‘It’s all a matter of mind adjustment,’ Colin said. ‘Put the idea of it being thousands of miles away out of your head. We’ve travelled to some work before, haven’t we? This job could be in Wales or Yorkshire for all the difference it makes.’
‘What about a team?’ Doc asked. ‘It would take more than three of us to pull off a job like this.’
‘Four,’ Colin said without hesitation. ‘It would take four to be safe.’
‘Hold up! Hold up!’ Bert broke in. ‘You two are talking as if it’s all been settled.’
Doc stared into his tumbler. ‘I’m not saying it’s settled, but I am interested in hearing more about earning three million pounds.’
‘And so am I, Doc, so am I. But all we’ve got so far is a rough idea of the work. What about the details? How much would it cost? It’s not like grafting in London, you know.’
Colin spoke earnestly. ‘I’ve got the whole thing in my head – it just needs sorting out. I reckon five … ten grand, would cover expenses.’
‘And where do we get that?’ Bert asked. ‘Every penny I’ve got is tied up right now. And I know Doc’s got problems.’
‘And we haven’t had an earner in months,’ Doc added.
Colin felt deflated. This was one obstacle he had not anticipated. ‘It would only take about two and a half grand apiece,’ he said.
‘Look,’ Bert leant forward. ‘Supposing we got the money? We would be in a position to talk about this gold business in more detail without committing ourselves. See how it shapes up.’
‘Got the money?’ Colin had caught the inflection in Bert’s words.
Bert turned to Doc. ‘Patterson’s?’
‘Seems like a good time for it.’ Doc slapped his hands together and rubbed them in anticipation.
Colin looked on, knowing something was cooking.
‘You’re really keen on this job?’ Bert came on again.
‘It can be done!’
‘And you agree that there’s no point in us even considering it if we don’t have the expenses?’
Colin nodded slowly, as if trying to put off what he knew was coming.
‘I’m not making any promises,’ Bert warned. ‘But if this job is as good as you say it is, you wouldn’t mind doing a little blag to finance it, would you?’
‘Patterson’s?’ Colin stared at him.
‘Patterson’s,’ Bert confirmed. ‘It’s a pick-up. Money bagged and the guy knows we’re coming. Only comes to about fifteen grand; that’s the reason we’ve left it out so far. But it’s enough to get us talking about this plane of yours. The job’s tomorrow. You in?’
17
‘That bastard’s been blocking the pavement for twenty minutes now.’ Doc spoke over his shoulder at Bert and Colin as they crouched behind him in the rear of a Luton-type Ford Transit van.
‘Drivers!’ Bert growled. ‘Park any-fucking-where they want these days. Don’t care who they mess up.’
They were waiting in a side street, looking across a main road at the entrance of a small cash and carry warehouse.
‘The collection’s about due. If we don’t get in there in the next five minutes, it’ll be too late.’ Colin tapped anxiously at his wristwatch.
‘Don’t panic,’ Doc said, airily. ‘They often run late. Hold it!’ His voice took on an edge. ‘Someone’s getting into the car.’
‘Thank Christ!’ Bert pulled a black balaclava down over his face. ‘About fucking time too!’
Colin pressed gloved hands together and felt for his sledgehammer. ‘Whenever you like, Doc. We’re ready.’ He pulled his mask down and moved back to stand alongside Bert at the roll-up door, raising it an inch or two so they could get their fingers firmly underneath it.
The blue Transit emerged from the side street normally enough, until startled motorists saw it suddenly swerve across the centre-line and screech to a halt, forcing oncoming traffic to brake. Ignoring angry horn blasts from indignant motorists, Doc coolly leant from the window and backed the van over the kerb, reversing directly towards the office window of Patterson’s Cash and Carry as blaring horns from impatient drivers forced the stalled traffic on.
