The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin

by R. W. Hughes

  Marco passed the message on to Luca. Mr. Brown could see there was a problem when Luca shrugged his shoulders and held his palms upright in a typical Italian gesture which meant ‘No can do’.

  ‘What the fucking hell is the fucking problem, Marco?’ he shouted from the car.

  ‘They don’t seem to have their passports and these hire cars have no documentation to allow them to be taken out of the country,’ Marco’s reply brought a torrent of foul language from within the car directed at no one in particular.

  ‘Shit! Fucking shit!’ Mr. Brown’s outburst was so loud it caused Luca to step back several paces in alarm. ‘Have you got your passport Marco?’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ replied Marco, only refraining from laughing out loud with the greatest of difficulty at the comedy act that was unfolding in front of him.

  ‘Then you catch the ferry, make enquiries over in Corfu and see what info you can find out about the bastard, Larkin, and his mates,’ came the instructions from the depths of the car. ‘And bloody well move yourself you fat slob or the fucking ferry will go without you. The other car will have to go to the port of Bari, while we’ll cover the smaller port down the coast.’

  Having been forced to divide his forces Mr. Brown then shot off in the direction of the coast road to Otranto. The second car dropped Marco off at the ferry booking office before it to raced off with a squeal of tyres in hot pursuit of the first car. It would take it to the dual carriageway then in the opposite direction and up the coast to the port of Bari. Marco took out his mobile phone, circumstances had put the ball back in his side of the court and he was going to take full advantage of the situation.

  The Audi was speeding down the coast road, just outside the small port town of Otranto. If any of the passengers sitting alongside Mr. Brown in the vehicle had bothered to look closely across the dual carriageway at the petrol station on the road going in the opposite direction, they would have seen a large, black Mercedes partially hidden by the fuel pumps similar to the one they were looking for, being filled with fuel.

  Standing alongside the vehicle was a young man, whom they may well have recognised from the photographs in their possession accompanied by two much older men, one requiring the use of a walking stick, they were making their way slowly across the station forecourt towards a small café.

  If the two American tourists who had been in the ferry car park had not been struggling so hard to keep up with the fast moving Audi in front of them, they too may have also noticed the group at the petrol station across the other side of the carriageway.

  It was while they were in the petrol station café that Geoff’s curiosity caused him to ask Werner what the white van was doing and what was its business as he had noticed it had been loaded with all sorts of furniture and oddments.

  ‘Since the break-up of the Communist Federation it is possible for dealers to drive into the Balkans and purchase old and antique furniture. They then sell it to agents in Europe and make a good profit. I also suspect that driver is also used many times by various organisations to collect and deliver suspect parcels,’ Werner responded.

  Geoff had calculated that the second ferry leaving Kerkira on the Greek island of Corfu should, if they kept to their schedule, reach the smaller port of Otranto further down the coast with enough time for him and his associates to be well clear of the town before the heavy mob, if they were expecting him at Brindisi, could drive to intercept him.

  The ferry that was leaving Corfu later for the port of Bari would not have given him enough time to clear the town, but there had been a hold up at Otranto. The Italian police had brought dogs sniffing around all the vehicles as they left the ferry.

  Fortunately, these dogs had only been trained to search for drugs and not explosives. The experience had given Peer a funny turn so they had called at the petrol station, not only to fill up with fuel but also to buy Peer a large brandy, which he insisted that he required in order to help his recovery!

  Just before dusk the Mercedes with Geoff, John Bolton, Werner Fisher and a sleeping Peer Merkel pulled up several streets away from Werner Fisher’s apartment. It had taken a lot longer to return as a result of them avoiding the motorway and instead travelling on country roads. They decided on this route in order to try and avoid anyone who might be trying to catch up with them or who had been posted to observe the motorways. Werner, the retired bank clerk, had insisted that he was not leaving Italy without first obtaining some personal items that were still in his flat. No amount of persuasion during the long journey back to Castligion Fiorentino would make the old man change his mind.

