations get passed around on the bush telegraph, apparently. So Emma says that if we do okay on this job, then we can start charging normal fees. Anyway remember, we need to get rid of Senga fast, in case Burke comes looking for us. Hiring a replacement car would cost a lot of money that we don’t have. So please, let’s just take the deal on offer, okay?’
As they prepared to drive away from the Kemp farm, having left Senga parked forlornly in the corner of an old byre, Annie once again looked accusingly at Jack and wrinkled her nose as she attempted to force open a sliding window on the Land Rover.
‘Oh my God, here we go again. Was that you?’
‘No way. I thought it was you. But, being a gentleman, I was sitting here gagging in silence.’
Annie gasped with relief as she finally heaved the driver’s window open. ‘Okay then, the farmer must have missed something really important with his hose.’
Deadpan, hugely enjoying Annie’s discomfiture Jack bent over to take a look under the driver’s seat and then advised, ‘Look, relax will you. It’s just a big lump of cow shit there, right under your seat. Everybody’s got some of it in their car down here. It’ll make you smell like a local, Annie.’ Then with a conjurer’s flourish, Jack produced something else that had been hidden under the Land Rover’s front seats. ‘The good news is that tomorrow’s breakfast is taken care of, we’ve scored two lovely big fresh eggs.’
Annie quickly slid the driver’s window shut and hissed, ‘Oh God, keep your voice down about the eggs, will you, or the farmer will be over wanting to renegotiate terms. You wouldn’t believe what some of them are like down here.’
As they slowly drove along the narrow back roads back towards the beach cabin, Annie was thinking out loud, ‘We really should try and get a look at the ba ba Barlow brothers in the flesh.’
‘Good idea, let’s try their local ba ba boozer later on. Hopefully, we can pick up a decent bite to eat there and maybe get lucky if they come in.’
Chapter 26
Later, on the drive over to the Cross Keys Inn, Annie was enjoying both the late evening sunshine and the perfect peace which only comes with the absence of a constant country music soundtrack, since the old Land Rover lacked the means to play any of Jack’s infernal cassettes. In addition, an ancient radio which the farmer had crudely bolted under the dashboard, appeared to be completely dead and, according to the self-appointed technology expert sitting beside her in the passenger seat, probably in need of several new valves.
However, slowly and worryingly, over the din of the ancient diesel engine, Annie was convinced that she could hear intermittent snatches of music in the background, which was obviously impossible. As the volume increased slightly, she first made out a wailing fiddle and then a strangled voice pleading for someone to, “Take these chains from my heart”. Panicking, she thought, ‘Oh God, this is really bad. I’ve heard so much of his crap music over the past week, I’m starting to channel Hank bloody Williams.’ Then, after looking around the dashboard for any hidden music players or speakers, she noticed that Jack’s right knee appeared to be twitching in time with the music. Pulling in to the side of the road, she turned to him and sternly demanded, ‘Okay, where is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where’s the music coming from?’
‘Oh, you mean this?’ he asked innocently, pulling out a small, battery-powered cassette recorder from his inside jacket pocket. ‘Dead lucky I remembered this. I sometimes use it for taking witness statements, but it also does okay for emergency music duty.’
Annie then reached into an inside pocket on her leather jacket and pulled out the white ear buds she used with her iPhone. ‘Here you can borrow these, but promise me you’ll give them a good clean before I get them back.’
Jack and Annie parked outside the Cross Keys Inn, a small country pub, and entered the lounge bar. Immediately obvious were three man-gorillas wearing identical garb, tightly stretched dark blue boiler suits and filthy wellies, who were perched precariously on stools at the end of the bar, noisily tucking in to steaming, heaped plates of food. Annie took a seat in the corner as Jack went to order drinks from the barmaid.
As Jack sat down and started on his pint, Annie whispered excitedly, ‘Look, I know I’m new to the private detective business, boss, but I would bet my first month’s pay that those are the Barlow brothers.’
Jack nodded and sarcastically replied, ‘Now, now … we mustn’t jump to any rash conclusions, Annie.’
‘I also know what happened to the farmer’s stolen cattle,’ continued Annie, undeterred.
‘Okay then, you’re on a roll, kiddo. Go for it.’
‘Our theory was all wrong. Obviously these guys didn’t sell the stolen cows. They ate them.’
‘You could be right, Annie, we may have stumbled upon a previously undiscovered species of homo-sapiens, Belted Barlow Man. I think I’ll go and order the food and try some male bonding.’
‘Boss, please be careful.’
‘Relax, it should be okay. They’ve just been fed.’