George Lombard, chief cashier at Patterson’s, was filling out his pay-in book when his office window darkened. For a moment he thought the van was going to come crashing through on top of him, but it stopped inches short and he breathed a sigh of relief. Then his world went suddenly crazy as the plate-glass window exploded inwards to reveal two terrifying figures in dark boiler suits wildly swinging sledgehammers behind the hail of flying glass. Lombard knew the raid was coming, but not how or when, and he sat paralysed with genuine shock as the masked men leapt from the back of the van right into his office. One of the men grabbed the cash bag sitting on his desk while the other screamed obscenities at him and destroyed a chair with one wild swipe of his sledgehammer. Then the bag was flying through the air into the rear of the van, followed immediately by the raiders as they scrambled over his desk and leapt back on board the vehicle.
Bert pounded the side of the van three times and it accelerated away, throwing him heavily to the floor. Colin just managed to stay erect and thought at first that Bert had injured himself. Then he realised that the sound he was hearing was not screaming – it was hysterical laughter.
‘Did you see his face?’ Bert hooted, going into another paroxysm. ‘Did you see Lombard’s fucking face?’
The van swung round a corner and roared away.
*
‘That’s it,’ Bert pulled the last bundle of notes from a Co-op carrier bag. ‘Fifteen thousand three hundred quid. Not bad for a ten-second quickie!’ he grinned at the others, who had left him to count the money while they enjoyed a can of beer.
‘But nothing like three million,’ Colin pointed out. ‘So what do we do now? Split it or use it?’
‘We haven’t decided that yet,’ Bert reminded him. ‘You’ve proved that you’ve still got plenty of bottle, but this gold business is another matter.’
‘You said that if we got the finance you’d talk about it.’
‘Yeah,’ Bert agreed. ‘We’ll talk about it all right. But it will have to be fucking good to convince me.’
The heavy thumping at the door was unmistakable and the three of them froze.
‘Christ!’ Bert leapt to the curtains. ‘It’s the fucking coppers!’
Doc grabbed the money and began stuffing it back into the carrier bag. ‘It’s that fucking Lambert!’ Bert wailed.
The pounding on the door increased.
‘Stash it somewhere!’ Bert mouthed at Doc as he moved towards the hallway. ‘I’ll stall them as long as I can.’ Doc was already in the kitchen.
‘Yeah?’ Bert’s voice could be heard in the hallway. ‘Who? Police! Oh, it’s you, Inspector Lambert. What is it? Something wrong?’
‘You’re wrong,’ the unmistakable voice of Detective Inspector Lambert gravelled out, getting louder as he marched into the house.
‘Hey!’ Bert backed up and spread his arms across the width of the narrow hall. ‘You got a warrant?’
‘If I had a warrant I wouldn’t be wasting my time talking to dirt like you, Maddren. Now, come on. You inviting us in, or do we have to do this the hard way?’
‘Never give a man a bit of peace, do you?’ Bert grumbled. ‘What is it this time?’
‘We’ll just come in and talk about it,’ Lambert’s voice grew loud as he and Detective Sergeant Colon pushed past Bert and entered the living room.
‘Grant!’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You could be a bonus.’
‘What the hell do you want?’ Colin asked. ‘We’re just having a quiet drink.’
‘Champagne?’
‘Brown ale,’ Colin waved his can.
‘Too good for the likes of you,’ Lambert knocked it from his hand, letting its contents froth out onto the carpet.
‘Okay. You’re in,’ Bert snapped, ‘Invited. So we’ll have no fucking mess. What is it you’re after, Lambert?
’
‘Earlier this evening,’ Lambert made a show of looking at his watch. ‘About four hours ago … Nice little blag – Patterson’s Cash and Carry in Acton. You were suggested. You too,’ he looked at Doc. ‘And chummy here,’ he stared at Colin, ‘makes it even better.’
‘He’s visiting. Doc’s just dropped by and I was working all day,’ Bert bristled.
‘And a dozen witnesses to vouch for it,’ Lambert sneered.
‘And the rest!’ Bert snapped. ‘Check it out.’
‘Sooner check your house.’ Lambert indicated upstairs to Colon, who had been standing quietly in the background. ‘On your way, sergeant. I’ll handle things down here.’
‘You don’t mind?’ He grinned sardonically as he spilled cushions from the settee and felt around the seams before kneeling to peer underneath.
‘Be my guest,’ Bert said sarcastically, picking up the beer can.
