Bootlegged Angel (31 page)

‘Swing’s the coming thing, you know,’ he said, tucking the phone away and leaning one-handed against the trailer, relaxing. ‘I’m gonna own a big band one day, gonna
get in at the grass roots of the revival. It’s gonna be big, you mark my words.’

I wondered if he had a spare chair in the trumpet section but thought it best not to push it. I didn’t get the chance to. The shed door began to slide open again and a figure holding his
coat up over his head against the rain staggered inside.

He pulled his coat down and took in the tableau in front of him. The two women crouched over the wheelchair; Yonk and Fatboy holding their wooden clubs; Rufus leaning casually against the
trailer, chewing the fat with me; me trying to look relaxed even though my shoulders felt as if they had been stapled to the side of the trailer; Scooter just lying there.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ said Nick Lawrence.

They hadn’t needed to hide a transmitter on the truck because I had told them exactly where to come when I had phoned Lawrence that afternoon. It didn’t make me
feel any better knowing that.

Rufus strode over towards Lawrence, jiving his hips and clicking his fingers. He put an arm around Lawrence’s shoulders and drew him towards the rest of us. Lawrence didn’t look too
happy about it, but there was no point in him glancing over at me for sympathy.

‘You know I’ve always had a problem with Scooter’s attitude,’ Rufus was saying. ‘That kid was just so sharp he was bound to cut hisself one day. I never did like
dealing with him. It was like I always told you, Nicky, it was going to end in tears.’

‘So you
shot him
?’ The colour drained from Lawrence’s face as he saw the hole in Scooter’s chest.

‘Somebody was going to someday.’ Rufus looked at Scooter as well and the corners of his mouth turned down. ‘Guess I was just a bit previous.’

‘Did you find the money?’

What money?
I wanted to scream.

‘Not exactly yet,’ said Rufus carefully. ‘That’s what I mean by me being a little previous.’

‘Oh, shit,’ breathed Lawrence. Then, as if for the first time, he saw Beatrice and Mel. ‘Who are they?’

‘Don’t rightly know, but our friend Scooter tried to get this little lady here to shoot me with the old lock, stock and two smokin’ barrels.’ He nudged the shotgun on the
floor with his red shoe and a lot of contempt.

‘They’re locals,’ I said, trying to divert attention, ‘just locals. They rented the place to Scooter but they didn’t know what was going on here.’

Yonk moved like lightning and whammed his piece of four-by-two into the side of the trailer just above my head. I yelped, flinched, and my knees started to buckle.

‘Somebody ask you?’ he growled in my face.

‘Now him,’ Rufus was wagging his finger at me again, ‘I’m sure I know from somewhere, but damned if I can place him.’

‘He’s called Angel,’ said Lawrence. ‘The brewery brought him in to keep an eye on the pub down the road. This lot couldn’t have been too clever if he found them so
quickly. He’s the one called it in about this place.’

Rufus took his arm from Lawrence’s shoulders and squared up to me.

‘Then maybe he’s the one who knows where my money is?’

I knew that if I didn’t say something, however stupid, he would make eye contact with Yonk and I would be picking wooden splinters out of my skull.

‘It’s in the case, there, on the ground. It’s all there apart from my cut.’

Rufus shook his head slowly.

‘Oh no, no, no. Not
that
money, not
today’s
payment. It’s all the
other
money I’ve given Scooter over the weeks, that’s what I’m looking
for.’

‘What money?’ I said weakly, expecting a thumping.

‘Listen carefully, man,’ said Rufus, putting his hands on his hips. ‘Scooter thought himself the big businessman, right? He comes to me with a plan, using nice white college
boys to ferry my beer across the water ‘cos he knows there is no way the Revenue Men will let people like me or Yonk or Fatboy there do the trip without being pulled. They see a black face in
a car, car’s gotta be stolen. They see a black face in a van, guy’s gotta be a dope smuggler in a stolen van.

‘Now all that’s true and I know it makes sense to use Scooter’s boys, but he didn’t have to look so God-Almighty superior when he laid it out for me. That was just plain
rude, man, just plain rude. So I made my mind up that I would teach the little shit the golden rule of business: take the goods in bulk, move ‘em somewhere safe and then
don’t pay
for them
. Neat, huh? That’s why I’m here. I’ve come for my money back. I like to think of it as the small print of our business agreement. Now, Mr Angel, you able to help
me?’

