Father in a Fix

by Neil Boyd

  Emilio dismissed his bodyguard and led us into a small private room where a table was dressed for dinner and lit by silver candelabra.

  Emilio introduced us to his girl friend, Rosy. He must have been unpleasantly surprised to see who my close friend was.

  Emilio, stooge or not, had influence. To entertain me he had taken over the whole night club for the evening and cancelled the floor show out of respect for my collar. The food, served by discreet Spanish-looking waiters was superb, as were the wines. ‘A meal for a hundred,’ Fr. Duddleswell called it.

  The only brainless thing about Emilio was Rosy. Moon-eyed and big-breasted, she had garish tastes in clothes and was constantly giggling and saying of Emilio, ‘Isn’t he a one? Isn’t he something? Isn’t he something else?’

  Once the waiters had left, Emilio undid the top button of his shirt. ‘Mind if I smoke?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ Fr. Duddleswell said. ‘Get in some practice for when you are dead.’

  ‘Don’t be mad at me, Father. We don’t steal cars. My Organization just borrows them on a permanent basis.’

  ‘Get your balance back,’ Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘and talk some sense.’

  ‘No, straight up, Father. A car’s not exactly something that can be stolen, you see that.’

  ‘Isn’t he something?’ Rosie said.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You learned me my trade, Father. You said in church once that stealing’s wrong because someone gets hurt as shouldn’t.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘There you are, then. When you borrow a car, no one gets hurt, do they, not really? The insurance pays up. That way, the cost of the car’s spread over half a million people or more.’

  ‘No-one even notices, you mean,’ Fr. Duddleswell said.’ Jasus, isn’t this one a stray potato?’

  ‘Why are you doing this, Emilio?’ I wanted to know.

  ‘To help criminals go straight.’

  ‘Hold tight, Emilio,’ Fr. Duddleswell cautioned him, ‘else you will be taken up like Jesus into the clouds.’

  ‘We only take ex-cons,’ He turned to face Fr. Duddleswell. ‘You know how it is, Father. If you’ve got a record, no job for you, mate. “Once a crook” and all that. I know.’

  ‘Oh,’ Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘you are just a has-been that never was.’

  ‘Be fair, Father. Remember that one small lapse when I was a kid of fifteen?’

  ‘That was no small lapse.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Emilio said, grinning, ‘I forgot it was your car. Anyway, nobody wanted me on the payroll after that. Even though I’ve never been in the nick before my recent stay in the Scrubs.’

  ‘Isn’t he something else?’ Rosy said, giggling.

  ‘Shut your potato hatch, Rosy.’

  ‘Stealing cars sounds violent to me,’ I said.

  ‘That’s rich,’ Emilio said with a laugh.

  ‘Presumably,’ Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘your man uses a magnetized plate between window and frame and lifts the catch that way.’

  Emilio gave him a knowing wink. ‘Drive away in sixty seconds. Any make of car. Don’t even scratch the paintwork.’

  ‘You must upset a lot of innocent motorists,’ I said.

  ‘No, no, Father. Not innocent ones. Take our little operation in Hyde Park. One of our girls shows a leg and the lecher passing by stops sharpish, like. A little trip to the bushes, a kiss and a cuddle.’ He stopped to look at Fr. Duddleswell. ‘That’s not really company keeping, is it, Father?’

  Fr. Duddleswell turned his head away.

  ‘Anyway,’ Emilio continued, ‘if this lecher asks for more, the girl screams and slaps his face. Meantime, our man is driving off the, um, abandoned car.’

  ‘There must be quite a number of cars lost in Hyde Park,’ I said.

  ‘Sure are,’ Emilio said, filling my glass. ‘Sometimes the drivers don’t even report it to the police. Awkward questions, you see that. Yeah,’ he added proudly, ‘we stop an awful lot of vice in the Metropolis.’

  Fr. Duddleswell leaned forward. ‘I suppose you concentrate on the smaller cars.’

  ‘The size and make of car make no difference, Father. Listen. First, one of our men hires a Rolls and books a room in advance in a swish Hotel. On the actual day, he parks the hired Rolls near the Hotel. When he sees another bit ’un, a Rolls or Daimler, about to drive up to the Hotel, he nips in front of it smartish. The doorman opens his car door. And straight away, our mans falls ill with a stroke or something like.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ I said.

