by Jack Higgins
'Hell, Mr O'Connor, I'd have to sprout wings,' Kennedy protested. 'Liverpool's a hell of a long way off.'
O'Connor's voice was cold as ice-water. 'Listen, Kennedy. I'm paying you good money. I want to see some results for a change. You've made a habit of bungling things lately.' His tone became menacing. 'If you don't like working for me we can always make other arrangements.'
'Oh, no, I didn't mean anything like that, Mr O'Connor,' Kennedy hastened to reassure him, and there was fear in his voice.
O'Connor grunted contemptuously. 'Then see you do things right this time,' he said. 'Sid Brown will hand you a paper packet in exchange for this load. There'll be two thousand quid in it. That's a lot of cash. I want to see you and every penny of it back here for breakfast in the morning, and no excuses.'
The door banged, and the whole truck shook as the engine started. A moment later Marlowe heard the rattle of the sliding-doors being rolled back, and then the truck bumped out into the darkness and picked up speed along the main road.
Marlowe settled himself comfortably with his back against the wooden cases, and said to Mac, 'Where did he say we were going? Near Lime Street and not far from the docks?'
The Jamaican's teeth gleamed in the darkness. 'I've never been to Liverpool,' he said. 'I'm quite looking forward to it.'
Marlowe grinned, turned his coat collar up and pulled his cap down over his eyes. 'Better make yourself as comfortable as you can,' he told Mac. 'We're in for a long trip.'
Several times he fell asleep, but always he came awake again as the old truck bumped or swerved over some particularly bad piece of road. Kennedy made quite good time, and on some of the stretches where traffic was light he pushed the Bedford up to sixty.
On the last occasion that he awakened, Marlowe found they were moving through the suburbs of Liverpool, and when he checked his watch he saw that it was just coming up to midnight. He gently nudged Mac, and the Jamaican came awake like a cat. 'We're nearly there,' Marlowe told him. 'Friend Kennedy's certainly pushed this old bus along.'
'What's our next move going to be?' Mac asked.
Marlowe shrugged. 'I don't know. We'll make it up as we go along.'
About fifteen minutes later, they turned into a quiet, dark street and halted. There was complete silence, and in the distance Marlowe could hear the eerie, mournful hooting of the ships out in the Mersey.
There was no immediate sign of activity, and then the door opened and Kennedy jumped down from the cab. They heard his footsteps along the side of the truck, and then he clambered up over the tailboard and shone a torch. Marlowe plucked it from his hand and directed the beam on to him. 'Hallo, Kennedy,' he said. 'Fancy meeting you here.'
There was an expression of ludicrous dismay on Kennedy's face, and he opened his mouth to cry out. Mac hit him with a beautiful short-arm jab in the stomach, and he collapsed across them, gasping for breath. Marlowe stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth and tied his hands with his own belt. Then they pulled several cases out from the back of the pile and pushed him into the space.
They had just dismounted from the truck when two vans appeared from the darkness and parked a few feet away. Four men came forward, and Marlowe leaned against the tailboard of the truck, fists clenched in the darkness in case of trouble.
A small bird-like man grinned and lit a cigarette. 'I'm Sid Brown,' he said. 'You boys from O'Connor?'
'That's right,' Marlowe told him. 'We've got the stuff inside and not a bottle broken.'
Sid Brown nodded. 'New aren't you? I ain't seen you before.'
Marlowe nodded. 'No, we've just started working for O'Connor.'
Sid leered and placed a finger against one side of his nose. 'A good boy, O'Connor,' he said. 'Very wide. You'll do well with him.'
His three assistants were transferring the contents into the two vans at a fantastic speed. 'Doesn't pay to hang around here for long,' Sid said. 'The coppers are too bloody keen for my liking.'
'What about the cash?' Marlowe said. 'If we have to move in a hurry I'd like to take it with me.'
Sid grinned. 'Oh, yes, the old lolly. I was forgetting.' He took a paper packet out of his raincoat and handed it over. 'All in fivers,' he said. 'And they aren't hot.'
Marlowe tore open the packet and examined the money in the light of Kennedy's torch. It was all there. 'You're a cautious one, I must say,' Sid Brown told him in an injured voice. 'You won't find me getting up to any of those tricks. I pay good money for good stuff. Always have done, always will do. It's the only way to get a reputation.'
