A Time To Pay

by David Woods

  Vautrin looked seriously at Venk. “Are you sure it’s wise to go after this boy. He has already beaten up two men.”

  “They were taken by surprise. This time we will be ready for him.”

  “But they were strong men, and one of them had a gun for god’s sake.”

  “We’ll be much more careful.”

  “Look Venk, both of those men are stronger than you. If you are cornered, you’ll have no chance against this boy.”

  Venk became angry. “I have no intention of getting cornered, and don’t forget we’ll be armed and he won’t be. “If you’re scared I’ll get him by myself.”

  “Don’t get upset. I’m still with you.”

  “Please yourself.”

  This conversation had really succeeded in making Venk doubt his ability to beat his adversary. He wondered whether he should risk looking a fool and admit defeat, or go ahead with his plan to trap the couple.

  Chapter Seven

  Later the same evening, as they were returning from Kent, they stopped at a phone box and Stan Jones tried to ring Venk, but there was no reply from the Dover number. He tried the Antwerp number, but no reply from there either. Already in a bad mood caused by his wife’s hostile reception when he returned home, he began to wonder if there had been a problem relieving the boy of the stones, or maybe he did not have them. It is more likely he has pocketed all the proceeds never to be seen again, he thought, and decided to ring again the following night.

  The next day Reg visited a fence he had dealt with about a year ago. “I might have some quite valuable jewellery for you to look at.”

  “I can’t take any goods at the moment. But I might be interested in about a month’s time.”

  “That’s no bloody good to me. Why can’t you buy now?”

  “I’ve had a couple of visits from the law in the last two days, so I’m not taking any risks right now.”

  Reg left quickly, looking nervously up and down the road as he got into his car. Stan visited another fence that evening, receiving a similar response.

  The next morning Reg called for Stan and they headed for a quiet side street and parked, spending half an hour discussing the reception given by their respective fences and what to do next. They decided to drive to their lock-up garage and pick out a few items to sell to another contact who resided at Chatham. They parked the green Zephyr beside the garage and checked the jewellery. It was amazing how much they had stowed into the holdall in under ten minutes, and after looking at it all they chose six pretty necklaces.

  The road to Chatham was busy and it took them longer than anticipated to arrive at their destination. The fence, a middle-aged man, lived in a street which led to the docks. He studied the goods for a while and offered a price which Stan found insulting and turned down. After some argument they reached a deal and left with the intention of returning in a few days. During the drive home Reg was silent for about half an hour, but then said thoughtfully. “I think we should get rid of the rest of the stuff as soon as we can.”

  Much to his surprise his brother agreed. “I’ll ring my contact in Dagenham tonight.” This brought a positive response and a meeting was suggested for the following morning. Stan agreed to bring a sample of the merchandise for inspection, and the brothers set off early the next morning amid mist and pouring rain, the meeting was cordial and they were delighted at the price the fence was prepared to pay. He wanted them to return with the remaining items. “We’ll bring some of it tomorrow.” Stan said. A time was agreed and they set off home.

  Three men in a Vauxhall Cresta watched the Jones brothers get in their car and drive off, and followed them back to South London and continued to watch as they parked outside a lockup garage. As the brothers disappeared inside the men, armed with pick axe handles, ran across to the garage. Stan heard footsteps coming across the gravel road and he and Reg met them just outside the door. Stan just managed to duck and hit the first man in the groin. Reg received a blow to the head and fell against his car, and Stan was about to give up when the sound of a police car stopped their assailants in their tracks. The three men ran for it and drove off with a police car chasing them out of the garage compound. Stan pulled Reg to his feet, sat him in the car and ran into the garage grabbing the holdall and quickly putting it in the boot. Carefully locking the garage, he was just about to drive off when the police car returned and two officers walked across. One said. “Are you hurt, Sir?”

  “We’re fine, officer. But who the ‘ell are those blokes who attacked us?”

  “No idea, but we intend to find out. Why did they pick on you?”

  “I wish I knew, mate.” Stan said nonchalantly.

  The officers took statements from them both and requested their names and addresses, which they gave as Harry and James Smith at false addresses. The two policemen seemed satisfied and left, noting the registration number of the green Zephyr as they drove away.

  Stan moved off slowly, looking out for the Vauxhall. Reg still had a headache. They transferred the holdall to Stan’s blue Zephyr, he took Reg home, and they decided to return to Chatham in the next few days in an effort to sell the rest of the jewellery before getting into further trouble.

  Stan drove slowly home, still looking out for the Vauxhall and wondering who the men were. He knew of a gang known as the South London Mob and had heard they controlled most of the illegal gambling and prostitutes, whilst also having a hand in many burglaries. Perhaps they are upset because someone else is operating on their patch, he thought.

  The two police car patrolmen filled in their reports and handed them in. They were just going off duty when Constable Peter Wilson noticed the photo fit picture on the notice board and called to his partner, Ron Sims, who quickly joined him. They read the notes attached to the picture, which pointed out that the suspects could be driving a green car. “That was them,” said Ron.

  “I reckon so,” said his colleague.

