The Criminal Escapades of Geoffrey Larkin (12 page)

‘How long have you worked here, what's your name again?' queried Mrs. Proudlove, looking at the young man standing in front of her?

‘My name is Geoff, Geoffrey Larkin, Mrs. Proudlove; this is my second month in the sales office.' The woman on the settee stubbed out the remains of her cigarette and looked in her cigarette case; it was empty.

‘I don't suppose you smoke Geoffrey?' she asked hopefully. He just shook his head in reply. He could see the woman was getting irritable.

‘Would you like another cup of coffee, Mrs. Proudlove?' he asked politely.

‘No! I think I'll go and look around the site and see if I can find Edward for myself.'

Geoff's mind was in a whirl. He was beginning to sweat and he could feel his shirt sticking to his back. How could he keep this woman in the house a little longer?

Looking over the woman's shoulder through the lounge window, he breathed a sigh of relief; he could see the rear of the white van as it drove to the T-junction at the beginning of the estate, turn and then drive down the main road and out of sight.

‘You could try the site office just five properties down and on the right; Mr. Proudlove was there the last time I saw him,' volunteered Geoff. ‘I can give you directions from the rear of this property.'

‘Yes, you do that,' said Mrs. Proudlove as she followed him to the rear door of the show house.

As he opened the door, Mrs. Grant was coming towards them, walking along the garden path.

‘Mrs. Grant is here now, Mrs. Proudlove!' Geoff added. Mrs. Grant was startled at the appearance of her lover's wife but quickly regained her composure.

Geoff left the two women together while he made his way up the staircase to the bedrooms; he desperately needed somewhere to sit down, relax and unwind after the stress of the last hour. He looked at his hands; his outstretched fingers were shaking uncontrollably
.

But he, Geoffrey Larkin, had pulled it all together. Again!

Later that same evening, all the gang had arranged to meet in the café.

‘Was there someone to meet you at the lock-up?' Geoff asked John Bolton as the lads settled down around one of the café tables.

‘Yeh. We didn't unload it into the lock-up as there was another van there so we unloaded it straight into the back of that.'

‘Did you recognise the driver or anybody?' queried Geoff.

‘No! There was no one about and the driver hardly spoke a word,' replied John.

‘What will we get for this last deal, Geoff?' enquired his younger brother eagerly, reflecting on the reasonable easy cash achieved from their last job.

Geoff thought for a moment before he replied. ‘We'll do better than we did on the last copper caper but we will get a lot less than the equipment is worth; that's the way it goes! I've got to see the fence the middle of next week and see what he comes up with then. But as it's Sooty's birthday next weekend, we'll have a PARTY!' Geoff shouted.

The instantaneous noisy cheers from the other lads brought disapproving looks from the older customers that where sitting on the nearby tables.

The day after the visit by the police Geoff was washing the teacups in the show house kitchen when his wandering thoughts were brought back down to earth by the call of Mrs. Grant. ‘Geoffrey! Go to the site office, the revised list is ready for collection from Mr. Goodier.' He quickly dried and replaced the crockery in its cupboard; Mrs. Grant was a stickler for everything being in its rightful place.

He was glad to leave the show house and get a breath of fresh air. He was a little concerned about the police sergeant; he was obviously quite sharp and seemed very thorough in his job but, fortunately, he hadn't recognised him from when he had worked for the electricity board, anyway, it wouldn't really matter if he had!

He was walking on the pavement towards the site office and in front of him were three labourers who had excavated a large hole in the road at the side of the pavement to expose a cracked drain. This had been causing a large puddle in the road for several months. After numerous complaints from the residents to Geoff's employers, they had eventually made a start on rectifying the problem.

He was level with the hole when one of the workers threw half a bucket of smelly, muddy water onto the pavement in front of him, the water splashed up and over his shoes. Geoff instinctively jumped back out of its way shouting, ‘Hey, watch it mate!' It was only then that he recognised the man in the hole.

He, in turn, had been watching Geoff walk towards them. As Geoff drew level, he had thrown the half bucket of water, shouting out at the same time to his friend standing beside him in the hole.

‘Hey, Wilf, look who's here; it's that ponce, Larkin, all dressed up like a dog's dinner!'

Geoff immediately recognised the man who looked up at his friend's shout from his time at the remand centre; it was Wilf Norton and the one who had been doing all the shouting was his cousin, Dave Higgins. Geoff continued quickly walking past the workmen, followed by shouts from the two youths.

‘How does a thief like you end up with a dressed-up job like that, Larkin!' He felt a thud on his back and turned as a lump of wet clay fell on to the pavement behind him, followed by loud laughter from the two men in the hole.