  As Geoff approached the block of apartments in which Werner had spent such a large part of his life he thought how much he needed Sooty at times like this. The lift had a sign in Italian, which Werner translated as saying ‘Out of order’. They slowly made their way up the stairs, both men keeping as quiet as was possible. ‘Why are we being so quiet Werner?’ asked Geoff half way along the corridor to Werner’s apartment.

  ‘MMM! I thought it was the thing to do,’ replied Werner sheepishly. It was his suggestion that they did not turn on the light in the apartment in case the property was still being watched.

  Werner went through from room to room in the small apartment managing, in the quickly dwindling daylight, to collect the personal belongings that were so important to him.

  It was as Geoff opened the door of the apartment to leave that he was confronted by a figure that was standing in the half light of the corridor opposite the doorway. He slammed the door shut, turning to flee but where to he did not know. He was restricted by Werner who had been looking over his shoulder.

  ‘It is okay, Geoff! It’s okay. He’s my neighbour and he is, as you say, in charge of the house watch.’ Werner reopened the door and spoke a few words to reassure his neighbour that everything was in order.

  He shook his head as he heard Geoff being sick in the bathroom.

  ‘Sorry about that, Werner,’ said Geoff as they made their way down the stairs, ‘but it was such a shock as I opened the door; he was just standing there in the half light.’

  ‘There is no harm done, Geoff. Let us now leave as quickly as possible. My neighbour said that people have been making enquiries and they were still parked outside watching the block until early this morning when he was collected by a large, black car. His old, white Fiat is empty and still parked across the road.’

  Geoff was relieved. ‘It must have been the heavies that collected him, then they were all there waiting for them in Brindisi; the crafty bastards!’ It was only when they had cleared the outskirts of the town and he was sure that they were not being followed that he was able to relax and sink back in the comfort of the deep, leather passenger seat. The low sound of Peer Merkel’s snoring indicated that he was still in a deep sleep.

  It was the following morning after breakfast that John Bolton drew the Mercedes to the front entrance of the villa. It had been recently washed, waxed and polished for the occasion.

  Sooty loaded Peer Merkel’s baggage into the boot and Derek Bolton brought Werner’s travelling bag and box of personal belongings taken from his flat the previous night. The two, old comrades warmly shook hands with Sooty and Derek Bolton.

  ‘The next time I meet you boys will be in Austria,’ said Peer, holding on to Sooty’s hand.

  ‘I’ll show you how to make ‘tater hash’ then,’ answered Sooty, feeling a bit embarrassed by the hug that Peer Merkel gave him.

  Several minutes later after all the farewells, the Mercedes left the villa cruising effortlessly down the drive, leaving the two lads waving from outside the villa until the vehicle joined the road and disappeared from sight.

  As it was passing through the village, Geoff asked John Bolton to stop. He expertly pulled in behind a taxi dropping off the wife of the owner of the village general stores.

  Geoff slipped inside, and after surveying the merchandise he purchased two small cases suitable to fit the personal belongings of Werne
r Fisher and Peer Merkel.

  ‘A small going away present,’ he said to Werner and Peer, handing the old men the cases as he got back into the car. When they arrived at the railway station he carried Werner’s cases to the platform then while he assisted Werner, John Bolton carried Peer Merkel’s bags. It was when they were shaking hands and saying their goodbyes that Werner Fisher took Geoff to one side.

  ‘In two days’ time, it is the local Palio celebrations at Castligion Fiorentino, so the local police force and the Carabinieri will be kept very busy that night. Also, on the same day the daughter of the bank manager where I worked is getting married. I have an invitation to the wedding so, as you see, I will be elsewhere. They are having the wedding reception at her father’s house, which is not far from the bank. Before I took my retirement this was one of the events I was in charge of organising. Interesting enough and, possibly a great advantage for you, I booked a giant firework display for him for eleven o’clock that night as part of the entertainment for the guests. If I was going to do what you have in mind, Sunday night would be the night I would personally choose.’

