Kidnap

by Philip McCutchan

“Screw job?”

  “No.”

  There was a pause.

  “Well, go on,” Mr Blundy said. “That’s if you want to. I mean, if you want me in on it.”

  The Loop looked him over shrewdly. “I do, Ern. If you’re up to it. Like I said — it’s big.”

  “How big?”

  “Very, very big. Real money this time. Real money.”

  Mr Blundy, feeling a curious stir in his vitals, nodded. “Go on,” he said again.

  The Loop looked over his shoulder, all very cloak-and-dagger now. He said, “P’raps better not here, eh. Let’s go for a walk, all right?”

  “All right.” Mr Blundy drained his glass and got to his feet. He followed the Loop out of the boozer and away from Bass Street. The Loop led the way south, down towards Praed Street and Paddington railway station. He talked after a while, quietly, without seeming to move his lips.

  “I reckon I can trust you, Ern.”

  “’Course you can.”

  “Wouldn’t have asked you else.”

  “No.”

  “So that’s all right. Now, I told you this was big. It is. So just a word of warning, Ern, a word to the wise.” A hand gripped Mr Blundy’s arm, very hard. “Once you’re in, you’re in, right.”

  “Yes.”

  “No backsliding.”

  “No.”

  “Any backsliding, any grassing — anything I don’t like, see — you could be in dead lumber.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not could be. Will be. Just a word of warning, that’s all. I know it’s not really necessary, Ern.”

  “No.” Mr Blundy felt a shaft of fear, like ice forming on his spine. He hadn’t liked the Loop’s tone; the Loop was putting in the steel. The boot could follow. The Loop, benign look, half-bald head, hook nose and all, could be very dangerous. In the past, Mr Blundy had heard about the results of the Loop not liking people. Nasty. Now was the time for Mr Blundy to get out if he was going to: if he didn’t, his chance was gone, his number would be at risk of being up thereafter — it would be too late once the Loop started talking. But he was being offered a chance and it might be a last chance. God knew, he hadn’t got far in forty-odd years. To get on you had to take risks; the higher you aimed, the bigger the risks — stood to reason, did that.

  Wealth, real riches? All those lovely shops in Kensington High Street, the mansion with the swimming pool, the girls competing for his favours. Big Blundy. Butler, footmen, chauffeur for the Rolls.

  He couldn’t chicken out now. Simply couldn’t. Though such had been the menace in the Loop’s tone that half of Mr Blundy rather wanted to. Duffings-up, burial in hardcore destined for motorway construction, concrete blocks secured to legs to keep a body anchored on the bed of the Thames, that sort of thing. But that didn’t have to happen. Not if he played his part and didn’t grass.

  “Want to hear more, do you?”

  “Yes.” Against his better judgment? God, he didn’t know what his judgment was any more. Only one thing was sure now: that low, half-strangled “yes” was his committal.

  “Right,” the Loop said. “You’re in, Ern.” He picked at his nose. “Bin on me mind a long while, this has. Bin working up to it like. Matter of fact … it’s why I went to Brands that time.”

  “Brands?”

  “Getting the feel of it, like. As of now,” he added, “I can’t say how much is in it for us. That depends, see. But whatever it is, your cut, Ernie boy, will be a guaranteed fifty per cent.”

  Mr Blundy was astonished. “Fifty! That’s generous, that really is generous, Bernie.”

  The Loop spoke modestly. “Full partnership, Ern. Share all, rewards and risks. Eh?”

  Mr Blundy was doing sums. Fifty per cent? And a big job. Could be thousands …

  “What’s the job?”

  “Kidnap.”

  Three

  “That’s what I bloody asked him,” Mr Blundy said impatiently. “Why me? I asked. Because you’ve got a big car already so you won’t need to nick one for the job, he said. And because you know Brands, he said. And because you’ve got Ag, he said, and Ag can help you mind the kid. And no other attachments, no dependants …”

  “Kid,” Ag said. “Who is this kid?”

  “Don’t know yet, Bernie didn’t say. But Bernie … you wouldn’t think so, p’raps, but Bernie’s soft on little kids. He don’t want him hurt or neglected. That’s where you come in, Ag.”

  “Oh. Is it?”

  “Yes. And there’s another thing. Another qualification I got.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You and me, we’re mobile. Or can be when needed. Specially since I chucked up work, see. You can leave yours easy.” Mr Blundy paused, eyeing the china pig on the mantelpiece, willing it to bring him luck. “More important to Bernie, though, is your Aunt Ethel.”