  ‘Wait for it, Father. There’s a ripe gefuffle. The doorman rushes into the Hotel to get help. Meantime, the car we want to acquire stops. Another of our men puts on a peaked cap—’

  ‘That’s all it takes,’ Fr. Duddleswell mused, ‘a peaked cap. Jasus, you could steal the butter off hot toast.’

  ‘Yeah. Our man tells the gent inside the Rolls we’ve got our eye on that the guest in front has just had a heart attack in the Hotel lobby. He offers to park the car for him.

  ‘So, the rich nit leaps out, leaving his key in the dashboard. He can’t wait to have a butchers at another rich nit like himself having a heart attack.’ Emilio roared with laughter. ‘People are wicked.’

  ‘And,’ Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘your man in the peaked cap just drives the new Rolls away.’

  ‘Right. And cheap at the price.’

  ‘Very good, Emilio,’ Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘but wouldn’t the doorman immediately call a doctor?’

  ‘Sure,’ Emilio grinned, ‘except we have our own doc loitering in the lobby for just such an emergency.’

  ‘An impostor?’ I said.

  Emilio tried to look hurt. ‘Give over, Father.’

  ‘Struck off the Register,’ Fr. Duddleswell said.

  Emilio nodded. ‘One who can’t get a job anywhere, poor feller. Wicked world, i’n’t it?’

  ‘One thing,’ Fr. Duddleswell asked, ‘how in the name of Beelzebub do you dispose of a Rolls?’

  ‘The bigger the car, the easier to get rid of.’

  ‘Even a Rolls? Now there you have me.’

  ‘All up and down the country, Father, there are car-hire firms for weddings, receptions, banquets, that sort of thing. They’re lining up to replace one of their old crocks with a new model.’

  ‘You mean, ’tis not easy spotting a new Rolls in a respectable fleet of ’em.’

  ‘Right. Only the other day, our Organization sold one to a Funeral Director in your parish.’

  Fr. Duddleswell blinked. ‘Bottesford?’

  ‘Can’t name names but the Co-op refused to deal with us, I tell you that for nothing. Naturally, part of the service we provide is selling the replaced cars on the legitimate market.’

  ‘Surely,’ Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘your dear mother always did say your Organization runs a perfectly legitimate business.’

  ‘Books correct, income tax paid up on the nose, the lot.’

  ‘But, Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘are not some of your customers afraid the police will charge them with receiving stolen goods?’

  Emilio touched his shoulder. ‘Want a job, Father? You always did think of everything. First, the Organization and the customer agree a fair price for the acquired car, then we put an ad in the paper—’

  ‘That is clever,’ Fr. Duddleswell murmured, anticipating the outcome.

  Emilio smiled vainly. ‘The customer cuts out the ad and keeps it so if he’s picked up he can say—’

  ‘And quite truthfully,’ Fr. Duddleswell interrupted him.

  ‘Yeah, quite truthfully, that he bought the car on the open market. But our final safeguard for the customer is, he actually pays the full market price for the car.’

  ‘But if the customer’s paying the full price,’ I said, ‘why does he risk buying a car from you?’

  Emilio winked at Fr. Duddleswell. ‘Well, he does pay the full price and he doesn’t. After we agree the price, usually half the trade price, we give him cas
h equivalent to the remainder.’

  ‘Give us a for instance,’ Fr. Duddleswell said.

  ‘Well, we charge a customer £400 for a car worth £800. We give him four hundred quid in cash. He puts this in his bank and makes out a cheque to our temporary company for eight hundred. Besides the ad in the paper, he now has his cheque which his bank returns to him as proof that he is a bona fide buyer who paid the market price for the car.’

  ‘Even though he hasn’t,’ I said.

  ‘The point is, the cops can’t accuse him of purchasing stolen goods at a price so low he must have known the car was nicked.’

  ‘You are a brawny sinner and no mistake,’ Fr. Duddleswell said. ‘There must be a power of competition in your line of business, I am thinking.’

  ‘Too true, Father. It’s a rat race. Which reminds me. It was one of the opposition that leaned on Father Neil the day after God in His mercy let me out of gaol.’

  ‘He told me he was a policeman,’ I started to say, but Emilio interrupted me.

  ‘Charlie Ripley that was, though he obviously used a different name.’

