Falling too, p.18
Falling Too, page 18
‘Who put the list on the train?’
‘A little tosser called Check Taylor, a trusted sidekick of Phil’s. He used to arse lick. I don’t know how he got the fucking list, but he phoned me.’
‘He phoned you?’
‘He owed me big time. Well, my golden goose had just landed. I offered Check a wedge and told him to place the list on the overnight mail train. I had it all ways up, the cash from the robbery and a way to get Tussel off my back if it all went tits up by offering him the list. All I had to do was pick the list up when we robbed the train.’
‘You just nipped in and stole it.’
‘It was easy. The whole job was chaos. The train driver they brought was a turkey, they were running late, bags were flying around and I jumped on board, grabbed the list and ran. But I never saw a blind penny of the robbery money. I needed to disappear.’
‘And you’ve hung around here ever since?’
He laughs. ‘No. I’ve been everywhere. In my position, you need to keep moving. After all, I have a thousand reasons for Phil, the robbers and the police to want a piece of me. I’m here because I heard what’s going down.’
‘Another robbery.’
‘I thought the story was bullshit until Malcolm’s and Phil’s names came up. Then I knew it had some truth. When I heard Phil was on the move I put two and two together. I didn’t have a date, so I made home here. Waiting. When I saw Malcolm last night, I knew I was right.’
The lager is warm in my hand and I put it down. Outside the wind is getting up. The bushes around us are rustling and, somewhere, the creak of a branch beats out a slow rhythm. ‘And what are you planning to do?’
‘Me? Nothing. I just want to be here. Where else would I rather be on night like this? I had a front row ticket in mind as soon as I heard the gen. What’s your connection?’
I’m not of a mind to be as honest and up front as Jethro. ‘I have a few friends in trouble.’
‘Were they in the car?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing—when’s the train due?’
‘Less than an hour.’
‘And do you know what’s on it?’
He smiles. ‘Phil’s life savings, from what I hear.’
Chapter 26
I place my lager can on the ground. ‘I need some air.’
‘Sure. I’m not going anywhere.’
I step out and cough a little as the cold air replaces the fug of the box. And now I have some figuring to do. If Jethro isn’t some madman with psychic ability, then George and Tina are not going to walk away from this. This is way out of any league they might want to play in.
I climb out of the bush and look down to the road. The light is poor. Shadows bathe shadows.
Whatever way this is going down, my first thought is for George and Tina. I need to get them the hell out of here. Not easy. Tina needs the drawing, but compared to being implicated in a train robbery her theft is minor.
Lights from a car cut along the lane. I keep out of sight.
I walk down to the road, keeping to the back of the substation, shielding myself from anyone out in the open. I stop and listen, trying to catch something other than the sounds generated by the wind. Low talk? The hum of an idling engine? The click of someone readying a gun? The countryside gives up nothing.
I consider walking a little closer but, with under an hour to show time, there might be someone around by now. I give it five more minutes before I retreat.
Jethro staggers from the bush. ‘Any sign of life?’
His voice is loud and I step towards him. ‘Do you want to be caught?’
‘What?’
‘Your voice. Too loud.’ I try to keep it to a whisper.
‘Good point.’ Still too loud.
‘There’s no one around that I can see.’
The sound of another car causes me to turn my head. I expect to see lights but, as the engine note rises, there’s nothing but darkness. Jethro touches my shoulder. ‘Show time.’
The car must be under the bridge. The engine echoes briefly then dies. Doors open and through a crack between the trees I see a flash of light from the car’s interior. A voice, words indistinguishable at this distance, barks. The light is killed. The car starts up and reverses back up the road.
Jethro nudges by. ‘I want to see how this is going to go down.’ He slips, unsteady on his feet, regains his balance and heads for the front of the substation. I follow him.
The two people from the car are talking to each other. I can’t see them and I can’t make out the words, but I think Laurel and Hardy are back in town. One of them is giggling. I don’t think Jethro is the only one that has been on the laughing juice.