  Then taking hold of Geoff’s wrist with his free hand he turned it palm upward. ‘Looking through my personal belongings this morning I came across this.’ He placed in Geoff’s open palm what looked like a large T-shaped cork screw but instead of the twisted end it finished with a square, similar to a large Allen key. Geoff looked at this odd looking tool then looked at Werner with a puzzled frown on his face.

  ‘As you no doubt noticed when you inspected the mobile assault gun, there was a padlock on the outside of the hatch. I am sure you have the necessary equipment for the removal of this lock.’

  ‘That’s true,’ volunteered Geoff.

  ‘But without this key, you would have great difficulty opening the hatch and gaining access to the tank. I debated all night whether or not I should give you this tool, not because you are breaking the law, that is obvious, but you are inexperienced and are dealing with explosives. I am concerned for you and your friends’ safety but it is also my conscience and if I was instrumental in any of you or any other person being seriously injured, I could not forgive myself, but,’ Werner gave a deep sigh, ‘you have chosen this path. Providence has thrown us together. I can do no more than wish you and your loyal comrades the best of luck.’

  Geoff looked at the old soldier whose eyes were filling with tears, gave him a hug and then shook his hand again. Then Geoff, with John Bolton following, left the two old men and their luggage on the platform.

  They were waiting for the express that would, after several changes of trains, take them across the Alps and back into their own country of Austria where they would arrive later that Saturday evening.

  On the drive back towards the villa Geoff reflected on the similarity between the old tramp, Sir Reginald and Herr Werner Fisher. What both men had in common was that, for no apparent reason, they had both befriended him. He had noticed, as he had turned to give a final goodbye wave at the railway station, how forlorn and unkempt the two old soldiers looked in their crumpled jackets and trousers, Peer Geoff had noticed was wearing odd socks. It was possibly a good thing that they would be sharing a place together, to be able to look after one another’s welfare; it was obvious by their overall general appearances that they had both suffered since they had lost their partners and had to fend for themselves.

  During the return drive Geoff told John Bolton what Werner Fisher had told him. ‘Lucky for us he came up with that decision, our efforts would have gone off like a damp squib if he hadn’t,’ replied the eldest Bolton brother.

  ‘Something else, Geoff, if that lock on the hatch has not been opened for several years it could well be seized up. It would pay us to squirt some easing fluid in through the lock opening, allowing it to soak through for as long as possible.’

  ‘That’s good thinking John. We’re low on petrol,’ said Geoff looking at the fuel gauge on the car’s instrument panel, ‘we’ll pull in at the next garage, fill up with petrol and get some of whatever you want. Tonight we’ll go back to Castligion Fiorentino when it’s dark and give that lock on the tanks hatch a good soaking.’

  ‘And we’ll treat the hinges as well,’ John Bolton added. Geoff just nodded in agreement, deep in his own thoughts.

  As Geoff explained his plan to the rest of the lads over the next few days, John felt the levels of stress, which had previously receded after their flight from London, building up again inside him. The uncontrollable little nervous twitching which he had experienced when in Stockport, when it had dawned on the group that they were being looked for by both the police and the heavy mob, had now returned.

  It was quite a sombre group that sat down for lunch that Saturday. They had all become used to the two old Austrians. Peer had made them laugh with his odd interpretations of English slang. They also knew they would miss his cooking. He did not do the physical preparation himself but just sat on his high stool in the kitchen sampling the dinner wine and issuing the instructions.All the lads enjoyed participating in the cooking and, of course, they all enjoyed eating the finished results.