As Geoff quickened his pace, the shouting subsided as the men received no response from their intimidation and crude abuse, and the distance between them and Geoff increased. He thought this was bad news. At the moment no one suspected him but that would soon change if Wilf Norton and his cousin started to blab to the rest of the workers on the site about his previous petty juvenile criminal record. He was in no doubt that it was inevitable that they would, and it would be only a matter of time before it came to the attention of that cop Sergeant Robinson.

He'd now reached the site cabin, knocking on the side of the already open door as he entered. ‘Mrs. Grant told me to come and collect a list, Mr. Goodier.' There was only the senior director, Daniel Goodier, in the cabin.

‘Yes, that's right, I'm just finishing. Sit down, Geoffrey; I'll only be a few more minutes.' He indicated a hard, wooden chair in front of a large board that formed what was a desk, littered with various scale drawings of the different types of houses that were being built on the site.

Geoff looked at the papers that were opened in front of him. During the time working under Mrs. Grant he had acquired the knowledge to read these drawings and he'd found them very interesting. He felt a great sense of achievement when explaining to potential clients the various aspects of individual properties from similar drawings held in the show house.

He had been in this cabin on several occasions, nothing had changed, there were still the shelves filled with more rolled-up plans, an open filing cabinet filled with hardback folders, several waterproof coats hung on the back of the door, a row of plastic, hard hats on another shelf and below that, a row of some black and several green pairs of wellingtons.

Daniel Goodier was sitting at the other end of the large, make-shift desk top. He was a man in his middle fifties going bald and what hair he had left was white. He was taller than Geoff who was short anyway. Goodier was seriously overweight. He seemed to wheeze as he breathed; Geoff put this down to his heavy smoking as the cabin was always full of a cloud of hazy, light blue tobacco smoke, with a nearby ash tray overflowing with crumpled ends of used cigarettes.

Goodier wore what looked like a very expensive, gold wristwatch and a large, sovereign gold ring. Geoff could also see part of a thick, gold chain hanging around his neck. As he looked up he saw that the man was watching him so he quickly averted his eyes from the jewellery.

‘You like gold then do you Geoffrey?' said the director quietly. Ever since Geoff started working for this building firm in the sales office he had developed a dislike for this man, Daniel Goodier. Whenever he was in his company, Goodier always took the opportunity to put his arm around Geoff's shoulders, pulling him towards him in a very over friendly manner; he was what Geoff called a ‘toucher'. He was always touching him at the slightest opportunity, nothing too obvious, but it sent goosebumps up Geoff's spine. There had been a teacher at the school similar to Goodier. The lads had called him ‘an arse bandit' and Geoff reckoned this company director was one of those.

‘Here's the list, Geoffrey,' he said, leaning over to pass the paper to him allowing his fingers to rub over the top of Geoff's in the process.

‘Thank you, Mr. Goodier, I'll take it to Mrs. Grant straightaway. Sergeant Robinson asked her to fax it to him as soon as she received it.'

Geoff was off his chair, walking quickly to the door. He could sense Daniel Goodier watching him. When he reached the door he turned to face the director, who was still smiling, showing a row of yellow, tobacco stained teeth.

‘By the way, Mr. Goodier, I'm not that way inclined, I'm afraid you've been wasting your time!' He laughed aloud at the man opposite who was now looking at him in surprise. Geoff left the cabin with abroad grin on his face.

‘That wiped the smile off your face. You Bastard!' he said aloud to himself as he started walking the long way around the estate to the show house, not wanting to come in contact with Dave Higgins and his cousin again. He had been lucky the first time, no one had been about to hear their calls and insults, the second time he might not be so fortunate.

He also needed time to think. Hopefully, Daniel Goodier would come up with some excuse to fire him, which would suit him fine. The job had been completed so it would look better him being fired rather than suddenly giving in his notice. The sooner he left the site, the better, he did not want to bump into his two, old adversaries again.

He entered the rear door of the show house as Mrs. Grant was showing a middle-aged couple, who had been viewing the property, out through the front door.

‘What took you so long, Geoffrey? I had to manage those people on my own.' He thought she seemed very agitated as he handed over the sheet of paper into her out-stretched hand.

‘I'm sorry Mrs. Grant but Mr. Goodier hadn't quite finished the list when I got there. I had to wait.' She nodded absent-mindedly as she read the list.

‘I see they've started to repair the damaged drain in the road,' he continued.