  Ag stared. “How does she come into it?”

  Mr Blundy hedged. “Time we went to see the old lady.”

  “You’ve never called her that before.”

  “Well, never mind what I’ve called her before, Ag. Point is, she’s got the cottage up in Yorkshire —”

  “Meaning we take the kid up there?”

  Mr Blundy nodded. “Quick of you, that was, Ag. Up there in the Dales, all remote, like, and inaccessible, you can disappear for a while. As long as it takes like. Bernie, he wants to get the kid right away from the London area, right away, fast as he can after he’s been lifted. While he does the negotiating with the parents. And your Aunt Ethel, she —”

  “She’s not daft, you know. Not daft at all. Or senile either. What do we —” Ag broke off. “How old’s this kid, did Bernie say?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Ah yes, thirteen. So do we say, like, we’ve just had a thirteen-year-old son?” She laughed shrilly. “Come to that, what does the kid say to Aunt Ethel? Eh?”

  “What he’s told to say,” Mr Blundy answered irritably. “Now look, Ag. Your Aunt Ethel, no, she’s not daft. She’s not senile. But she’s as deaf as a bleeding post, the old bag. And blind as a bleeding bat without her specs. Also, she’s independent, which is just as well, seeing there aren’t any neighbours within a couple of miles … oh, she’s wonderful, I’ll not deny that, doing for herself and all. But —”

  “She’s not immobile either. The moment she goes out of the house she’ll be on to the police. You’ll never persuade her the kid’s there because he wants to be.”

  “But she won’t know —”

  “And she’s not too blind to read the papers.”

  “She won’t bloody go out,” Mr Blundy explained in a shout, “because we won’t let her, see? We’ll do the shopping and that —”

  “Keep her prisoner?”

  “Just for a bit, yes. Not prisoner exactly. Just look after her, see to her for her own good, at her age she needs that. Just till Bernie’s got his end fixed, that’s all. Soon as he’s ready he lets us know.”

  Ag glowered. “It’s a stupid scheme,” she said scornfully. “What happens after — about Aunt Ethel, I mean? Once we’ve gone, she blows the lot, doesn’t she? Or do we pay her to keep her mouth shut? Not that she would.”

  Mr Blundy shook his head. “No, Ag. We just don’t let her see the kid. That’s all. Keep him hidden. We won’t be there all that long. Live in the boot, p’raps. Or a cowshed.”

  Ag shifted about in the overstuffed chair. “Well, I dunno. I still say it’s a daft scheme. Just like that Bernie Harris.”

  “It’s something new for him, Ag.”

  “All the more reason something’ll go wrong. He told the truth in one respect, though: kidnapping’s big. Too big. Why, we’d go over the wall for years and years! I don’t know about you. You’re used to it. But I don’t want to go inside.” She aimed a finger at him. “I’m having no part in this and nor are you. You just tell that Bernie Harris I said so!”

  Mr Blundy broke out into a heavy sweat. “I can’t, Ag.”

  “Can’t, eh. What do you
mean, can’t? Got a tongue in your head.”

  “Well, I can, of course. But then again I can’t. Don’t you realise what’ll happen? Look. The Loop, he’s told me the facts, hasn’t he? He’s trusted me with the info. So if I back out, or if you do, then what happens, eh?”

  “You tell me.”

  “We get duffed up,” Mr Blundy said.

  “Duffed up?”

  “Me and you, Ag. Duffed up very, very bad. Razors — the lot. You don’t want that.”

  Ag’s face went redder than usual. She gasped, began to pant. “Oh God,” she said. “Oh God. What you gone and got us into now, you — you stupid, rotten, useless …”

  Her voice tailed off. Then, to Mr Blundy’s immense astonishment, she burst into tears. He really didn’t know what to do. Never had she cried before, not in all his memory. It was terrible; it was like the Tower of London falling over. Mr Blundy blew his nose in embarrassment, reached out and patted Ag’s heaving, wrestler-like shoulder. “There, there,” he said. “Don’t cry, Ag. Don’t fret. I’ll think of some way.”

  She sobbed, and between the sobs she spoke. “You’re not capable. You’ve never been any use. Sack, nick, sack, nick. Oh God have mercy on me.”

  Mr Blundy blew out his breath in despair. He tried again. “Now look, Ag, be —”

  “Shut up.”

  “But I don’t want to —”

  “Just shut up, that’s all.”