As his men took the last of the cases out of the truck one of them said, 'Here, what the hell's this?'
Sid moved over to the tailboard and shone a powerful torch on the inanimate form of Kennedy. 'Here, what's going on?' he said. 'Who's that bloke?'
Marlowe grinned and slapped him on the back. 'Don't worry about him,' he said. 'That's my cousin Charlie. He likes to travel that way.'
At the first sign of an alarm Mac had quietly melted into the darkness, and now the truck engine roared into life. Marlowe turned quickly and jumped up into the cab. As he slammed the door he leaned out. 'Nice to have done business with you, Sid. See you again sometime.'
The truck moved forward into the darkness, leaving the astonished Sid and his vans behind.
Mac was laughing so much he could hardly keep the wheel steady. 'Man, is O'Connor going to be sick?'
'Two thousand pounds. All your troubles are over. And he can't go to the police without exposing his whole racket,' Marlowe said. He leaned back and lit a cigarette. 'Yes, I'd call it a very satisfactory night's work.' He looked at his watch. It was almost one o'clock. 'We'll take turns driving,' he said. 'With luck we'll be back by six.'
It rained hard during the next few hours, and it was nearer seven when they turned the truck on to the waste ground near the garage and halted beside their own.
When Marlowe climbed into the back of the Bedford he found that Kennedy had managed to get rid of the bandage. As he bent down to untie him, Kennedy said, 'You'll never get away with this.'
Marlowe dragged him to his feet and half threw him over the tailboard. 'What are you going to do?' he jeered. 'Go to the police and tell them you had a cargo of cut whisky hijacked? I should imagine they'd be very interested.'
Kennedy was almost crying. 'For God's sake, Marlowe, what am I going to do? O'Connor will kill me if I go back to him now.'
He seemed near to breaking point. Marlowe stood looking at him, and something like pity moved inside him. 'If you've got any sense you won't go back to him,' he said. 'You'll get to hell out of here as fast as you can.' He took the packet of fivers from his pocket and extracted ten. 'There's fifty quid,' he said, handing the money to Kennedy. 'The London express leaves in an hour.'
He ignored the mumbled words of thanks and pulled himself up into the cab of their own truck beside Mac, who was sitting behind the wheel with the engine ticking over. 'That was a pretty decent thing to do, man,' the Jamaican said as they moved away.
Marlowe shrugged. 'Mugs like Kennedy shouldn't be allowed out on their own.' He rested his head in the corner and closed his eyes, effectively cutting off any further attempts at conversation.
When they rolled into the farmyard half an hour later, Maria was in the act of walking towards the barn. She ran forward as Marlowe jumped to the ground. 'Where have you been?' she demanded. 'I've been worried sick.'
He ignored her question. 'How's your father?' he said.
'Much better this morning,' she told him. 'He's sitting up in bed asking for you. I didn't know what to tell him.'
She led the way indoors and they followed her upstairs to the old man's room. Papa Magellan was sitting up in bed with a woollen scarf around his neck. His half-finished breakfast was on a tray in front of him. His face lit up as Marlowe appeared in the doorway. 'Hugh, where have you been, boy? What have you been up to?' he demanded.
'They won't tell me anything,' Maria said.
Mac leaned again
st the door, and Marlowe unbuttoned his coat and took out the packet of five-pound notes. 'Your troubles are over, Papa,' he said, and tossed the packet on to the bed. 'There's two thousand quid in there.'
Maria gasped and put a hand to her throat, and her face went bone white. 'Hugh, what have you done?' she said fearfully.
The old man's face was puzzled. 'Where did this money come from?'
Marlowe shrugged. 'From O'Connor. We found out he runs a racket in cut liquor. Last night we delivered one of his loads for him in Liverpool. All the customer was interested in was getting the whisky. He gave us the money without a murmur.' He grinned. 'So there you are, Papa. No more troubles.'
The old man's face was stern. He said to the girl, 'Maria, bring me one of the large manila envelopes from the drawer over there.'
