by R. W. Hughes
‘What have you got there, Derek?’ whispered his brother loudly as Derek entered the store room.
‘The only thing I could find was this pram.’ All four looked at the frail pram with large wheels at the front and smaller wheels at the rear.
‘Jesus Christ! We’ll never lift it in there,’ said a despondent John.
‘We won’t if we don’t try,’ said Sooty, grabbing the underside corner of the safe, quickly followed by the others who also grabbed a corner.
With a lot of cursing and a supreme effort from all of them they managed to get one corner of the safe on the edge of the pram. Then, with a mighty heave by Sooty, while the other three stopped the pram from tipping up, the safe slowly slipped into the well of the pram. ‘Good job the occupant’s not in residence,’ said Derek Bolton as the safe settled precariously on the pram’s base, pushing out one of the sides of their unusual transport in the process. It was badly balanced and no matter how they tried they could not get the safe to move into a better, more secure, position.
‘We’ll have to go,’ said Geoff looking at his watch, ‘the night watchman will be coming back soon.’
‘Yes! Let’s get out of here, bloody pronto!’ voiced a panicky John Bolton.
With a Bolton brother on either side of the pram trying to balance it, Sooty pulling with a rope from the front and Geoff trying to steer from the rear, they started their precarious, winding journey across the electric company’s compound.
They were between two lorries when Geoff quietly called a halt. ‘Stop! The watchman’s coming back!’ he whispered. All four froze as the faint sound of whistling, getting louder by the second, could be heard from the far side of the fencing.
There was the rattling sound of chain link fencing as the watchman passed through the gap he had been using for years. Followed by the slight sound of tearing material, the whistling was replaced by cursing. ‘Fucking hell! Fucking Fucking Hell! I’ve been using this bloody gap for five years and the first time I put on a decent fucking coat it gets stuck in the fucking fence.’ The four lads could hear the watchman climb up the short embankment still cursing, then stop on the other side of the lorry just several yards away, relieving himself against the wheel, before carrying on to a building about twenty yards away that was used as a canteen by the workmen during the day.
‘OK. Let’s give it another go!’ whispered Geoff after several more minutes and no further movement from the direction of the canteen.
They made several more yards progress but as the bank dropped away towards the fencing the pram’s large front wheel buckled, tipping the safe to one side of the pram. It would have tipped out altogether if Sooty had not quickly moved from the front to support that side of the pram.
‘OK. Let’s try again!’ gasped Geoff, realising that things were not going the way he had anticipated. He now accepted that even if they ever managed to get to their vehicle they could not possibly lift the dead weight of the safe from the pram into the much higher back of the van. Geoff was at this point having serious doubts they would ever reach that far.
The group struggled manfully on several more paces, with Geoff using all his strength to support the side of the pram in an attempt to keep as little weight as possible on the by now badly buckled pram wheel. Even Sooty’s great strength was not sufficient and, slowly, the weight of the safe settled on that side of the pram. The buckled wheel collapsed without warning, tipping the pram along with the safe and Derek Bolton, who was on that side, down the small embankment and up against the fence, causing a great rattling of the chain linkage. Much more serious than the amount of noise caused by the mishap was that the safe had trapped Derek by his leg against one of the fence supports.
The watchman must have heard the noise as suddenly the security lighting came on which illuminated the whole compound. Luckily, the two lorries and the slight dip in the ground shielded the group from anyone looking in their direction from the canteen. Unfortunately, the compound lights being turned on was the last straw for an already very nervous and frightened John Bolton. He scurried on all fours along the side of the fence to the gap and disappeared across the waste ground in the direction of the distant lay-by.
Geoff and Sooty were pulling and Derek pushing, as best he could, but their efforts would not budge the pram and safe that was trapping Derek against the fencing. All three had stopped for a breather and Geoff was struggling to keep down the feeling of panic that he could feel in his stomach.
The watchman could be checking the perimeter of the compound and it would only be a matter of time before they would all be discovered hiding in the ditch, the police would be informed and they would all be marched off to Stockport police station.
There was a scuffling from the direction of the gap in the chain link fence making them all jump in fright, as John Bolton appeared out of the shadows.
‘You’ve come back then,’ said his brother, sarcastically.
‘I couldn’t leave you bruv,’ replied a sheepish John.
‘I know why. You got as far as the van and then realised I had the ignition keys; otherwise you would have been off, leaving us here in the shit. You bloody coward!’
John Bolton said nothing in his defence at the severe rebuke by his younger brother; he just joined the others in pulling and pushing the heavy metal container. Their combined effort managed to ease the weight of the safe sufficiently to allow Derek, with a deep groan, to drag his leg clear.
Luckily, Derek had only sustained a badly bruised and not a broken leg, with the help of Sooty he managed to hobble behind the other two lads as they hurriedly left the compound. They left the safe still wedged against the fence support with the partially flattened pram trapped beneath it. ‘Hope for the best and prepare for the worst,’ said Geoff, as they all piled into John Bolton’s van.