  If nothing else came of this unplanned visit to Italy and they were fortunate to come out of the future escapade that they were about to engage in, one thing they all realised was that they had learnt, with the help of Peer Merkel, that they were all now capable of cooking some fantastic Italian style dishes.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Marco had started his enquiries at the hotels nearest the port of Kirkira on Corfu Island. He was extremely at ease, he was able to use his native language and many of the smells were very familiar. It also made him feel quite home sick for his own island of Cyprus. It was during his third enquiry in what was a small, typically Greek, family run business this incorporated a small café with a hotel; it was here he obtained the information he was looking for.

  Two young Englishmen with two much older Germans, one with a walking stick, had arrived in a large black Mercedes saloon car, had stayed one night and then rushed off to catch the early morning ferry going to Otranto on the Italian mainland.

  Marco borrowed one of the ferry timetables from a stand in the hotel hallway and made himself comfortable outside on the café veranda, here he calculated when the ferry would arrive at Otranto and how long it would have taken Mr. Brown, his driver and the young Italian from leaving the main Italian port of Brindisi down the coast to the much smaller port of Otranto.

  ‘It’s certainly very close,’ he said aloud to himself whilst looking at his calculations. ‘That bastard Brown has either caught up with them or just missed them and there’s only one way to find out.’ He took the mobile from his pocket and quickly typed in a number.

  ‘Hi boss, it’s Marco. They were here but they left on the ferry for Otranto lower down the Italian coast. Yes, I’ve just found out. I’m at the hotel they stayed at now. I see, but that could take me several days. Okay boss, will do.’ Marco put down the mobile.

  ‘I’m definitely going to screw that bastard Brown,’ he cursed under his breath as he fingered his knuckle duster in his jacket pocket.

  Marco’s boss, Mr. Brown, had informed him that they had not caught Larkin and his gang so they were going back to Pisa to continue their search from there.

  In the meantime, he would have to make his own way back to Pisa using the train, once he had caught the ferry from Corfu back to the Italian mainland, and he was not here on holiday so shape himself. Marco did, however, still have a slight edge. He had not told, nor had his boss asked, who had stayed at the hotel. That clever shit, Mr. Brown, was still not aware as yet, that not one but two Germans were involved with Larkin.

  He made another phone call this time to his brother; it was necessary to pass that vital information on to him as soon as possible.

  *

  Sunday evening arrived and the group of young Englishmen at the villa had been very quiet all day. John Bolton had managed to eat some breakfast that morning but had bee
n sick shortly afterwards. His brother, Derek, had declined the breakfast that had been prepared and placed on the kitchen table by Sooty. Geoff had just taken coffee out to the pool area. He found it very relaxing there, looking over the fields and watching the farmers working on their land. They would be doing this until the sun became too hot and they retired back to their farms, to return later in the day to carry on their work when it was cooler.

  It was such a simple, steady, easy way of life he thought, just letting the world go by. They didn’t seem to have any of the problems that people seemed to have in the city, and they certainly did not have the problems he was having. He went back in the kitchen where Sooty was finishing off the breakfasts left by Derek Bolton and himself.

  Sooty would fit in with the Italian way of life a treat; nothing seems to worry him at all. The thought passed through his mind as he watched him tidy away all the breakfast things, most of them only used by him, he then proceeding to wash the dishes in the large, double bowled, stainless steel kitchen sink. He only hoped the big lad would still have the freedom to be able to do that after the next few days.

  *

  Marco’s brother, Oscar, with their nephew, Giorgio, had been enquiring at all the taxi ranks and hire car agencies without any success.

  It was nine o’clock on a very quiet Sunday night and they had been out on the streets since nine o’clock that morning, as they had been every day since they had first arrived in Italy. They were weary so decided to call it a day, especially, as they didn’t seem to be making any progress. As they got into their hire car to leave the taxi rank outside the railway station at Florence, a mini bus pulled up and unloaded its passengers and luggage.

  The sign on the side of the mini bus was advertising a hotel on the outskirts of Florence. Its passengers were obviously the hotel’s guests being dropped off at the railway station.