Maria did as she was told and handed him the envelope silently. 'Now give me a pen and some stamps,' he told her. Marlowe watched silently as the old man counted thirty notes out of the pile and put them on one side. 'I've taken a hundred and twenty pounds,' he said. 'That's what I reckon that load would have brought in London.'
Marlowe was amazed. 'You mean you're sending the rest of it back to O'Connor?' he cried. 'That's crazy.'
Papa Magellan shook his head. 'It's good sense. This is dirty money, wrongly come by. I've taken what I reckon O'Connor owes me. No more, no less.' He finished addressing the envelope and carefully stuck down the flap. When he had affixed the stamps he held the envelope out to Marlowe. 'I want you to post this.' For a moment Marlowe hesitated, and the old man said, 'Post it now.'
Marlowe sighed and took the envelope. 'All right, Papa. Have it your own way.'
He left the room without another word and went downstairs. The post box was several hundred yards down the road. It was an old-fashioned, rectangular box set in a rough stone wall with Queen Victoria's initials still engraved on it in wrought iron.
He stood in front of the box and hesitated for a moment, and then he slipped the letter into his inside breast pocket and retraced his steps to the house.
When he reached the gate Mac was leaning against the wall. There was a sombre expression on his face, and he said, 'You didn't post it, did you?'
Marlowe shook his head. 'No, it would have been a stupid thing to do.'
Mac sighed. 'I sure hope you know what you're doing, man,' he said, and followed Marlowe into the house.
Maria was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. When he entered the room she turned, an eager smile on her face, and said, 'You've posted it?'
Marlowe forced a smile to his lips. 'Yes, much against my better judgement.'
A radiant smile blossomed on her face. 'Oh, I'm so glad, Hugh. Papa was right, you know.'
She turned back to the stove and Marlowe sat down at the table, rage in his heart. He knew what he was doing all right. He wasn't going to throw good money away because of an old man's whim. He knew what he was doing, and yet he ground his nails into the palms of his hands in impotent rage because she believed him when he had lied to her.
8
Marlowe made the rounds of the market gardeners that afternoon and paid them off. When he drove back into the barn Maria was sitting on the table, swinging her legs and talking to Mac, who was working on the engine of one of the trucks. As Marlowe climbed down she poured coffee into a cup and offered it to him. 'You're just in time.'
He drank some of the coffee gratefully. 'That's good. It's turning pretty cold outside now.'
'How did you get on with the growers?' she asked.
He shrugged. 'No trouble there at the moment. They all got their money, so they were pretty satisfied.' He nodded towards the truck. 'I've got a hell of a load on this time. Apples and pears, some tomatoes, and quite a few plums.'
He gave her the list and she nodded in satisfaction. 'That's good. There's a steady demand for all these things in the main London markets. I checked in the morning paper.'
Marlowe turned to Mac with a grin. 'You should have no difficulty in getting rid of this lot when you get there.'
Before the Jamaican could reply Maria said quickly, 'But surely you'll go with him, Hugh? It will obviously be so much safer with two of you.'
Marlowe shook his head and clapped Mac on the shoulder. 'He doesn't need me.'
Mac grinned good naturedly. 'You'd only be in the way, man.'
'It's not fair, Hugh,' Maria stormed. 'Why should Mac have to do it on his own?' There was an expression of anger on her face. 'I think you should go with him.'
Marlowe choked back an angry retort and managed to keep his voice steady. 'Listen, angel, I don't give a damn what you think. I'm not going to London. I've got my reasons, and they aren't any of your business.'
Her face was white and two red spots flared in her cheeks. As she opened her mouth to reply he turned abruptly and walked out of the barn across the yard towards the house.
When he entered Papa Magellan's room the old man was sitting up reading a newspaper. He looked over the top of his reading-glasses and said, 'You look pretty mad, son. What's the trouble?'
Marlowe lit a cigarette and paced up and down the room. 'It's your damned daughter,' he said. 'She's getting all steamed up again because I'm sending Mac to London.'
The old man nodded. 'And being a woman she wants to know why you can't go?'
Marlowe sighed and sat down in a chair. 'Why the hell can't she take a hint, like you and Mac have done, and mind her own business?'