  Mr Blundy shook with fear, fear of the Loop and the Loop’s tame thugs. Being duffed up … He’d seen it happen inside, never mind the screws, it had been quite appalling. Kicks, blows, knives, tender parts assaulted nastily, even things inserted where they had no business to be, sharp things. Duff up a shade too much and you killed. The Loop had never killed, to Mr Blundy’s knowledge, but there had been a suggestion before they’d parted that the Loop might leave any revenge to his mates. There was no knowing what those mates might have done in the past.

  Mr Blundy had no appetite that evening, but, feeling tenderness was called for now, he got the supper. Tin of sardines. Then bed.

  In bed, Ag was just the usual lump but tonight a lump that cried. The lump hadn’t even wanted the light switched off, in case the duffers-up came, having got the word by telepathy presumably. Mr Blundy was at his wits’ end: without Ag’s co-operation he could never pull this job off anyway, duffers-up or no duffers-up.

  Or could he?

  No, said further reflection, he couldn’t. All sorts of reasons why not: you needed two to keep a constant watch on any kid, kidnapee or not. Besides, Ag would never let him go off on his own, not all the way to Yorkshire …

  No, she wouldn’t, would she! Just the mere threat of it — oh, brilliant! God be praised, he’d got it in one.

  Mr Blundy prodded the lump. “Ag …”

  “For God’s sake shut up.”

  “Thought of something, Ag. I don’t like to see you upset like.” He spoke tenderly. “I don’t really. Same time, I don’t want to be duffed up. Nor you neither.”

  No response, but he believed she was listening.

  “Go on me own.” Oh, she’d never wear that! “Don’t you fret.”

  The lump turned, heaved over was more like it. “You’d never.”

  “If it saved you —”

  “How daft can you get. Wouldn’t have a hope. Besides, don’t care about me, do you?”

  “Ag, I said, it’s because of you —”

  “Never think, do you? That Bernie Harris, he’d know you told me it all. I’d be a danger to him, wouldn’t I? Could yack, couldn’t I? Don’t you see? I’d get done while you’re away.”

  “Sort of … silenced like?” There was a gleam in Mr Blundy’s eye. Genuinely, he’d not thought of that. But it was quite a good point in support of his crafty plan. “I don’t reckon Bernie would do you on your own —”

  “Wouldn’t chance it.”

  The lump was obviously agitated now. Mr Blundy said, “Well, it’s a risk, of course, that I’ll not deny. I dunno, Ag. It’s a bit of a mess … you reacting like this.”

  “Oh yes, of course, blame me.” The lump turned back the other way, withdrawing bedclothes. “Blame me for not wanting the razors.”

  “Oh, Ag, I don’t blame you at all,” Mr Blundy said in a considerate tone. “I always knew this was risky. But do think on the bright side, Ag. Pull this job off and it’ll make all the difference, all the difference in the world. There’ll be thousands in it for us. You and me. The Loop won’t be going for chickenfeed on this, is it likely? We’ll have a new car, Jag if you want. Nice big house in the country, butler, skivvies …” Big Blundy. Big Blundy went on, laying it on thick. Plenty over to invest for their old age. No more going out to work. Don’t want to end your days as a char, Ag. All the clothes you want, and all those expensive restaurants. Better than a tin of sardines. And no duffing up.

  A cautious query from the lump: “What about the kid?”

  “He’ll be all right. He’ll go back to his mum … when Dad pays up.”

  “I’ve always liked kids.”

  Mr Blundy gave a jerk. “Have you? First I heard of it.”

  “Well, I do. It’s sex I think is so dirty.”

  “World’d come to an end without it. Even reverends do it.”

  “Perhaps they do.” She heaved again, in Mr Blundy’s direction this time. “How much do you reckon’s in it?”

  Mr Blundy recognised the note of greed. He said casually, “For us, our fifty cut? Dunno. I told you —”

  “Make a guess.”

  “Two hundred thousand nicker,” Mr Blundy said at random.

  There was something like a whistle. Mr Blundy hazarded another guess: he reckoned he’d got there.

  *

  Next morning, relieved and expectant, filled with optimism for a lovely rosy future, but with butterflies in the pit of his stomach all the same, Mr Blundy made his way to a telephone kiosk at Victoria Station. A long way to go, but the Loop had been insistent: from now on, full cloak-and-dagger.

  Just a brief call. “Hullo. It’s me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “All okay. Ready when you are.”

  “Fine. I’ll be in touch. Just wait.”

  Click.