‘I don’t know how,’ I said, rather than saying ‘No’ and being thought rude. ‘That case is the only money I’ve seen here.’

‘There are eight of them,’ said Lawrence.

‘Nine,’ corrected Rufus.

‘Eight previous ones, then, plus this one.’ Lawrence showed his irritation, which I didn’t think was good personnel management, given the personnel involved. ‘All metal
cases, he insisted on that.’

‘Maybe he took them to the bank,’ I said, keeping one eye on Yonk.

‘My very good friend the Revenue Man here thought of that.’

Rufus played up a cheesy grin and waved the palms of his hands in an ‘over-to-you’ move towards Lawrence.

‘We planted known £20 notes in each payment and I circulated the numbers to every bank and building society in the area, but nothing’s shown up,’ he said.

‘So we figure it’s still here,’ said Rufus. ‘Now we can’t ask Scooter any more and I guess I’ll have to say that’s down to me. You, Mr Angel, say you
don’t know nothing. Which leaves the two ladies here, don’t it?’

‘They’re civilians, Rufus, they don’t –’

That was as far as I got before Yonk slammed his wooden club into my stomach and I doubled over, sinking to my knees, gasping for breath. I splayed my gloved hands out on the floor in front of
me and tried not to throw up.

The blood was pounding in my ears but I managed to make out Melanie’s voice:

‘He buried it. The money. He buried it at the bottom of the hop field. I’ve watched him do it.’

There was no sound in the shed except that of somebody sharpening a rusty saw and I realised that was me trying to breathe. Even the rain seemed to have stopped tattooing the
roof.

‘That would explain the metal cases,’ said Lawrence.

‘Wow! Buried treasure!’ Rufus was bending over Mel’s chair. ‘And this little lady knows where to go treasure hunting.’

‘No, she doesn’t!’ cried her mother. ‘You leave her alone.’

‘Hey, listen, older lady,’ Rufus began to lecture her, ‘no disrespect but you don’t seem to get the picture here. If this little lady takes me to where Scooter buried his
treasure, then I’ll leave
you
alone.
That’s
the deal, but it’s not open to negotiation. It’s what we entrepreneurs call a
done deal
. It’s kind of
a technical term you needn’t bother your heads with.’

‘Rufus, you’re so full of shit sometimes,’ said Lawrence.

I saw Yonk’s feet move towards him.

‘I’m not sure I can,’ said Melanie, probably saving Lawrence from a smacking.

‘What do you mean, little lady?’ Rufus asked in a sing-song voice.

‘It was mostly at night when he did it. I just saw the headlights of his car down the bottom of the field, up towards the wood. It was only today when I saw him this afternoon that I
realised what he was doing.’

‘But, like, you know the general area, huh?’ Rufus coaxed her. ‘Where we could start digging.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Rufus, there are fucking fields out there and it’s the middle of the night.’

Rufus looked at Lawrence as if giving him his second warning. Next sign of disrespect and he’d surely shoot him.

‘I could show you the place where I saw him this afternoon,’ said Mel.

She was patting her mother’s arm, reassuring her that she knew what she was doing. She was buying time and I thought I’d better help her.

‘Look in Scooter’s Jeep,’ I said and they all looked at me kneeling there on the floor. ‘He’s got a shovel and a metal detector in the back. Or he did
earlier.’

‘Now that’s helpful,’ said Rufus, ‘truly helpful. You should take note, Lawrence. Mr Angel here is being totally positive. I like that. Fatboy, check the late Mr Scooter
for some keys. Where do we find this Jeep of his?’

‘It’s up the hill by the office building,’ said Beatrice.

‘Thanking you, ma’am,’ Rufus said with a flourish. ‘You see, everybody’s being positive. I like that.’

He picked up his golfing umbrella from where it had fallen.

‘Now I’m going to escort this little lady out to my shiny new BMW and we’re going to dig for buried treasure.’

‘No, you can’t!’ Beatrice snapped, grabbing the handles of Mel’s chair and pulling her backwards.

‘Can do, will do,’ grinned Rufus, then he put on a real hangdog face. ‘Oh, don’t worry about her. She can hold the umbrella, she won’t get wet. And while
we’re gone, you guys can get my beer loaded into my trailer. It’ll be good exercise for you. Yonk here’ll make sure you do a good job.’

‘You don’t mean me?’ Lawrence pointed a finger at his own chest.

