by Alan Watts
After checking there were no bobbies or insomniacs below, he climbed out onto the ledge, noting to his dismay that it was no more than eight inches wide. He wondered if he should put his shoes back on, but the hush was so complete, the squeak might be heard for dozens of yards.
He was tempted to climb back inside, but thought once more of the fob, and the box number, and the riches it would bring, so he carefully tested it with his weight, to be sure it wasn’t likely to crumble.
With his face side-on to the brick wall, the shoes pressing painfully into his chest, and both arms out by his sides, he began inching his way along, knowing if he stumbled once, it would be the end.
It seemed to take forever before he reached even the first window and there were another four to go. He rested every so often and could feel his socks rapidly fraying.
Another twenty minutes before he reached the window he wanted. By then, his neck, head and arms were aching mercilessly. He lowered them carefully to his sides, as he saw a vague reflection of himself in the glass.
Then he heard footsteps. They were vague at first. He had even thought them the beat of his own heart, until they began to echo between the buildings. They were coming from somewhere behind and he had to painfully twist his neck so he could see who it was. As the steps got louder, he heard the sound of cheerful whistling too.
Through his peripheral vision, he saw a cop walking along the pavement on the other side of the street, swinging his truncheon in circles on its string.
Spread against the whitewash of the hotel, he couldn’t possibly miss him.
When the whistling stopped, Bride shut his eyes tight and held his breath for a long time.
Then he heard a match being struck and knew the cop had simply paused to light a cigarette.
It was so quiet, he even heard the impact of the match as it was dropped, and then the footsteps re-started.
By the time they had faded into the distance, Bride was running with sweat and had to wait a few minutes for his heart to stop pounding. Lifting the window from the outside was much harder, as there was nothing to grip, except the thin strips of wood separating each of the nine panes.
It slowly began to roll up with a low-pitched squeak, which during daylight hours nobody would notice. Now it grated on his ears.
The cop was too distant by now to worry about, but if they were only semi-conscious inside, they would certainly hear it and wake up properly, so he was forced to proceed at a snail’s pace.
The window came to a halt after two feet, which was about a foot lower than the one in the hallway.
It wouldn’t be a problem if he had room to stand back and align himself, but he hadn’t. Cursing, he exerted a little more force, but there was no way it was going to budge. The last thing he wanted was for it to fly up suddenly and make a din. It was this, or go without.
He crouched down as much as he was able, which wasn’t far, because his knees were butting into the wall, making further descent impossible. By now the pain in his thighs and back was unbearable. The bottom rail was level with his stomach and there was only one way he could see of getting inside.
He gripped the bottom of the sash in both hands, leaned out as far as he dared, and swung his right leg up and through, careful as he did so not to disturb the curtains. It all became easier now, as he was able to sit on the windowsill.
He waited a minute to get his breath back, before ducking and swinging first his head and torso under and then a leg. He was in.
As he stood, taking his shoes from around his neck, he thought what his next move would be. The most likely place to find the fob would be in the handbag. If not, he would have to start searching their pockets.
He laid his shoes on the floor and was grinning as he took a little step to the right, to where the curtains were drawn, when a mousetrap snapped on the three smallest toes of his right foot.
The thucking sound was amplified, as it diffused through the skin, flesh and bone into the floorboards below. How he managed not to scream out, he would never know.
He took a shuffling step backwards, hot tears in his eyes, trying his best to keep the noise to a minimum and not to tumble backwards through the open window. The trap wagged in the air like a waving hand.
He was almost crying as he sat once more on the sill and took the trap in both hands, to carefully release the tension on the spring. He pulled the wet sock off, delicately, wincing as strands of thread, that had become imbedded in the cuts, were tugged free.
Now, as the pain ebbed and flowed, he knew, as he felt a roll of damp skin dangling from his smallest toe, that he was going to get that fob. If they woke up, he would punch them unconscious and not give the slightest fuck if he killed them.
Tearful, he reached down and gently ran his fingers over the floorboards, feeling either side for about two feet, to check for any more nasty surprises. There was nothing, so he lowered his feet to them again, and found he was barely able to exert his full weight on the injured one.
Trying his best to ignore the pain, he slowly parted the curtains and tuned his ears and eyes into the darkness beyond, knowing she might have placed the handbag on the dressing table and that their clothes were likely to be draped over the back of a chair. He advanced gingerly into the room, just able to discern the foot of the bed and two vague humps lying in it, side by side.
He could hear low, shallow breathing and was about to hobble over to the dressing table, when the woman’s voice snapped, “Now!” and a loud metallic clang! echoed around the room.
He felt a frightful pain in his head, saw an explosion of stars in front of his eyes and a match being struck.
He passed out, just as it touched the wick of a candle.
When he came to, he was sitting in a chair and saw the brat smiling, as he held aloft the key to the safety deposit box in one hand, where they’d frisked him, and the fob in the other.
He closed his eyes to blot them out.
Loop after loop of rope was wound around both his midriff and the chair he sat upon. His legs were tied too, one to each leg. His wrists were bound behind that and there was a sock stuffed in his mouth. The brat was smiling, as he asked impatiently, “Shall we go now?”