Jack approached the bar, picked up a menu, smiled cheerfully and asked the Barlow boys, ‘What would you recommend guys?’
Offering his hand to the nearest gorilla, Jack continued, ‘I’m Jack Davidson, by the way, I’m just down here on holiday for a few days.’
Somewhat reluctant to stop shovelling food into his gaping maw, the oldest looking of the three brothers eventually wiped his mouth on the filthy sleeve of his boiler suit, belched and then growled, ‘We usually have steak or the steak pie. Or, for a change like, maybe some roast beef.’
One of the other two Barlow siblings, who appeared to be identical twins, then enthusiastically added, ‘Yeah, but don’t forget the pot roast, steak mince and the hamburgers, we like all of them too.’
Jack nodded gravely, as if a great truth had just been revealed, and said, ‘So I guess the beef must be pretty good around here?’
Oldest Barlow proudly confirmed, ‘It’s only the best in the world.’
‘Aye, especially when it’s free,’ chipped in the third brother, which caused an eruption of giggling and snuffling animal-like noises from the twins.
Sensing that his younger brothers were being dangerously indiscreet with this nosey stranger, the senior Barlow quickly interjected, ‘Aye, free-range, like, is what young Benny here means.’
Putting the menu decisively back on the bar, Jack said, ‘Thanks for the advice, guys. But I think we’ll have the fish.’
Oldest Barlow looked the fish-eating stranger up and down disapprovingly and said, ‘We don’t usually get too many strangers coming in here.’
Jack smiled mysteriously, winked and said, ‘Well you know what they say boys, everyone’s a stranger if you close your eyes.’
Both twins then exhibited identical furrowed brows and confused frowns, before one blurted out, ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
After a few moments of intense concentration, the other twin elbowed his brother in the ribs, clearly excited, and sniggered, ‘Wait, wait … I think I get it. Is that maybe like having a wank, with a pound of warmed-up, maggotty mince, using your left hand?’
It was now Jack’s turn to display a furrowed brow and a thoroughly confused expression. ‘Quite possibly pal, thanks for the tip.’
He re-joined Annie who asked, ‘So, what did you find out?’
‘Well the Barlow boys really love their beef, and I don’t think it necessarily has to be cooked.’
Annie nodded sarcastically, ‘Yeah, or dead.’
‘Look, we only had the farmer’s suspicions to go on before, Annie. But now that I’ve actually met them in the flesh, my gut feeling is that these guys are the rustlers. The big question is, are they stupid enough to try it again?’
‘Anyway, let’s put it this way, if we’re on stakeout duty down at the farm and we see a car coming along the road with its headlights pointing straight up into the sky, we’ll know f
or sure who’s inside it,’ said Annie.
Cheering up, Jack then added, ‘You know, these two jobs actually might work out okay, because we can babysit the cows at night and then do a bit of work on the other case during the day.’
‘Great, so we can go and see the unhappy husband tomorrow morning. Emma says he’ll be expecting us around lunchtime.’
Chapter 27
Around one o’clock the next day Jack and Annie arrived outside an impressively maintained small country house. As they were getting out of the Land Rover and making their way up the steps to the entrance, a stern, distinguished looking man in his mid-sixties opened the front door. He greeted Jack and then pointedly ignored Annie, which immediately promoted him to a top five spot on her death list. ‘Good morning, I’m Robert Blake and you must be Mr Davidson.’
‘Please, call me Jack and this is my senior associate, Annie James.’
‘Come inside, will you.’
Seated in an elegant drawing room, having organised coffee and biscuits for his guests, Robert Blake fussed with a pile of glossy magazines on the low table in front of him and then cleared his throat. ‘This is an extremely, ahem, delicate problem. I assume that my lawyer has given you some background information regarding the matter which is concerning me.’
‘Yes, of course, but it would be helpful if you could just briefly explain the situation in your own words,’ said Jack.
‘Very well. You see, I love my wife Mr. Davidson, but she’s considerably younger than me. Twenty years younger to be precise and still quite beautiful, I think, which is both a blessing and perhaps the nub of the problem. As you can see, we have a very pleasant home here and, I believe, some standing in the local community. We socialise a fair bit, have friends over for bridge once a week and, of course, there are the monthly dinner dances at my golf club, which are something of a highlight in the social calendar. So I’m the first to admit that, all things considered, we have an extremely fortunate lifestyle. However, over the last six or seven months, what’s the best way to put this … my wife, Helen, has become rather distant and unsettled.’
Fire in the Blood Page 11
