“Of course,” – a suddenly cultivated voice reached Moe – “I had to hope they thought I was gentry.” Then the posh ‘other’ tone reverted to the Carter that Moe knew and loathed.
“As for this place, it were just like comin’ home – all ready and waitin fer me.” Carter spread his arms wide: “And there you were!”
Moe cursed under his breath at his own unpreparedness. After all, he had been warned and knew he should never have underestimated Carter.
“That doesn’t explain how you got here.” Moe was clutching at straws now. “Who got robbed to pay your way?”
Carter stayed where he was. “Yew smart-arsed tossers always dismiss the likes of me as thickos.” The gravedigger rubbed his nose meaningfully. “But I always kept a little of this and that for a rainy day.” He sniggered, lifting his head to feel the rain on his face. “That’s good. I’ll enjoy it for your sake since yew won’t get the chance, ma boodie.” There was more rocking of the shoulders as Carter hugged himself happily. “I used to stash my loot, cash as well as coke, in some of the graves I dug. Ready and waiting to be picked up later. No-one objected”.
Moe watched as Carter bobbed about, delighting in his own cunning.
Bad AND mad. But Carter was saving his final triumph for Moe’s own very personal benefit.
“Yer old folks were most obliging. Very ’andy to have ’em mindin’ a stash of cash and drugs. After all, who’d ever think of such a thing? Fine upstandin’ citizens lookin’ after my little nest-egg in their final restin’ place.” Carter was kneeling now, hugging himself even tighter and crooning softly, his gargoyle grin lifted towards the sky, his eyes shut as he relished his last and best joke. But for Moe, the worst.
With a superhuman effort, fuelled by a fury alien to him, Moe forced himself into a sitting position, grabbing at the sides of the dank pit, fingers digging in for leverage and support. Carter must have seen – or sensed – the movement and was already angling his head down, his expression of evil now full beam at Moe in the rain-swept fluorescence from the distant street lights.
At that moment, Moe heard a sudden swishing sound, followed by a loud BOING reminiscent of a cracked bell being struck very hard. Carter’s face took on an expression of pained shock and began to sink sideways out of Moe’s line of sight, the shoulders and hugging arms following on. In their place, appeared the business end of a spade, the rest of which was held in the firm grip of a very welcome Screwy Naylor.
…………………………
Moe was determined that the bang on his head wasn’t going to stop him attending his own farewell party, despite the misgivings of the casualty doctor the previous evening. His arrival – looking like an extra from ‘Carry On Up The Khyber’ provoked loud cheering and clapping. And Moe was delighted that not only did Screwy appear, he got a proper hero’s reception, which went a long way towards making the future seem bearable at that particular time, Screwy was to tell Moe later; that, and the reward that had been on offer for Carter’s capture. Moe saw that reward as a sort of repayment for Screwy’s racing tips and both he and Hickox had made known their recommendation on the old docker’s behalf.
It was commonly agreed among the cognoscenti that attended such functions on a frequent basis, that the retirement party hosted by Moe and Hickox was certainly the best in many a year. Not only for the excellence of the food and drink laid on, but also the entertainment.
The latter had not only included a brilliant ventriloquist with one dummy dressed up as a senior officer and another as a saucy WPC, but also an unannounced double act involving a decidedly drunk Moe and a certain chief superintendent on the ladder to higher things in the force.
There hadn’t been a dry eye in the bar, when Moe, who had been a civilian for all of five minutes, finally found that his patience with Charles Cholmondely’s insistence on outstaying his senior officer’s welcome had expired irretrievably.
The room had gone silent – as rooms have a habit of doing when folk sense something is up – as Moe loudly proclaimed that if and when the chief superintendent EVER retired, he was certain to do well in the world of finance since, in all the years that Moe had known him, he had unfailingly displayed all the attributes of a merchant banker! The silent room had erupted in a tumultuous frenzy of hoots, catcalls, cheers and applause as Mr Moe made his exit – and his escape – to another existence.
EPILOGUE
Lampwick Terrace was a warm pink beneath the dying rays of a winter sun as Moe and Marie wandered hand in hand towards her dream house.
“What if it has been sold?” she asked him anxiously, suddenly afraid that her hopes might yet be doomed to fade and die. “I don’t see any sign, do you?”
“If it’s sold, it’s sold,” Moe replied brusquely. “Dream homes are for dreams; we live in the real world. Que sera sera … remember?”
“Don’t be so … so matter of fact, so unfeeling. You’re doing it on purpose, I know you are,” she fretted, pulling her hand free of his grasp. Moe grabbed it again. She let it stay.
“All right. I KNOW it’s been sold,” Moe said bluntly. Marie twisted to face him in anguish, but Moe hadn’t finished. “I know … because my offer was accepted!”
A quiet voice interrupted from the gate where a ‘For Sale’ sign lay partially hidden from the street. “Hello, Mr Moe. Brought the lady along then, I see.” The previous owner was joined by his wife who added to a line of suitcases on parade inside the gate. Moe made the introductions.
“We’ll be on our way as soon as the taxi arrives. Your keys will be with the agent as agreed.” He took his wife’s hand. “It’s been a good, happy little home to us, hasn’t it dear?” His wife nodded emphatically. She smiled sweetly at Marie. “Look after it.”
Marie was gazing up into Moe’s face as the taxi drew up. The old couple busied themselves handing over their cases with Moe’s help. “Oh … you!” Marie was bursting with sheer happiness as the taxi pulled away. The departing couple could be seen looking back at them. The husband gave a thumbs-up. As one, they returned it.
“That’ll be us in a few years’ time,” Moe teased Marie. She pressed close. “Do you think we’ll be able to make ends meet?” she asked him coquettishly, with a little jerk for emphasis. “Could times be hard for us?”
Moe pressed right back. “Have we had any problems so far?’
“But what will you do? You can’t just stop after all these years.”
“I reckon I might have a go at being a private investigator. Use a few contacts. I’ve even got a name in mind.”
Marie leaned away. “Oh – and what might that be?”
“How about ‘JUST A. MOE’? Or – if you insisted on being involved, what about “‘MOE AND MEE’?”
“Better still … ’MEE AND MOE’”, Marie countered. He squeezed her tightly in mock exasperation.
“I thought of it first. It’s ‘MOE AND MEE’.” God, how he loved her.
“Oh, Marie Mee … Marie Mee!” he sighed, his lips against her hair.
She held him off with little enthusiasm and no little difficulty. “Only if you get down on your knee and ask me properly, Arthur Moe!”
………………………….
In its own snug home deep within Badger’s Knoll, a badger dreamed the dreams that badgers dream, at peace with a world moving slowly but surely towards a new spring – and life anew.
THE END
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Copyright © M.C. Newberry, 2017
The right of M.C. Newberry to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
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ISBN 978-1-78623-202-1 in electronic format
ISBN
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November Uniform or the Wagers of Sin Page 21