From the other direction, another vehicle is approaching. This one has its lights on, but stops well short of the bridge. I can’t hear if anyone gets out, but a few seconds later it shoots by.
I jump when Laurel and Hardy speak again. They have moved, right to the other side of the substation. They must have jumped the fence when they heard the car coming. If I step out I could probably touch one of them. Jethro and I freeze.
‘What do we do now?’ Sounds like Jake.
‘As the man said. We are here as a backup. We do nothing until told otherwise.’
‘I need a piss.’
‘You went before we left the pub.’
‘I know, but this cold air goes for my bladder like the devil.’
‘You need to be quick.’
Jethro and I drop back, out of sight, just as Jake rounds the corner. He unzips and hums as he pees. A few seconds later he’s back by the side of his friend.
I sneak forward, but this time I circle to the far side of the substation. It’s a squeeze between the bushes and the building, but when I get through I can see the road. I doubt I could be seen unless they floodlight the place. Jethro follows me in.
Jake coughs. ‘How long?’
‘You’re like a kid. It’ll be what it is. We got here when we were told.’
Jakes grunts. ‘Sure, and the taxi driver thinks you’re a nutter. Why did you tell him to turn off his headlights?’
‘So as not to give us away.’
‘He’ll remember us. Dropped out here, in the back end of fuck all, no lights and twenty quid extra for him to forget us.’
‘What would you have done? We were supposed to walk—but you wanted another pint.’
‘You didn’t object.’
‘What choice did I have? Go without you?’
‘Well, we’re here now and it’s bloody cold.’
‘I told you to wear something better.’
‘If you’d told me we were planning a night out in the wild I would have. But you went all need to know on me.’
‘Who’s in charge?’
‘Not you, that’s for sure. I mean, who died and put you in the front seat?’
‘Did you get us this job?’
Jake laughs. ‘What job? We get paid for jobs. I don’t trust the man. We haven’t seen a pound coin so far.’
‘He’s good for it.’
‘Like the time you got the vicar to cut us in on duty free booze.’
John sounds indignant. ‘How was I to know he wasn’t on the level?’
‘The BMW M5 isn’t your average car for a vicar.’
‘How many vicars do you know?’
‘None.’
‘So how do you know that some don’t own good cars?’
‘He had a fucking estate in the country.’
‘A manse, he called it.’
Jake laughs. ‘Forty bedrooms. What kind of church buys a forty-bedroom manse?’
‘Rich ones. That’s why I thought the car was cool.’
‘What about the eighteen-year-old girl with the belt for a skirt and six-inch heels?’
‘His wife.’
‘He was fifty-eight.’
‘So why didn’t you say anything? I’ll tell you why. Because you were hell-bent on chatting up his wife.’
‘She had a thing for me.’
‘Everyone has a thing for you. I’ve yet to meet a girl who hasn’t got a thing for you.’
‘Well?’
‘In your imagination.’
‘Don’t talk to me about women. Your last girlfriend had a guide dog.’
‘Fucking funny. She owned a Labrador.’
‘See?’
‘See what?’
‘A guide dog.’
This is turning into a comedy show, only to be cut down in its prime by yet another car—one that one doesn’t need any introducing. Jake steps into view and I back into the bush a little. He points. ‘It’s the man. I’d recognise that engine anywhere.’
Full beams cross the corner of the substation and, if Jake had been looking our way, we would have been bang to rights. I push Jethro back. I’ve underestimated our potential visibility.
If The Wee Man is trying for subtlety then he’s failing big time. The car stereo is giving The Police’s ‘Message in a Bottle’ a good licking.
Another car, coming from the opposite direction, pulls up. It’s sleek and low and familiar. It looks a hell of a lot like one of the cars from Phil’s garage. A Ferrari. By bending my head one way I can see the Ferrari and by bending the other I can just see the truck. Both have their headlights on. They’re fifty yards apart. We are talking automotive standoff here.