  Four

  Days passed, bowel-gripping days, before there was another contact, another very late-night and clandestine meeting, with the Loop. Though he did his best to conceal it both from Ag and the Loop, fear had seized Mr Blundy in the interval. Was it going to be so dead easy? The Loop had seemed confident enough, but then he always had at the start of anything new. His optimism and confidence had always lasted to the point where he was nicked and went over the wall, after which he came out smiling again and full of fresh plans, formulated whilst inside. The Loop, oddly perhaps, was the sort who made friends and over the years he had learned a lot from them.

  This time his confidence was boundless. Nothing could go wrong; it was all very well based.

  He told Mr Blundy the details of the kidnapee.

  “Name of Barnwell,” he said. “Harold Barnwell. Nice, well-mannered kid. Goes to a posh boarding school. In Kent, it is. His old man’s a millionaire a few times over. Made it in scrap iron and that. Bloody great mansion in Herts. Haverstock House.”

  “Going to be lifted from there, is he? Or school?”

  “Neither. Kid’s mad keen on motor racing —”

  “So that’s why you —”

  “Yes. Nips out and goes to Brands whenever there’s anything on — plays truant like, if it’s termtime. The job’ll be done at Brands, see, date yet to be notified. It’ll be dead easy … and the old man’s the sort who’ll pay up pronto, without ever risking so much as a wink to the Bill. Done me homework, Ern … Dad’s barmy about the kid, and so stinking rich the money don’t signify.”

  Mr Blundy licked his lips. “How much?” he enquired.

  “Try a million to start with,” the Loop said. He had some questions to ask Mr Blundy, picking Mr Blundy’
s brain very closely about Brands Hatch, its security, its grounds, its official set-up. Mr Blundy, tendering his advice with a fan’s enthusiasm, had an idea the Loop was merely confirming what he’d found out already. If so, very wise, Mr Blundy thought. And his share would come to half a million. It was quite staggering. Maybe two Rollses. Maybe two butlers.

  The following morning Mr Blundy put some speed behind Ag.

  “Best get your Aunt Ethel fixed up, Ag. Write today, eh?”

  “Think about it.”

  “No point in delaying, Ag.”

  “Not got the date yet, have you?”

  “Well — no. But it won’t be long. Be an idea to soften the old girl up in advance, eh? Prepare her, like, why not?”

  “Don’t need it,” Ag said briefly. “Don’t have no visitors. Be only too glad to have us.”

  “You sure?” Mr Blundy margarined some toast, that and a cup of tea being breakfast. In a few weeks’ time it would be caviare or something, in a silver dish.

  “’Course. Must be lonely for her.”

  “Some folks like being on their own.”

  Ag didn’t bother to respond. After Mr Blundy had finished breakfast, she got herself ready to go off to her job as charlady. “Come on, then,” she said. “What you sitting about for?”

  Mr Blundy sighed, got to his feet and went into the kitchen to wash up. His mind flew ahead of the washing-up bowl to Brands Hatch. The Loop had said it wouldn’t be long. The washing-up done and in all conscience that didn’t take long either, Mr Blundy sat and rested for a while with a cigarette; then he thought he’d go for a walk, a long one since it was a nice day and he needed to have his time occupied till the off. He went down Bass Street and crossed Praed Street, going south for Hyde Park. He crossed the Bayswater Road and entered the comparative peace of the park. He liked its greenery, all that grass and the trees, a real oasis. London’s traffic roar diminished a little. It was early and there were not many people about, just the odd park keeper and cop. There was a slight mist hanging over the trees and kind of spreading the sunlight behind it so that instead of a bright sun there was a sort of golden haze.

  Lovely.

  Mr Blundy breathed deep and walked on. He went right across the park till he came to the posh side, Knightsbridge. And Rotten Row. There were some riders, birds mostly, good-lookers too. Not that Mr Blundy liked people on horses: they looked and acted too superior, always staring down their noses at the horseless population. Some of those birds would be a sight better for a good roll in the hay — and Mr Blundy had a bet with himself that they wouldn’t look so high and mighty with their feet on the ground instead of in the stirrups. Like the Household Cavalry, over there in Knightsbridge Barracks, shiny-topped tin soldiers who looked sort of forlorn when off their horses, silly way their boot-tops flapped when they walked, you could see the shoddiness. Mr Blundy paused to give a V-sign towards the back of a young bird who was probably a duke’s daughter, mounted on a jet-black horse. Lot of snobs.