Lambert spent ten minutes prying and poking in both the living room and kitchen, growing less and less enthusiastic – even less so when Colon came downstairs with equally negative results.
‘I’ll admit this one wasn’t your usual style,’ Lambert grudgingly acknowledged. ‘Then again, you’ve been a bit too quiet lately. And now he’s back on the manor.’ He turned to Colin.
‘They don’t even tell us when they’re letting you vermin loose,’ he complained. ‘How long have you been out?’
‘Not long enough!’ Colin glared at him.
‘And not for much longer, chummy. Not if I’ve got anything to do with it.’ Lambert’s stubby finger jabbed belligerently under Colin’s nose as he spoke. ‘Right!’ He tided the front of his coat, fastidiously smoothing the lapels and squaring the knot of his tie.
‘You seem to be clear this time. But I’ll be keeping my eye on you lot. And if there is any blagging on my manor, you’re IT! Understood?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Inspector.’ Bert answered. ‘All we’re trying to do is make an honest living these days.’
‘Don’t make me fucking laugh,’ Lambert retorted as he led Colon towards the door. ‘Remember! I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you.’
‘Pheww!’ Bert flopped into a chair when the two policemen had gone. ‘That bastard! He’s trouble.’
‘Didn’t think he’d suss us for that one,’ Doc moaned.
‘He didn’t suss anyone,’ Colin told him. ‘He was shooting in the dark. Hoping for a lucky strike.’
‘Where’d you hide it?’ Bert asked.
‘Didn’t.’ Doc’s voice was cool. ‘I emptied your vegetable box into the bag and left it on the table.’
‘You what!’
‘It’s still there,’ Doc shrugged. ‘That Lambert always did miss the obvious. He thinks we like to hide things.’
‘Jesus, a psychologist!’ Bert raised a hand to his forehead. ‘I was shitting bricks when he was in there.’
Doc extended his hand. ‘And I was making the mortar.’
*
The success of the robbery at Patterson’s had rekindled Colin’s enthusiasm and he talked eagerly about the gold job. ‘I handle the preparations,’ he said, ‘do all the preliminary work in Ghana and take charge of the gold once it’s on the ground. All you have to do is turn up on the plane and even at that late stage you can still scrub it if you don’t fancy it.’
‘You make it sound easy,’ Bert admitted.
‘It is easy!’ Colin declared vehemently. ‘And when it’s all over we’ll never need to put ourselves on offer again.’
‘It definitely sounds as if it’s got possibilities,’ Bert admitted. ‘But there’s still a lot to be worked out before I’ll be convinced. How about you, Doc? You struck on it, are you?’
‘Well … we know Colin, and he knows the strength. Knows what to look for. He wouldn’t come all the way back here unless it was something special.’
‘Right!’ Colin took the initiative. ‘And now we’ve got the expenses I can begin making preparations at this end.’
‘We’re not committed to anything yet,’ Bert reminded him. ‘There’s a lot we’ll need to get sorted out before I make a final decision.’
‘Look,’ Colin addressed both of them. ‘I’ll be here for a week yet. Talk it over. Ask me anything. Think about what you could do with three million pounds.’
‘Okay?’ Bert looked at Doc and received a nod. ‘We’ll give it a real chewing over.’
‘That’s good,’ Colin smiled. ‘I can’t ask more than that. Now, who’s going to drive me round so’s I can begin setting things up?’
Bert’s head swung quickly round, ready to mouth an objection, but Colin raised his hand. ‘Just a precaution,’ he told him. ‘My arrangements can always be cancelled, but I don’t have time to leave things while you make up your minds.’
18
Doc eased the car into the kerb just beyond the underground station on Goldhawk Road, near Shepherd’s Bush roundabout. Across from them an estate agent’s red and white board advertised a shop to let.
‘All right?’ He nodded at the building.
Colin shook his head. ‘No good.’ He pointed to the curtained windows of a flat directly above the empty shop. ‘People who live above shops tend to be nosey about what’s going on in them. We need empty premises above us, or better still, a shop in a single-storey building.’
They stopped three times to check empty premises, two ‘probables’ making it into Colin’s notebook. Then a parade of single-storeyed shops appeared on the left-hand pavement with several estate agents’ boards projecting untidily over the pavement.