In the glow of the halogen I check around and above. There are no signs of anyone else. My mental clock tells me that the train has to be due soon.
Jethro touches me on the elbow. ‘Back here. The view will be better.’
He points back up the path. I shake my head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You won’t be. Look above the bridge.’
I follow his outstretched finger and two shadows have appeared at the far end of the structure. Jethro whispers, ‘There’s two others further down. If we don’t move they’ll spot us.’
I agree with him. Their attention might be on the road, but if they look up we’re centre stage. I back up the path, letting Jethro lead. We walk twenty paces before Jethro pushes into the bushes on the left. I follow him into the thicket. We squeeze through prickles and thorns to emerge a few feet from the train track. The bridge is to our right and the shapes of the two people at the far end are side on to us. Jethro squats low before half-crawling towards the bridge. If a train appears we’ll be lit up like a Christmas tree doused in petrol.
My hand encounters the stonework of the bridge as Jethro slips over it. I follow and find myself siting in a small hollow just beneath the parapet of the bridge. At my feet a run of stone flows to the road. Jethro slides his bum down the blocks. With me behind him, riding shotgun, we slip lower.
The truck is out of view but from the ground we will be the invisible men. The guys on the bridge would need to be right above us for us to be seen. It’s a good vantage point, unless the action takes place under the bridge.
I settle in behind Jethro, my feet straddling either side of him. The stonework is cold, but the dip is protecting us from the worst of the wind. I rest my hand on the stone, feeling the rough texture, scraping my palm on it. I sit back to wait.
The wait is short.
Chapter 27
The Ferrari door opens and out steps Phil. He’s wearing a waterproof outdoor jacket that drops to his knees. He looks relaxed and none too concerned about life. Behind him, where the road bends, I can make out something against the bush. It could be the outline of a man. I squint to help my failing eyesight and the shape moves. A second man joins him. Assuming the guys above belong to The Wee Man, then both of the gangsters are muscled up. To be expected.
Phil closes the car door and leans on the roof.
Back in The Wee Man’s world, Sting is now examining the merits of going out with a prostitute and ‘Roxanne’ fills the night. The sound dulls as The Wee Man shuts his door. I’m assuming he’s now standing beneath me. The bridge blocks him from view. This has all the makings of a classic spaghetti western. Where’s Clint when you need him?
Phil lifts his hand from the roof of the Ferrari and investigates his fingers, stretching them out in the night, twisting his hands, flexing his wrists. He drops his arm to his side before casually walking forward. Drifting in front of the Ferrari’s lights he stops, his waist ablaze with light.
Jethro is stock still in front of me. I check to see if the shapes on the bridge have moved, but they are now out of sight. The Wee Man appears below us, walking towards Phil. He stops a few paces into view. They are still a good thirty feet apart.
‘Good evening, Philip.’ The Wee Man’s voice is crystal clear on the night air.
‘And good evening to you, Malcolm.’
The Wee Man is mirroring Phil’s stance. I’m looking almost directly down on The Wee Man’s head. If I had a long enough stick, I could whip off his hat.
Phil examines his hand again. ‘What brings you to this neck of the woods? Such a strange place for you to be.’
The Wee Man snorts. ‘I could say the same of you. Been a while, has it not. Oh, but you’ve never been here before. Have you?’
‘Quite true. You know when you’re the one that worked out all the details it would be crass to sully your hands with the manual lifting.’
‘Still clinging to that fantasy.’
‘Fantasy?’
‘That back then it was all your idea.’
‘I think you’ll find that the only fantasist around here is standing right in front of me.’
‘Are we really going to have this conversation?’
‘As you say, it’s been a while. Not so much a conversation as facts against myth.’
The Wee Man shuffles a little. ‘So, we are going to have this conversation.’
Phil does his hand thing again. ‘No. Let’s not. What would be the point? History is on my side and I’m more interested in what you’re doing here now.’