  ‘Chinnery. He said he was a Detective Sergeant from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘I promise you one thing, Father. That nutter won’t be bothering you no more.’

  ‘You’re not going to rub him out,’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘You’ve been watching too many Jimmy Cagney films, Father. No, while Ripley was in your place, one of our lot went through his car. Didn’t burglar-proof it. Probably because it was knocked off. Careless. On our file now is the info’ that he likes Peter Cheyne novels. Uses Brylcream and Ozec aftershave. Size nine shoes.’

  ‘How—?’ I said.

  ‘He keeps a pair of pumps in the pocket by the driving seat for break-ins. But I won’t go on except to say our man got a perfect set of prints from the driving wheel. I’m sending the details on a memo to Ripley’s boss and after that—’

  ‘No more work for Charlie Ripley,’ Fr. Duddleswell said.

  ‘I’m insulted they put a creep like that on to me.’

  ‘And the Home Office chap?’ I asked.

  ‘Clarkie? He’s genuine all right.’

  ‘Of course,’ Fr. Duddleswell said. ‘He’s Emilio’s second-in-command.’

  ‘My Sales Manager, to be precise,’ Emilio said. ‘An old Etonian. But how did you find that out?’

  ‘I rang the number on the card he gave Father Neil.’

  Emilio smiled appreciatively. ‘I sent Clarkie to check that Ripley didn’t get anything out of Father Boyd.’

  I swallowed my last mouthful of dessert. ‘Why are they so keen to know your whereabouts?’

  ‘To put me out of circulation for a few weeks, so I can’t complete vital Organization business.’

  ‘And that’s why,’ I said, ‘you were sprung less than a month before your release.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You won’t elaborate on that?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Nor on how you escaped from Wormwood Scrubs?’

  Fr. Duddleswell leaned on the table and whispered, ‘Emilio, I will tell you how you got out of Wormwood Scrubs, if you tell me why.’

  For the first time, Emilio lost his cool. He turned to Rosy who had just stuffed her mouth with trifle and said, ‘Go powder your nose, Sweetheart.’

  Still trying to swallow, Rosy jumped up and went to the ladies’ room.

  ‘You won’t tell my mum about Rosy, will you, Father?’ Emilio pleaded with Fr. Duddleswell.

  ‘And why should I break your dear mother’s heart, Zach, by telling her you are living with a woman?’

  Emilio looked really hurt. ‘I don’t shack up with Rosy, Father. I’m a good Catholic, I am.’

  ‘Like the butcher’s dog, Emilio.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You never touch the meat.’

  ‘It’s just that—well, Rosy is a Protestant.’

  ‘What about my proposition?’

  ‘I dunno, Father.’

  ‘I won’t mention Rosy.’

  ‘Okay,’ Emilio said. ‘Agreed.’

  ‘What I had to unriddle, Zach, was why your gang instructed your dear mother to send me curate to visit you in prison and not meself. Father Neil was obviously chosen because he is too green to twig what I might. And did.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  ‘The clue, Father Neil, lay in the picture of the Holy Father and the request for prayers for Mr. de Valera.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, Father,’ I said, not knowing what he was talking about.

  ‘You told me, Father Neil, that above the Pope’s head was the papal insignia.’

  ‘Yes, the crossed keys.’

  ‘Indeed. You can bet your bottom dollar that those keys were drawn on both edges to Emilio’s specifications.’

  Emilio looked as if someone had whitewashed his face.

  ‘As I told you, Emilio never broke out of prison at all. One of his gang had the keys made up outside and broke in.’

  There was a long pause before I said, ‘What about de Valera?’

  ‘That was how Eamon de Valera got out of Lincoln Jail in 1917. Except he was clever enough to file his own keys in prison from impressions he made on the wax of an altar candle.’ One look at Emilio confirmed that Fr. Duddleswell was right in every detail.

  ‘Now, Zach.’

  Emilio gulped before beginning.

  ‘Nothing to it, really, Father. There’s a new toolkit on the market designed by Biondi of Zurich. The rumour was that Ripley’s crowd had first option. Many of ours were leaving us and going over to them.’

  ‘And every day was precious.’

  ‘Yeah, Father. That’s why The Boss decided to spring me. So I could sort things out.’

  Fr. Duddleswell took his hand. ‘The Boss?’