‘That was a bit of a disaster lads, sorry about that,’ he added as they drove off, leaving the electric company’s compound behind them bathed in light. The night watchman was standing between the two lorries, cursing the opportunistic thieves he believed came from the council estate who he could see driving off into the night on the far side of the fencing.
‘Those bastards are always trying to pinch any piece of equipment that might be left in the compound; a couple of those German Rottweiler’s are what they need here,’ he muttered, as he made his way back to the warmth of the canteen, smiling to himself at the thought of the dogs ripping the pants off any unlawful intruders in the compound.
As the van left the estate and joined the main road John Bolton started to laugh. An uncontrollable, hysterical laugh which was infectious and soon all four lads were laughing until their stomachs ached, more with relief than merriment.
The only consolation that the group had was that they made the headlines in the local paper the following week. There was a photograph of the night watchman who, according to the paper’s reporter, through his diligence to duty had single-handedly disturbed and thwarted an attempt by a professional gang of experienced robbers in their efforts to steal the safe containing the local electric company employees’ wages.
In truth the break-in had not been discovered until the office was opened early at 7.30am on Friday morning by the wages clerk. The safe itself was not found until the lorries were moved later that morning at 10.30am.
*
Geoff had used some of his money from the pool of cash to buy some new clothes. This smart attire gave him a massive boost of confidence when he went for several interviews arranged by his probation officer. All, unfortunately, were without success. Until, that is, he was interviewed for one that was advertised as an ‘Assistant House Sales Person’. In reality it was a general dog’s body in the sales department at one of the large private housing estates nearby.
‘Have you any previous experience in selling, Mr. Larkin?’ said one of the directors of the building firm who also ran their own house sales department.
‘No sir,’ was Geoff’s prompt reply, ‘but I ran
the library at the school and worked in the offices at the electricity board distribution centre as you can see from the reference letter,’ while indicating the letter on the table in front of the three directors.
*
He had used his own skills and the computer knowledge of his mate, Derek Bolton, to rewrite the reference which had been given to him for the short period he had spent on their work experience scheme, as well as doctoring the reference given to him by the principal of the school, Mr. Tattersall.
‘I’m quick to learn sir, and I’m available to start at once.’ The interview carried on for another ten minutes. Geoff could sense he was making an impression on one of the firm’s directors. It was when the senior figure at the table looked at his companions and nodded, that he knew he had clinched the position, even before the man spoke. He considered it was his new smart looking clothes that had probably swung it in his favour.
Geoff’s duties were as advertised, assisting the senior property sales woman. The firm was building and selling luxury private three and four bedroom houses all with double garages.
Their senior sales lady was a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Pauline Grant. Her original assistant had been rushed to hospital with a burst appendix and, as there had been complications, she would not be available for work for approximately six weeks, hence the temporary position which Geoff had acquired.
His duties consisted of answering the phone, making appointments with the prospective purchasers in Mrs. Grant’s diary, opening the door of the show house when the clients arrived and following behind Mrs. Grant making notes.
It was also his responsibility to vacuum and dust the show houses between the regular cleaning ladies’ visits, a job which he didn’t mind as he also cleaned the bed-sit shared with Sooty and he liked everything kept nice and tidy wherever possible. At first it was under the supervision of Mrs. Grant and then, as he showed he was quite competent, he was left to do the work on his own.
He found Mrs. Grant a pleasant woman to work for. She taught him the correct and polite way in which to use the phone, coaching him in his approach and grammar in a nice way that did not make him feel in any way inferior.
After a month under Mrs. Grant’s guidance, he was full of confidence as he dealt with the many different types of people that showed interest in the houses, so much so that, on occasions, when they had several clients to show around at the same time he was given the responsibility of showing couples around on his own, even taking and recording their details for the firm’s records.
On Saturday at lunchtime, Mrs. Grant always took the keys to the two bedroom show house, which was much nearer the road, leaving Geoff in charge of the main three bedroom property, which was further along on the estate.
Rumour had it amongst the staff that Mrs. Grant and one of the directors of the construction company were having an affair after he had been seen on a regular basis entering the two bedroom show house by the rear door on Saturday lunchtime.
Opposite the three bedroom show house was the site compound where all the equipment was stored. All the houses on the site were sold with fitted carpets and a fitted kitchen with all appliances. These were installed to entice and encourage people to commit themselves to one of the firm’s properties.
The low wages Geoff earned were barely sufficient to cover the cost of his weekly expenditure as Sooty and he were now sharing a bed-sit in a large, rambling Victorian house.
He’d approached the school principal before he left to try and persuade him to purchase the old book that he’d left in his care but, unknown to him, the principal was a member of the book club and he received a regular circular which, amongst other things, contained an article on the very theft of this rare first edition book.
Geoff was quite confident as he was shown through to Mr. Tattersall’s study by his secretary, Miss. Weatherhall. ‘Ah yes, nice to see you Larkin, you look very smart my boy. What can I do for you?’ this polite explanation met Geoff as he entered the room. ‘That will be all for the moment Miss. Weatherhall, thank you,’ he continued, looking past Geoff at his secretary who was still standing in the open doorway. She turned, with a flick of her head, and left, closing the door behind her.