The Wee Man bristles. ‘History is on your side, is it? Yeah, sure, if history is written by tossers. And you know fine well why I’m here. Otherwise why would you be here?’
Jethro turns his head to me. He whispers, ‘They’ve mellowed. In the old days, they would have been trying to kick each other’s heads in by now.’
The Wee Man takes up a gentle sway. I think standing is hard on him, but he doesn’t want to show it. Age catching up. He swivels his hips. ‘So, where does this leave us? Philip?’
‘Me? Well, I’m just along for the show.’
‘Show?’
‘You know, back at the bridge, waiting on a train. We all know how that went down last time.’ Phil’s face radiates confidence. I wonder if The Wee Man’s face is anywhere near as serene. ‘Anyway,’ continues Phil, ‘I’m sure you have things to do.’ He looks at his watch. ‘Train a-comin’.’
‘Is there? And why would I be interested in a train?’
‘I’m sure I have no idea, but you don’t have long.’
‘I think you’ve been fed a little bit of duff information.’ Smugness is growing in The Wee Man’s voice. ‘Are we talking about the freight train that is due in—’ he pauses as he checks his watch for effect, ‘—eight minutes?’
‘You would know.’
‘Is this the one that has the special freight car full of your most prized possessions? Art and treasure from the life of one Phillip Tuff. A small fortune in stolen merchandise.’
‘Stolen?’
The Wee Man coughs. ‘Legit? Nah, I don’t think so. You wouldn’t know legit if it walked up to you and inserted an iron bar up your nose. You know bent the way a cocaine addict knows his nose is collapsing.’
Anger flares in Phil’s voice. ‘Name calling. From you. A dirty little thief who runs hookers and deals smack. And I’m to take your insults seriously? Sure, I will.’
The Wee Man keeps swivelling. ‘Philip, you’re not going to rile me. You think you have all this figured. I’ve seen your guys out back and in the fields. And you’ve seen mine. Nothing is going to go down here that doesn’t end up with dead bodies. But you think you have all this figured out?’
‘I think you’ll find I do.’ But an edge of certainty is missing from Phil’s voice. ‘Why else would you be here?’
The Wee Man turns to his car. ‘George, you and the skirt get out here right now.’
It takes a few seconds before The Wee Man is joined by George and Tina. They stand behind him. Both have shoulders slumped.
Phil nods. ‘Hi, George.’
‘Hello, Mr Tuff.’
That’s a wrinkle—I didn’t know that George was on talking terms with Phil.
‘George, how’s Victor?’ Phil does the hand thing again as he talks. Victor is George’s dad’s name. He rarely talks about him.
‘Fine, Mr Tuff.’
‘Still beefing on the dogs?’
‘Online, now.’
‘At his age. Wonders will never cease. Tell him I said hello.’
The Wee Man stands in front of George. ‘Stands to reason you would know George. Quite the messenger.’
‘Better than a telegram, Malcolm,’ says Tuff.
I’m beginning to sense that all is less than it seems and it already seemed less than it was.
The train is beginning to vibrate the ground. The rails are only a few feet above me and when it arrives it’ll be bloody close.
The Wee Man takes another step as, for the first time, the sound of an approaching train announces itself. ‘Phil, this is the point where I stop the train and rob you of your pension.’
Phil nods. ‘Of course. George here has, no doubt, given you the lowdown on my transport arrangements. Courtesy of the accountant.’
Fuck. That’s my chance of breathing old age gone.
Phil laughs. ‘Ah, yes, Charlie Wiggs. Well, now, wasn’t he the inquisitive one.’
Double fuck.
The sound of the train grows and the scene below moves into a silent era, each man waiting for the other to say or do something. I’m not sure what the stopping distance of a train is, but the noise doesn’t suggest that the train is slowing. Around us the blockwork lights up and Jethro and I have to duck to keep out of sight. I press my face to the brickwork, feeling the train’s shock wave as it approaches.