  “Let’s talk to the sergeant.”

  After a quick discussion the sergeant rang Scotland Yard to speak to Sergeant Randall, who informed them that his superior was off duty, but he would run a check on the two cars and report to the inspector in the morning.

  Inspector Harris was delighted with the news and immediately made arrangements to meet the two constables. The two cars were registered in false names. “Not surprising” remarked Randall, as they drove south to find a police car that was parked a hundred yards from the garage and drove up closer when they arrived. The garage revealed very little except for a few empty jewellery boxes that they put into bags and took away. Constables Sims and Wilson gave a description of the three attackers and their car, which they had managed to lose in the traffic. George Harris thanked them and said he would inform them if they were needed again. Bill Randall drove the car back to Scotland Yard with Harris deep in thought. “You’d better check who rents the garage”, he said, as they walked down the corridor to the office.

  The inspector held a meeting in his office to up-date the officers. He said he thought the South London Mob were probably trying to extract the stolen jewellery from the two men who did the job, and if they played their cards right, it might be possible to catch all the parties involved at once. Sergeant Randall reported that the garage was rented by a man who just called at the council offices and paid cash, the address he had proving false. Harris pointed out they were dealing with a pair of clever criminals, who covered their tracks well. Three detective constables were despatched to the pubs where the South London Mob normally met and drank, in the hope it would lead them to the two burglars.

  Stan Jones listened to his wife moan about the weather and go on about him not treating her properly. “You clear off for days on end without saying a sodding word, and then come home and don’t speak to me.”

  “I do my best for you.”

  “Rubbish. You don’t give a toss about me.”


  He thought the next thing will be her poor health so he waited until she went into the bathroom, and then slipped out the back door and down to the pub. He was greeted by his old friend Jack, the landlord, who took one look at him. “Hello Stan, you look as if you could do with a pint.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I certainly need something.”

  The landlord pulled a pint of bitter as Stan sat on a bar stool, and watched as he sank the lot without stopping. He pulled another pint. “You’ll feel as right as nine pence when you’ve downed a few of those.”

  Stan just nodded, looking around the bar. Just the regulars, he thought. The evening passed pleasantly and quickly with a few strangers that Stan took very little notice of. He certainly drank more than usual and left at closing time feeling happy and light-headed. As he entered his back door he heard his wife slam the bedroom door, so he sat in the kitchen in the dark for about fifteen minutes, and was just about to ascend the stairs when he heard the cat scratching at the back door. After letting the animal out, he stood at the door looking down the moonlit garden path that led to the garden rear entrance gate.

  The garden was only twenty yards long with a patch of lawn, a few shrubs and the garage at the end, reached by the path from the back door. There was a narrow road running along the bottom of the gardens. When he was half way down the path Stan saw a man looking towards the house, who walked quickly away when he spotted him. He watched the figure walk to the end of the road and turn left out of sight, and stood for several minutes thinking about it and wondering about the man’s identity. With no street lighting it was too dark to recognise anyone, so he walked back inside and crept upstairs. He carefully got into bed still worrying about the stranger and wondering what to do about the incident. He finally convinced himself it was just a passer-by glancing at the house.

  The next morning Stan rang Reg who was still feeling uneasy, and suggested they meet after lunch to visit Chatham. Stan agreed to pick up his brother at 2 o’clock, and decided at that stage not to mention what had happened the previous night.

  Inspector Harris listened to the reports of his detectives, who had spent the previous evening at various pubs in South London, and all of them reported no unusual movements by the known members of the gang, who apparently all drank heavily and went home. Sergeant Randall had nothing further to report, and they agreed to resume surveillance of the gang for the rest of the day. The two teams of detectives went on their way, agreeing to report in every two hours or, sooner if necessary.

  Harris and Randall were drinking coffee when a report came in from Constable Wilson, who was on his normal patrol and had sighted the Vauxhall they had chased and lost the previous day. George Harris requested he report his position but do nothing, and the two teams of detectives were alerted and ordered to the area. Twenty minutes later the first team had located the Vauxhall and followed at a discreet distance, with the other team ready to take over to avoid suspicion. Harris and Randall kept in touch by radio whilst making their way to the area. The Vauxhall stopped in two side streets, picked up four burly men and drove off to a scrap metal dealers’ yard. Randall left the car, walked past the entrance gates and saw the men get out of their vehicle and walk across to a Jaguar. Two of them looked in the boot of the car, closed it and all got in the car. Sergeant Randall hurried back to the inspector, who was waiting within sight of the entrance gates, and they quickly instructed the two other teams to tail the Jaguar.

  Stan Jones called for his brother, as arranged, and drove in the direction of Chatham. They were both nervous, Reg continuously looking behind, and when Stan told him about the man looking at his house the night before, he became even more edgy. They agreed to get rid of all the jewellery if the fence would take it. Stan had already rung before they left to say they would be coming, and the man seemed quite happy to receive them.