  ‘If I told you who The Boss is,’—he made a slicing movement across his throat—‘I wouldn’t see tomorrow’s dawn. I’m the only one in the Organization who knows who The Boss is and the only one who needs to know.’

  Fr. Duddleswell, hearing the Sweetheart twittering outside, gallantly stood up, saying, ‘I will call Rosy back so she can finish off her trifle.’

  As he left the room, Emilio jerked his thumb at the door. ‘My mum always wanted me to be a priest, Father. There but for the grace of God go I.’

  Rosy came back shrieking, ‘Isn’t he a one? Isn’t he something else?’

  Outside ‘The Gay Lords’, we shook hands with Emilio and Rosy and thanked them for an entertaining evening.

  ‘Want a lift, Fathers?’

  ‘Thank you kindly, Emilio,’ Fr. Duddleswell said, ‘but I have parked a bit further on.’

  ‘You’re not still driving that old twenty horse power Chrysler?’

  Fr. Duddleswell nodded.

  ‘I could get you a replacement for that old banger, if you like,’ Emilio said, not expecting the offer to be taken up. He gave me a specially warm pat on the back. ‘My mum has really taken to you, Father.’

  Suddenly Emilio became very agitated. He turned back to Zom who was five yards behind. ‘Where’s the car?’

  The Big Bear stopped in his tracks and jerked his hairy head in all directions. ‘Dunno, Mr. Zaccharone.’

  Emilio took us by the shoulders. ‘Fathers, would you mind stepping back into the Club.’ To Zom: ‘Find out. Quick.’

  We retreated into ‘The Gay Lords’ where we sat and ordered more coffee.

  Fr. Duddleswell touched Emilio’s hand sympathetically. ‘’Tis not stolen, I assure you of that. Only borrowed, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Ripley’s crowd have swiped it.’ Emilio thought about that before asking aloud, ‘But how could they? And how did they get wind I was here?’ He rounded angrily on the Sweetheart. ‘Rosy?’

  ‘It wasn’t me, Emmy. Honest to God, it wasn’t.’

  ‘Sorry, Sweetheart. It can’t have been Zom, he’s as faithful as a dog, and we didn’t tell the owner of this joint who was coming. Their intel
ligence is better than I gave them credit for.’

  Five minutes later, Zom returned. ‘It’s okay, Mr. Zaccharone, sir.’

  ‘You found it?’

  ‘No, sir. The cops towed it away. You were in a non-parking zone.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ He thought the matter through. ‘We’ve got to get it back fast or The Boss will roast me alive.’

  Fr. Duddleswell glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘Sorry, Emilio, Father Neil and I have to be home before eleven. Glad to know your car is in safe keeping.’

  ‘Father,’ Emilio pleaded. ‘Don’t leave me. You got me off the hook once before.’

  ‘And a lot of good it did you.’

  ‘Father, I was wondering if you and Father Boyd could go along to the nearest police station and ask where my car is, pay the fine and drive it back here.’

  While Fr. Duddleswell hummed for a bit, I said, ‘It’s not stolen, is it?’

  ‘Do me a favour, Father.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I didn’t mean to accuse you of doing anything dishonest.’

  ‘Use your nut, Father. How could anyone in my line of business risk driving around in a nicked car? Especially when I’m absent without leave from one of his Majesty’s prisons?’

  ‘All right, Emilio,’ Fr. Duddleswell said. ‘On one condition.’

  ‘Name it, Father.’

  ‘When your present business is complete, you give yourself up.’

  Emilio smiled with relief. ‘You sound just like my mum. I think, Father, you’d better tell the cops the car is yours.’

  ‘We’re not going to lie for you,’ I said.

  Fr. Duddleswell waved me to silence. ‘Steady, Father Neil. A cool head untangles the thread. There is no need for lies.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Indeed not. Emilio here will sell the car to me.’

  Emilio was on Fr. Duddleswell’s wave length. He smiled crookedly. ‘John Smith’s the name. How much am I bid?’

  ‘Two bob, John Smith.’

  ‘And how much will you sell it back for afterwards?’

  ‘Half a crown. Me hand and me word to that.’

  ‘Done,’ Emilio said and forked out a florin. As he started to give us basic facts about the car, I realized we were in for a torrid time.

  Emilio handed over the key and needlessly annoyed his saviour by wishing him ‘the best of British.’