“In a minute,” she said, picking up the suitcase and handbag.
She clicked it open and Bride’s eyes were suddenly filled with terror at what she might bring out. He tried to shout through the sock.
Instead, he sagged with relief, when she produced two-inch thick sheaves of pound notes, and for a moment forgot the pickle he was in.
He had never seen so much money in his life, but that begged the question, as she reached out and placed them on the foot of the bed, if she could afford to give him that much, how much more was there?
“Two hundred pounds, Mr Bride, to show there are no hard feelings.”
She picked up her hat and placed it on her head, turning briefly to adjust it in the dressing table mirror.
“I wish I could trust you, but I have the lad to consider. He’s had a tougher time in his short life than most, and I beg of you not to think too badly of him. Whatever that box contains might seem a lot, but in today’s uncertain world…” She laughed. “Who knows. There might not be anything at all.”
He tried to talk through the sock and at least try and reason with her. When that failed, he tried to spit it out, but to no avail.
Then his heart sank as they picked up all their gear and left.
***
Lil closed the door carefully, having visions of the hotel’s owner suddenly appearing, demanding to know what she was up to.
It was quite absurd, in view of the fortune she was intending to steal, that she could be prosecuted for evading a hotel bill that would probably come to no more than a pound. She had told Robert they would leave via the fire escape.
She stepped out and her solid block-heeled shoe sent out a long jarring note that made her jump. She was so unready for it, panic almost engulfed her.
Her hand was on Robert�
��s, to whip him out and run down, but she mastered herself and quickly unlaced her shoes, whispering to him to do the same.
***
A couple of minutes later, as she stepped outside, Tom Bride had managed to grip, between finger and thumb, the loose end of the rope that held his wrists.
There was, he knew, always a loose end dangling within reach somewhere. Once you had hold of it, half the battle was won. He knew he still had a chance, one that had eluded him while in pain, and filled with nothing but hate and bloody vengeance.
He knew they had no choice but to wait until nine o’clock, because that was when the bank opened, and he was determined to be there, with a threat to blow the whistle if they refused to co-operate.
Soon he had a full inch to pull on and grinned to himself with his eyes on that two-inch stack of wealth on the mattress.
Twenty-nine
As dawn was breaking, Belcher was loitering, hands in pockets, on the other side of the road to the hotel the Guvnor had told him about.
Unable to blot from his mind’s eye all that money he would get, he had not slept at all. He had spent the early hours looking at the crucifix mounted on the wall of his sparse room, where Jesus, his only real friend, looked down upon him.
He was wondering what the link could be between a fob watch and a safe key, for they had to be linked somehow. There had been sheer desperation in the Guvnor’s voice, though he had tried to conceal it. He had a suspicion that even if he had haggled up to a thousand pounds reward, the Guvnor would have agreed.
He had admitted the key opened a safe, and Belcher didn’t for one minute believe it contained documents. Belcher was no less determined to escape now than as a child.
He had still arrived at no answers, when, just after seven, he saw a very dishevelled man appear from the alley between the hotel itself and the building the other side. He was limping too.
When Belcher looked at the photo of the man with the flat nose, he knew at one glance it was him.
***
Robert was becoming increasingly nervous. They sat in the same eating house as yesterday, in Chelsea, breakfasting on grilled kippers, poached eggs and toast, washed down with Darjeeling tea.
He said in a low voice, “He’s gonna to be waitin’ for us, isn’t he?” and added, before she could answer, “The police could take us away. They could send you to prison and me into an orphanage… or the workhouse.”
“Nobody will ever take you from me, d’you hear? I’ll kill them first!” Lil said.
She gazed long and hard into his eyes and he felt the waves of love once more. She put her silver cutlery on the plate, took both his hands in hers and squeezed them.
“Now you listen to me.”
She looked around and lowered her voice.
“I tied him as best I was able. He also had a mangled foot and probably a headache with that clout you gave him. Even if he does get loose, I doubt he’d be in a fit state to follow us.”
He looked up, desperately fighting the urge to laugh. All said and done, the clang that thing made when it struck his head was comical and he had never thought they would get him with the mousetrap in a million years.
He knew though that Bride was completely ruthless and would not let something as petty as pain hold him back, in view of the amount of money likely to be at stake, and the hatred he bore them.
“Now eat up,” she said, looking at her watch.
It was eight thirty-five, less than half an hour until the bank opened. He knew that, instead of excitement, her heart was filled with terror too.
The boy gazed at the remains of the kipper on his plate. “Mum, he’s gonna be there. I know he is.”
A tear broke as he looked up and wound its way down his cheek.
Thirty
Bride hobbled along, knowing he had about two hours to kill before the bank opened, though he guessed it might take that long to get there, at the rate he was going. Pain was forcing him to stop every thirty yards or so.
Where the mousetrap had hacked skin away from the two smallest toes, and mashed one of the nails, the hard leather rubbed against the raw flesh, through the bandages he had improvised by tearing strips of cloth from the bed sheets.