Magellan smiled. 'Open that cupboard, son. There's an album on the top shelf.' Marlowe did as he was asked and handed him the old-fashioned red-morocco photograph album. 'Have a look at this,' Magellan said, opening the album to a certain page.
Marlowe twisted the album round so that he could see properly. For a moment he thought he was looking at Maria. 'Is this her mother?' he asked.
Papa Magellan nodded. 'Yes, that was my Maria. As you can see they are like peas in a pod.' He smiled gently and closed the book. 'Not only in looks. I'm afraid that by nature my wife thirsted after knowledge, very much as Maria does.' He shrugged and handed the album back to Marlowe. 'It's a fault common to most women.'
Marlowe got up and put the album back on the shelf. As he was about to close the door he noticed a shotgun leaning in a corner of the cupboard, partially obscured by hanging clothes. He took it out and examined it closely. It was a double-barrelled twelve-bore, beautifully polished and engraved. He whistled softly. 'This must have cost you a pound or two.'
Papa Magellan smiled faintly. 'Yes, I like the feel of a good gun. There was a time when I was fond of an early morning tramp over the fields, and a try at a pigeon or two, but I'm past it now.' He leaned forward and tried to see into the cupboard. 'There should be a box of cartridges on that shelf somewhere.'
Marlowe found them with no difficulty. 'Yes, they're here.'
'Good!' Papa Magellan said. 'Then take the gun. You and Mac can have a little relaxation in the fields at the back.'
Marlowe grinned. 'We can always pretend we're blasting away at O'Connor.'
He examined the gun with real pleasure and there was a short silence that was broken by the old man. 'Maria is in love with you, isn't she?'
Marlowe looked up slowly. For a moment he hesitated and then he shrugged. 'Yes, I suppose she is.'
The old man nodded. 'From the beginning it was obvious to me.' He smiled gently and went on, 'Are you in love with her?'
Marlowe laughed harshly. 'Papa, I'm not in love with anyone. I've got other things to worry about.' He shook his head and got up. 'I don't want to be tied down. I can't afford it.'
The old man nodded, his eyes clouding over a little. 'Then it will be better if you go soon. Maria will suffer a great deal over this.'
Marlowe sighed and nodded. 'I'm sorry about that, Papa, but you needn't worry. I'll be moving on very soon anyway. Perhaps in another week. If things work out all right we should have O'Connor straightened out by then and when I leave you'll still have Mac. He's a good man.'
Magellan nodded and smiled faintly. 'So are you, son. Don't rate yourself too low.' He coughed several times and lay back against the pillow. 'This trouble you are in that keeps you from going to London? Is it bad trouble?'
Marlowe paused at the door, the shotgun under one arm and shook his head. 'A few old friends who want to see me and I don't want to see them,' he said. 'Nothing I can't handle.'
The old man nodded and smiled and his eyes half closed. 'Good,' he said. 'I am pleased. Now I think I will sleep.' Marlowe gently closed the door and went downstairs.
During the remainder of the afternoon Maria made a point of avoiding him. When he and the Jamaican were having their evening meal she addressed herself to Mac only and completely ignored Marlowe. At first he was faintly amused by her attitude, but after a while he was conscious of a slight feeling of resentment that increased as the evening wore on.
He and Mac spent several hours checking the engine of the truck that was to make the London trip and packed the boxes and skips containing the produce with infinite care. Marlowe left the Jamaican to make one or two last minute preparations and walked through the darkness towards the house.
Maria was sitting by the kitchen fire reading a magazine. 'Mac's almost ready to move,' he told her. 'I'll take the thermos flask and sandwiches to him if you like.'
'I can manage myself, thank you,' she replied frostily, getting up from her chair.
Marlowe shrugged and went back along the corridor to the front door. He stood in the porch for a moment, breathing in the cold night air and suddenly there was a crash of glass as something hurtled out through the window of the barn.
Marlowe started to run and behind him he heard Maria call out in fear. As he approached the barn three figures ran out through the lighted doorway and disappeared into the dark. He paused for a moment and glanced hurriedly inside. Mac was sprawled out on the floor by the truck. Even as Marlowe hesitated, the sudden roar of a motor shattered the stillness nearby. A moment later it was dwindling into the distance.
