A Spoonful of Luger (40 page)

“Your
job’s
finished,”
he
tried
to
shout,
only
it
came
out
all
weak
and
high-pitched.
“It’s
done.
So
tell
me
what
I
owe
you
— ”

“Nothing
yet,
Mr
Randall.
I’ll
let
you
know.
This
is
just
a
friendly
word
between
you
and
me.
I
thought
I’d
better
warn
you,
that’s
all.
But
Bycroft’s
going
to
realize,
sooner
or
later,
that
if
Cleave
was
running
a
stolen
car
racket,
he
wouldn’t
be
selling
the
stuff
himself.
Somebody
else
had
to
sell
them,
and
from
a
place
where
it’s
reasonable
to
buy
a
second-hand
car.”

I
drove
away
from
there
with
the
Saab.
There
hadn’t
been
any
point
in
pushing
Randall
further.
He’d
been
going
to
pieces
and
I
had
to
leave
him
something
in
reserve
for
when
Bycroft
called,
as
he
would
do,
inevitably.
At
least,
I’d
primed
him.

What
I
wanted
was
a
word
with Tony.
Just
a
word.
I
tried
the
café
and
he
wasn’t
there.
I
tried
his
home
and
he
wasn’t
there
either.
So
I
went
a
run
down
to
the
scrapyard,
and
he
was
there.

The
police
had
packed
it
in,
because
obviously
there
was
nothing
left
to
find.
The
place
was
dreary
and
muddy,
snow
lying
on
the
heaped
metal
but
melting
on
the
ground.
There
were
bicycle
tracks
in
the
mud,
and
only
one
set
that
I
could
see,
so
I
knew
he
was
around
somewhere.

“Tony!”

I
heard
a
clatter
in
one
of
the
sheds
and
headed
for
it.
Before
I
got
there
he
appeared
in
the
doorway
of
the
big
one.

“Try
to
get
some
peace
around
here,”
he
said
in
disgust.
“Just
try!”

“You
don’t
want
to
hang
around
here
on
your
own,”
I
said.
“It’s
morbid.”

“Just
tidying
up.
Getting
my
stuff
together.”

I
looked
at
the
bench.
He’d
got
a nice
set
of
tools
assembled.
If
they
were
his
own,
and
not
stuff
he
was
pinching
while
he
had
the
chance,
he’d
laid
out
quite
a
bit
of
money
on
them.
Several
weeks’
wages
were
scattered
around.

“I
reckon
he
didn’t
pay
you
too well,”
I
said.
“Even
with
the
bonuses.”

He
shrugged.
“It
was
a
job
I
liked.”

“But
you’d
have
got
better
money working
with
your
father.”

“Work
for
him!
It’d
be
orders
all
day.
Tony,
not
like
that!
Tony,
you’re
not
trying!
No
thanks.”

“It’s
the
money
that
counts,
these
days.”

“Not
to
everybody.”

“But
you
didn’t
say
no
to
the
bonuses.
Nor
to
a
fiver
from
Norman.”

He
sneered.
“My
God,
you’re
as
subtle
as
a
kick
in
the
goolies.”

“Perhaps
you
were
glad
for
Norman
to
have
the
key,”
I
suggested.
“Maybe
you
wanted
that
log
book
destroyed.”

“You’re
stretching
it,
old
man.
What’d
I
know
about
the
log
book? Why
should
I
care?”

It
had
only
been
a
feeler.
I
changed
the
subject.

“Where
you
hoping
to
carry
that
lot
on
your
bike?”

“I
can
manage.”

“I’ll
run
it
round
to
your
place.”

“No
thanks.
Just
leave
me
alone.”

“But
perhaps
there
was
somebody
else
who
would
want
to
get
into
the
box.
Maybe
to
get
something
else
out.
Something
that’s
not
there
now.”

“Oh,
you’re
good.
Clever.
Why
doncha
just
say
it?
No,
I
ain’t
been
asked
by
anybody
else
for
the
key.
That
do
you?”

“It
was
what
I
was
going
to
ask.”

“Then
why
go
all
round
it?”

“Because
I’ve
had
dealings
with
you,
Tony.
You
say
as
much
as
you’ve
got
to,
and
no
more.
But
the
inspector’s
going
to
ask
you
the
same
thing.”
Apparently
Bycroft
didn’t
inspire
fear,
because
he
shrugged.
I
went
on:
“And
he’ll
be
tougher,
because
he’s
running
out
of
patience.
He’ll
also
want
to
know
how
often
Mr
Randall’s
been
down
here.”

He
had
a
torque
wrench
in
his
hand.

It
fell
with
a
clatter
onto
the
bench.
“Randall?
What
d’you
mean,
Randall?”

“How
often
did
he
come
down
to
the
yard,
Tony?”

“For
spares?”
He
was
groping
round
for
my
intentions.

“Would
he
come
for
anything
else?”

“He’s
been
snooping
around.”