He felt the comforting bulge of the wads of pound notes against his chest, each in an inside pocket, as he limped ever closer.
***
Belcher was getting impatient. He had guessed Bride was making his way to the bank the Guvnor had told him about, but by now, people were everywhere.
But then, as he was losing hope, he saw Bride stop once more. This time he had not hobbled as far. He was looking down at his right foot. He saw him look to his left, before shuffling between two buildings.
Belcher glanced around, though nobody appeared to be taking any notice, so he made his way there and stole a cautious glance in. It was a long, dark, narrow alley, a lonely place, where few ventured. Ideal.
Bride was sitting on a step, unlacing his shoe, grimacing as he slowly eased it off. Belcher smirked, as he saw him unwrapping the blood-soaked bandage and dropping it in a heap on the ground. There was more blood over the end of his foot, much more.
This was going to be easier than he thought.
***
When Bride looked up and saw Belcher towering above, he felt his stomach lurch. Though no slouch himself, he had never seen a man as mighty and frightening as this. Hobbled as he was, he felt especially weak and knew he would have to be very careful in what he said.
Bride quavered, “What do you want?”
“Looks painful,” Belcher observed.
“Yes, I had an accident. Now if you don’t mind…”
The grin disappeared from Belcher’s face.
“You’d better get up and start walkin’, and if you don’t do as I say, you won’t walk again, ever!”
By now, Bride’s heart was thudding. He looked around again, but still they were alone. He started pulling the shoe back on, but had barely got it between finger and thumb, when Belcher kicked it. It flew end over end, before hitting one of two huge wooden barrels brimming with rainwater.
“Now get up, and do as you’re fuckin’ told!”
Terrified, Bride eased himself up from the step, and Belcher shoved him between the shoulder blades.
Finally light dawned; this man, who had the stink of the workhouse about him, had something to do with the King brothers.
Bride had walked two steps, though, before he realised that without the rubbing of the shoe, most of the pain in his foot had gone, so perhaps he might just be able to run. Without warning, he bolted, knowing it was the last thing the man expected. It nearly worked.
Belcher reached out and punched Bride in the middle of the back. The blow sent him sprawling face-first in the dirt. Feeling as though every sip of wind had been knocked from him, Bride groaned, as he rolled onto his back, and saw Belcher standing over him, one leg either side.
He saw his eyes suddenly bulging, then his hand coming towards him, and tried to shuffle backwards, on his elbows, to escape whatever he had in store.
Instead, Belcher picked something up that had tumbled out of his pockets as he’d fallen. It was the two wads of notes.
He lifted them slowly, so mesmerised, he nearly missed Bride sliding out. He even managed to stagger up, without being noticed. Thinking the safety deposit box must contain infinitely greater wealth anyway, he knew it didn’t really matter about this relatively minor pittance, as long as this terrible man left him alone.
He started walking, but only got one step, before one of those great hands grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and lifted him partially off the ground, with little more effort than he would have used for a cat.
The real fear didn’t come though until Belcher shoved the money inside his jacket and started frogmarching him to the wall between the rain barrels. Once there, he smashed him up against the bricks and Bride saw stars once again, as his head banged against them.
“I been told you gott
a safe key or a fob watch.”
“I haven’t, honest. Anyway, you’ve got all the money…”
Belcher’s fist slammed into his stomach. Bride collapsed to his knees, in such awful pain, he only vaguely heard him saying, “You better start givin’ me some answers, or I’ll break every fuckin’ bone in your body. I been told there’s a bint and a kid too.”
Bride couldn’t talk. He had the hazy idea Belcher was frisking him. After several minutes of this fruitless task, Belcher yanked him up once more. When Bride saw his fist about to smash into his face, he gasped, thinking quickly ahead, “She’s got it!” His hands were flailing, trying to protect himself.
Belcher gripped his neck even harder. “Got what?”
“Both of ’em. The fob and the key.”
“What’s in the safe?”
“Nothing. Just a few old necklaces, worthless, sentiment…”
The fist whacked into his stomach again and vomit filled his mouth. He was on his knees, in agony, knowing he would die here, unless he gave this animal something more concrete to go on.
There was only one way out he could see, but he would have to tread very carefully. He was looking through watering eyes at diced carrot on Belcher’s left boot, spitting, as he croaked, “All right, there is money. Loads of it. Probably jewels too.”
“How much?”
“Thousands… millions even.”
Belcher whipped him up once more and he cried out at the pain in his gut.
“Where is she?”
Bride sagged in his grip and hung there like a doll. “I don’t know, honest, I don’t.”
Belcher pulled a photograph from his jacket with his free hand and showed it to him. It was Adam King.
“He’s dead,” Bride said. “She murdered him. Stabbed him to death.”
The giant pushed him into the wall, but through his pain, Bride could see his gamble had paid off. When Bride cautiously suggested they share the money, rather than keep fighting, he seemed oddly relieved, until Bride realised he probably had scant knowledge of how the outside world worked.
