Toeing the Line
Page 6
Three forty and another day in the trenches was about to come to a successful close. Production was back up to thirty percent, Cap’n Nemo was in the boardroom with a well-deserved gin and tonic, and Badger was in the foreman’s office nursing a splitting headache. Yes, a successful day.
Nick put down his mug of tea and watched Luigi working on the Times crossword with little murmurs of, “Ah,” as he filled in another answer.
He didn’t look up as Nick strolled across the workshop and looked over his shoulder. “How’s it going, Luigi?”
“It’s going well,” Luigi said without looking up. “As it usually does. This takes brains. So you wouldn’t understand.”
“So, no harder than any other day, then?” Nick said and leaned over the paper. “Done quite a few, I see.”
“Yes. It’s practice and brains. Something some of us are missing.”
Nick strolled off. “How rude.”
The personnel door screeched open, and Mrs. T stepped over the raised door frame. “Any more tea, boys, before we knock off?”
“No, thanks, Mrs. T,” Nick said with a smile. “You get off and rest your feet.”
“Okay, we’ll be off, then. Jessie needs to get home early today.”
“Oh, why’s that, then?”
Jessie stepped into the workshop and smiled her warm, vacant smile. “The builders are coming in.”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “That right? What you having done?”
“I need the floors flattened,” Jessie said. “I’m having a conservative.”
Nobody said anything; there was nothing to be said. They watched the tea ladies leave for a night best left unimagined.
Nick pointed down at the piece of chain Buckshot was rolling up into a loop. “What’s that for?”
Gonk lifted the end of the long, thin chain and draped it over Buckshot’s shoulders. “Good for his escaping.”
Smiffy put down his newspaper and strolled over. “You really doing that escapology stuff, then, Buckshot?”
“Yeah, told you I was.”
“Any good?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, I’m the best in the class,” Buckshot said, as if that was a measure of expertise.
“How many in the class, then?” Nick asked.
Buckshot looked a little shifty. “Varies.”
“How many signed up for it?”
“Dunno, I was late.”
“Had to go to the bog, did you?” Smiffy said and screwed up his face in mock disgust.
“I was with a woman, if you must know.”
“That’ll be shopping with your mom, then,” Nick said.
“No!” Buckshot said, annoyed. “It was one of my nurses. I was shagging her brains out. Agen.”
“Met her sister on the track earlier,” Nick said innocently.
Buckshot’s brow creased. “How could you? You don’t even know her.”
Nick reached into his overalls and pulled out the inflatable girlfriend from the line, turned it round, and blew into a valve on its neck. Just enough to inflate it to a firmness of a wrinkled prune.
“Ah,” Buckshot said, his face betraying him with traitorous pink. “Very funny.”
“These nurses,” Smiffy said. “They related by any chance?”
Buckshot saw a way out of the spotlight and took it. “Yeah, they are. Twins. Blondes. Gymnasts.”
Okay, enough already.
“And contortionists.”
Outclassed, the boys gave up baiting him.
“Show us some of this escaping, then,” Nick said.
“Okay,” Buckshot said, shaking out the chain. “But I’ll need an assistant.”
Gonk bowed. “No sequins, though.” He took the chain and wound it tightly around Buckshot’s arms and legs.
Nick strolled over to Luigi’s locker, unhooked the padlock, and handed it to Gonk.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Luigi said.
“No worries, you’ll get it back in a minute. Right, Buckshot?”
“I’ll need complete silence,” Buckshot said theatrically.
Gonk snapped the padlock through the chains, stood up, and joined Nick at the lockers where he was taking off his overalls and boots.
“Okay, Buckshot,” Nick said, tossing his overalls onto the locker floor. “Do your stuff.”
Buckshot rolled about on the floor, grunting and rattling the chains.
“You going to the Crown for a beer, Smiffy?” Nick said.
“Does the pope shit in the woods?” Smiffy said, stripping off his overalls in record time.
Gonk grinned. “Me too. But only the one. Or two, unless somebody insists on another.”
Luigi folded his newspaper dramatically and walked to the door, his relief at getting away marred by the thought of where he was getting away to.
“You coming, Luigi,” Smiffy asked redundantly.
“I have better things to do with my life than go to the pub at this time of day.”
“Oooh!” Smiffy said. “Beg your pardon, Father Benedict.” He glanced at Nick, also heading for the door. “You coming, Nick?”
“Yeah. I’ll meet you there.” He winked at Smiffy. “Gotta pick up a microwave for Wombat.” He sighed. “Life was so much easier when we had a night shift.”
“Oh, happy days,” Smiffy said, looking up to heaven.
“If I remember,” Luigi said, pausing at the door. “You lot were pissed all day and sleeping it off all night.”
“Exactly,” Nick said. “Hence the happy days. Or nights.” He stopped, returned to Buckshot, and tapped him with the toe of his shoe. “How’s it going, Buckshot?”
Buckshot grunted and rolled around some more.
“Do you think we’re distracting him?” Smiffy asked with a concerned frown.
“Yeah,” Nick said, returning to the door. “I think so. He did say he needed complete silence.”
He stepped out of the door, leaned over, and switched off the lights.
…
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