‘Looks better,’ Colin muttered. ‘Now if we can only find one for rent.’
‘TO LET’. A well-weathered sign jutted from the flaking paintwork of a double-fronted shop. Colin peered into the premises through grime-covered windows and, although the interior was dirty and obviously long neglected, it was ideal for his purpose. He wrote down the details of the estate agent and returned to the car, directing Doc to head for W1. An hour later they were back and letting themselves into the shop, having signed a short-term agreement and paid a relieved estate agent a deposit and three months’ rent in advance.
*
‘Looks a bit rough,’ Doc muttered as he followed Colin inside their newly acquired shop. ‘Suit you, does it?’
‘The inside isn’t important.’ Colin told him, poking about the neglected interior. ‘As long as the outside can be tarted up, we’ll be in business.’ He pushed at the door leading to the back shop.
‘Bit of a camel’s,’ Doc grimaced at the dust-covered ruins of a table, two broken chairs and a heavily stained sink. ‘Think it’s all right?’ he asked, taking care not to get too close to anything.
‘It’s perfect,’ Colin replied. ‘It just needs cleaning up.’ He opened a small cupboard and gave a grunt of satisfaction on seeing the battered electrical fusebox and meter. The lever moved stiffly, but the flick of a switch showed the power was still connected. Pleased, as though this was an omen of good luck, he slapped his hands together in satisfaction. ‘Aye. We’ll soon have a good wee business going on here.’
Doc looked at him with some perplexity. ‘Business?’ he queried. ‘I thought you were after a load of gold. What sort of business are we going into in this dump?’
‘Could be anything,’ Colin stated enigmatically. ‘Anything from chocolates to contraceptives,’ he added, leaving Doc looking even more puzzled. ‘Now come on. There’s still a bit of running about to do.’
‘Pull over!’ Detective Inspector Lambert snapped at Colon, twisting round in his seat as he caught sight of Colin and Doc locking the door of the empty store. ‘Now what the hell are those two up to?’ he muttered, watching as they entered their car and drove off.
*
They sat in a small café as Colin pored over the business section of the London Weekly Advertiser, nodding to himself now and again before jotting down a phone number. He left Doc at the table while he went to the public ph
one and dialled a number, speaking only briefly before returning to his seat.
‘That’s it, Doc. First time lucky. I’ll be nipping off on my own now. Got a bit of business over Islington way.’
‘I’m spare,’ Doc offered. ‘Got nothing else on today.’
‘You’ve got plenty on!’ Colin slid the keys to the shop across the table. ‘Get on to a venetian blind company and get the shop fitted out. It’s the easiest way to make the place look good and the blinds will stop nosey bastards looking in. And get the windows cleaned too, while you’re at it,’ he grinned. ‘That is your line of business, isn’t it?’
‘Big time!’ Doc grinned as he took the keys. ‘Soon get that sorted out. What about the blower?’
‘All in good time, Doc, all in good time. We don’t even know the name of the business yet. But one thing to remember is that this is all on the level. Except for moody names this little business is all on the up and up.’
*
Colin was ushered into the offices of Greenberg, Greenberg and Perris by an attractive secretary.
‘Mr Thompson.’ She announced him by the name he had given at her desk, before letting the door close on them.
‘Ah, yes, Mr Thompson. You phoned earlier,’ Perris acknowledged as he leant over to shake hands.
‘That’s correct.’ Colin sat down facing the solicitor and smiled.
‘And you are interested in purchasing one of our “ready-made” companies, Mr Thompson?’
‘That’s right,’ Colin agreed. ‘I saw your advertisement in the London Weekly.’
‘Well, we have ready-made packages for most types of business. I’m sure we’ll be able to accommodate you satisfactorily. What type of business is it you wish to engage in?’
‘Confectionery.’ Colin’s reply had no embroidery. Perris was here to sell his packages and he was here to buy. There would be few formalities.
Perris pressed a switch on his desk intercom. ‘Rachel, would you be good enough to bring me the Bakers and Confectioners file?’
Ashanti Gold Page 11