‘It’s about my mother’s book sir,’ started Geoff.’
‘Mmm, this book,’ interrupted Tattersall, ‘you realise of course that we will have to check on its authenticity before it could be sold. Also, a book of this age will need to have a proper bill of sale and a list of its previous owners.’
Mr. Tattersall was pleased, his last statement had wiped the smug smile from the face of the ex-pupil now standing in front of him. He waited, smiling pleasantly at Geoff, whose initial confidence had suddenly deserted him.
The crafty old bastard, he knows the book’s hot so he’s going to keep it for himself and put it in his silly collection, he was thinking as he spoke. ‘I realise that Mr. Tattersall, as you can appreciate, a lot of my mother’s papers were lost when she was in the old people’s home, so I will need a little more time until I can obtain copies of the proper documentation.’
‘You can rest assured it will, Larkin,’ replied Tattershall, still smiling. ‘Until you obtain all the necessary documents and we can advertise the book for sale I think for its safekeeping I should keep the book for the time being.’
Tattershall visited the bookshop in the town on a regular basis. He’d heard it first hand from one of the staff there the full, detailed story of the rare book theft and the two young men who had been involved. He was also aware on the same day of the condition of the PE instructor’s clothes along with the absence from the school of two of the students for part of that day. It had not taken him long to put two and two together but that little incident had now all blown over. He was still in possession of a very rare and valuable first edition. For all intents and purposes he was simply looking after a pupil’s close relation’s possessions following her death.
Geoff shook the principal’s hand and then left his office saying a polite goodbye to his secretary, Miss. Weatherhall. All the time Geoff had forced himself to smile; he had learnt a long time ago that it didn’t do to show your true feelings to the opposition.
Geoff and the rest of the lads had been constantly dibbing into the wad of £20 notes and they were now down to just £300, but the seeds of a scheme were forming in his over-active brain, whereby he could hopefully, with the help of his mates, re-build their cash float.
On the building site where he worked, next to the compound, was the shell of a new three bedroom house, intact with its windows and doors but un-plastered with no internal fittings. This was used as a temporary store for the fridges, washing machines, dishwashers and central heating boilers for the houses on the building site.
Geoff noticed that there were many different vans that delivered equipment, some to the compound and some to be stored in the locked store house. On Mrs. Grant’s bunch of keys was one to both the compound and the nearby house. On the odd occasion there were deliveries on a Saturday afternoon when no workers were on the site and on these occasions the deliveries and unloading were overseen by the very efficient Mrs. Grant. Geoff had taken an imprint of the keys when they’d been left in one of the kitchen cupboards in the three bedroom house they were presently using as an office.
John Bolton had no trouble making duplicate keys from the wax imprint Geoff delivered to him. Now that he had the keys he decided that on his way to the lodgings he would take a diversion and call in on Jock the shopkeeper.
When he arrived outside the grimy building there was a sign swinging on the inside which said in large letters ‘Closed’. He walked past on the opposite side of the street but he noticed a faint glimmer of a light from the rear of the building.
Checking that nothing seemed unusual in the vicinity he returned and tried the shop door, it was locked. He pressed the bell at the side for a full minute; he could hear the bell ringing inside the dark interior of the shop.
‘Come on you
fat slob answer the door,’ he muttered under his breath as he nervously looked up and down the empty street.
The light was turned on in the shop front and about a minute later a voice spoke from the other side of the locked door in Jock’s broad Scots accent, ‘Who is it? What di yea want?’
‘It’s me, Geoff Larkin,’ said Geoff as loud as he dared without shouting.
‘What is it yer saying?’ came the reply.
‘It’s me! Geoff Larkin,’ said Geoff now speaking into the open letter box. There was a long silence and then came the reply from the other side of the door.
‘Are yea on ye own and what di yea want?’
‘I’m not talking to you through the letter box Jock, let me in I’ve something that’ll interest you,’ he whispered loudly. Jock thought for a few seconds, this Larkin lad probably had some cheap junk he was trying to offload, most likely what he’d picked up from the station, that’s where he was operating from the last time he’d called, but that was a good while ago.
Geoff had given up hope on his fence opening the door and had started to leave when there was the sound of heavy bolts being drawn. The door was opened slightly but still held on a security chain. A face appeared at the gap looking Geoff up and down.
‘You’ve grown a wee bit lad since ye were here last,’ the face said before the chain was removed, allowing the door to open just sufficiently for him to squeeze through before being quickly closed behind him. Fifteen minutes later, his business with Jock concluded, he slipped out of the front door of the shop, which was closed quietly behind him.
As he quickly made his way through the quiet streets back to his lodgings he was mentally working everything out stage by stage, when he had finished it gave him a great feeling of satisfaction; he had a spring in his step, feeling quite content with his evening’s work and was smiling as he let himself into the bed-sit he shared with Sooty.
Chapter Seven