‘’Specially you – you’re beginning to irritate me. Oh and Yonk, make sure Mr Angel here doesn’t strain himself too much. He’s got some driving to do
later.’

After about ten minutes of watching our feeble efforts, Yonk threw down his wooden club in disgust and began to hump cases of beer from the stack into the trailer himself. He
was virtually doing them one-handed and was loading three to my one even before he got into his stride.

Rufus Radabe had pushed Mel out of the door and into the night and then we had heard a car engine start. Then another vehicle had roared down the side of the shed and we guessed that must be
Fatboy driving Scooter’s Jeep, on his way to the treasure hunt.

Apart from that, nobody had said much as we concentrated on our chain gang, passing cases of beer. Except we weren’t as efficient as a chain gang and I made Beatrice climb into the trailer
so she could push the cases deeper inside. She seemed grateful for the work as it took her mind off what might be going on between Mel and Rufus.

But it was Lawrence who broke first.

He slammed a case on to the trailer and turned to Yonk.

‘I don’t have to do this! Look, get on your phone, find out what that nutter is doing. He could be half-way back to London by now.’

Yonk just looked at him and flipped another case from the pile to the truck as if it was an envelope.

‘With the money,’ Lawrence added and that struck home.

Yonk was certainly not keen on being stranded way out here in the countryside with a dead body in the room. He pulled a small mobile from his back pocket and speed-dialled.

‘Rufus? Yo, how’s it going?’

He grunted a couple of times, then said ‘Cool’ and closed the phone.

‘Looks like they’ve found something. They’re starting to dig.’

He looked at us and nodded at the pile of beer. I could take a hint and I resumed loading and so did Lawrence.

‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he said.

‘No, you bloody shouldn’t,’ I said. ‘You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.’

‘Screw that on what they pay us.’

‘You’re the one who told Rufus about the Customs post at the French end of the Tunnel, aren’t you?’

I clumped another case down. We were getting ahead of Beatrice who couldn’t cope pulling the cases into the belly of the trailer.

‘That’s right, Sherlock. It put a time frame on things and that was all to the good. Anything goes on too long and patterns emerge that even we couldn’t miss. Anyway, I knew
Rufus was a greedy bastard.’

‘Did you do a similar trick on the Czechs in Dover? Let them build up a stock then hijack it without paying?’

‘I told you he was greedy.’ Then he lowered his voice. ‘But he’s not gone this far before.’

‘Got any ideas?’ I whispered, slamming down a case to cover my voice.

Lawrence shook his head and started to chew on his bottom lip.

It looked like it was all down to me again.

‘Hey!’ I said loudly to anyone and everyone. ‘Has anyone given a thought to stacking this load right?’

The three of them stopped working but nobody said anything.

‘Look, we don’t have enough beer for a full load so this lot’s going to rattle around like a pea in a drum unless we stack it properly. We should start at the back, near the
wheels. Put most of the weight on the rear axles otherwise the whole thing could swing out of control.’

Or at least I hoped it would. From what I remembered about loading artics, you always started in the middle. Too much weight at the back can be dangerous.

‘Okay, okay, I’ll do it myself.’

I made a big deal of having to work with idiots and huffed and puffed as I climbed into the trailer.

‘You just keep out of my way, woman,’ I said to Beatrice, staring hard at her. ‘If I’m going to drive this crate I don’t want any accidents.’

I think she got it, but I didn’t have the time or energy to worry too much.

Facing out from the trailer, I began to stack cases two-wide as Yonk heaved them up to me, his biceps getting the sort of work-out he paid good money for down the gym. Lawrence continued to slam
cases down to my left, pushing them towards Beatrice who was edging her way deeper into the trailer.

I had my stack two wide and six high when Lawrence said:

‘Who’s this Cartwright-Humphreys character anyway?’

Behind me I heard Beatrice take a sharp intake of breath.

‘Who?’ I said, taking another case from Yonk and placing it next to my stack so I could stand on it to pile the next two even higher. I glanced at Yonk. He was bending over to
pick-up a case from a pile of three.

‘That last car plate you asked me to check out. It’s registered to a Christian Cartwright-Humphreys of Harley Street. What’s he got to do with anything?’

‘Nothing to do with this lot,’ I said. Yonk was bending to pick-up the second from bottom case. My stack was now eleven high. ‘That was a freebie. I needed a favour.’