  It was a foggy day with visibility down to seventy yards, so Stan drove slowly as the last thing they wanted today was an accident. The traffic moved slowly across Black Heath and when Reg looked behind for the umpteenth time all he could see were car headlights. Visibility improved as they got out in the country, so they were able to move faster, and then Reg glanced behind to see a Jaguar about a hundred yards away. “Keep yer eye on that Jag behind.”

  Stan looked in his mirror and nodded. “Ok.”

  A few minutes later and Reg said. “Is it still there?”

  “Yeah, but it don’t mean he’s following us.”

  As they entered Chatham Stan said “now we’ll find out if anyone’s following us.” He turned left at the first set of traffic lights and then right down a side street. He knew the area well, having spent a lot of his childhood with his father, delivering coal around Chatham and Rochester. The car still followed, but further back. A removal van was parked ahead, leaving very little space to pass by. Stan kept his speed up and went by, turning sharp left down a wide footpath between two houses. He looked in his mirror and saw the Jaguar flash by the entrance to the path, so he turned left again into another street, drove a hundred yards as fast as he could and turned right.

  After five minutes of fast driving through a maze of streets Reg said. “I think we lost it. What shall we do now?”

  “Get rid of this bloody jewellery. We can get to our destination this way.”

  They drove in silence, with Reg looking out for following vehicles, but none appeared and they parked down a side street fifty yards from the house. After staring up and down the road, they quickly carried the holdall to the back of the house and knocked loudly at the door. A man they did not recognise asked them in, and invited them through to the front room. It was well furnished with a three-piece suite, and Windsor chairs surrounding a dining table. The bay window ledge was adorned with pots of flowers that gave the room a fragrant perfume. The fence was standing behind the table covered with a green cloth and Reg quickly laid out the merchandise for the man to inspect. The man was staggered. “Jesus Christ! I don’t think I can handle all this.”

  “Just look at it and make us an offer,” insisted Stan.

  “I’ll give you the best deal I can.”

  The inspection seemed to take ages. Reg was getting edgy and kept looking out of the bay window. After twenty minutes a price was agreed, but much lower than they would normally have accepted.

  The man counted out the money on to the table, but the proceedings came to an abrupt halt when they heard a loud bang and splintering of wood. Stan quickly stuffed the money into his jacket pockets. The fence grabbed the jewellery and rolled it up in the green cloth, throwing it behind an armchair. The door burst open and four men, armed with pickaxe handles, charged in. The fence immediately dived behind the settee whilst his assistant, a stout man of medium height grabbed a chair and smashed it across the first man’s face.

  He screamed in agony, with blood spurting from his mouth, and dropped to the floor clutching his face. The second man hit the assistant across the back of his head that pitched him forward, smashing his head against the marble fireplace. Fortunately the fire was out and he finished up with his blood splattered head laid in the ashes. Reg picked up a Chinese vase and threw it at the third man, who ducked and took a mighty swipe at Reg, hitting him in the ribs and winding him.

  “We’ll teach you bastards to operate in our area,” the fourth man said as he took a swipe at Stan, who ducked and kicked the man in the groin, sending him groaning to the floor.

  Stan could see Reg being kicked in the guts and he hurled himself across the room hitting the man in his side and knocking him against a piano with Stan on top. He grabbed a brass candlestick holder and smashed it across the man’s face, breaking his front teeth.

  The second man had finished extracting the fence from behind the settee, and after punching him hard in the guts to make sure he did not escape, grabbed Stan by the neck, forced him to the floor and then punched him in the mouth. Stan turned his
head just in time, and only suffered a glancing blow.

  Reg had recovered enough to grab a pot full of geraniums and smash it over the head of Stan’s assailant, who immediately collapsed. The fourth man recovered, kicked Reg on the jaw, then jumped on Stan, who was trying to get up and winded him. Stan struggled to get up and immediately received a punch on the jaw which laid him out.

  The room was wrecked. There was blood, broken china and earth on the floor, the furniture scattered and broken and men were laying on the floor groaning. The fourth man struggled to his feet and began to revive his men but with little success, and he went out to the kitchen to find a bowl of water and cloth. As he bent over the man with the broken teeth, there was a loud bang on the front door which knocked it off its hinges. The man dropped the bowl and jumped at the window, smashing it as he fell into the front garden. His leg became caught against the remaining broken glass in the window, splitting it open from his knee to his ankle. His scream was silenced when he landed head first on a concrete garden gnome.

  Sergeant Randall led the attack through the front door, whilst Inspector Harris brought his team through the already broken down rear door, and they met in the front hall. They were staggered at the devastation. It was like a battlefield with men covered in blood either out cold or, groaning on the floor and clutching their injuries.

  Harris took one look at the scene. “For goodness sake, call for ambulances.” The man in the front garden had sustained the worst injuries and looked like death, having lost a great deal of blood. They managed to stop the bleeding with bandages found in the house. The fence, who was in reasonable shape, handed over the jewellery and was handcuffed.

  Stan gradually came to with a very sore chin. He was almost relieved to see the police and handed over the money. Reg, who tried to get up but could only get to his knees, collapsed against the wall and looked at Stan with glazed eyes saying feebly, “we’re finished.”