‘Yes, that's right,' she said, still looking at the list. ‘Mr. Goodier contacted the council and they agreed to send a gang of their men to do the repairs.' Geoff was relieved
.
They'd be gone in a couple of days and it was unlikely they would mix with the rest of the workmen on the site. But there was still the problem with that director, Daniel Goodier. He had been coming on a bit strong of late and that probably explained why he had got this job in the first place ahead of more suitable applicants, that dirty bastard had fancied him! He was getting bored with the dull routine anyway. Still, with a bit of luck, in a couple of days it would be all over bar the shouting.

It was several days later, while at the show house, that Geoff received an envelope that had been delivered by hand and left on the kitchen work tops. Upon opening the letter, he was not surprised to read that ‘Due to the low volume of property sales his services were no longer required at the building site sales office'.

When alone in the show house later that day he used the phone to contact Jock at his shop. He was told in a very blunt and business-like manner that everything was in order.

‘Thank ye for ye call. My associate will meet ye, so be in the café, on ye own, at six on Friday neet.'

The silly old fool!
thought Geoff,
he thinks I'm taping the conversation. He's giving nothing away; I suppose that's why he's lasted so long as a fence without being nicked.
All the petty thieves in the area had used Jock at one time or another in their career in crime.

Two days later, he was in the café on the Friday evening as requested. He'd picked up his last week's wages earlier that day, saying his goodbyes to Mrs. Grant at the same time. Her tearful farewell had surprised him. He couldn't understand why she was so emotional and kept bursting into tears. Geoff was embarrassed; no one had ever shown any real feelings for him like that before.

He'd been in the café for two hours. There were no other customers left and the proprietor was cleaning the empty tables, obviously eager for him to leave, so he could close for the night. Feeling very frustrated, Geoff finally left, the contact had not materialised. It slowly dawned on him, as he walked despondently down the road, that there was the distinct possibility he'd been taken for a mug, double-crossed big time.

He was wondering what action he could take next.

What would he say to the lads? What was all that effort and planning for? He was so deep in his own thoughts that he was startled when a figure suddenly joined him as he walked along the dimly lit pavement.

‘Mr. Larkin,' said a quiet voice.

‘Yes, that's me!' said Geoff with a start, stopping in the centre of the pavement.

‘Just keep walking, Mr. Larkin,' said the quiet voice. ‘A mutual friend of ours asked me to give you this,' passing Geoff a small tightly wrapped parcel.

‘Goodbye, Mr. Larkin, good to do business with you,' said the quite voice in the dark overcoat as he proceeded to walk across the road then in the opposite direction to which Geoff was going.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Geoff the faint outline of a figure which quickly faded into the shadows.

That Saturday night Geoff had made arrangements for the lads to meet at the ‘Nag's Head', this was a local public house, they had been there several times before.

Saturday night was entertainment night with a singer and a karaoke; it was usually a full house and on the previous occasions the lads had a good laugh, as various locals gave their best interpretation of the latest songs at the top of the charts. He and Sooty were the first to arrive, managing to claim a table away from the speakers, as sometimes they tended to blast the music out too loud, and he had a lot to discuss with the group. The Bolton boys arrived a few minutes after them and they all quickly settled down with their drinks.

Before the entertainment got underway, Geoff told them the figure he'd received from the fence.

‘There was about £10,000 worth of equipment that you managed to load in the van.'

The group were all hunched forward over the table so as not to miss a word Geoff was saying, especially as he was speaking so quietly it was difficult to hear him above the general noisy conversation around them.

‘Gosh, that much!' exclaimed a surprised Sooty.

‘Wow! That's great,' shouted John.

‘Keep it quiet our kid,' said Derek, nudging his younger brother into silence, before nervously looking around to see if his brother's excited shout had attracted any attention.

Geoff waited until he had their attention again. ‘Yes!' he replied. ‘But we only received £1000.'

‘£1000! That's just 10%!' said Derek Bolton, gasping in amazement.

‘What's 10%?' asked Sooty.

‘That's just one tenth of its value,' explained Derek.

‘The bastards,' voiced John Bolton.

‘The bastards,' repeated Sooty, imitating his friend's expression.

‘Quiet!' hissed Derek, as several people on nearby tables glanced in the direction of the raised voices.

All the lads looked at Geoff.

‘That's the way it goes lads. They've all the contacts and we get paid cash with no come backs. At the moment, they hold all the aces; we've only just got started, so we have to look on the bright side. And! The bright side is we've loads of cash in the kitty. So, get the drinks in again, Sooty!' As he passed a £20 note across the table to the beaming smiles of the other three around the table.

*

Geoff attended several interviews during the following weeks without any success and then on the Tuesday of the third week he had an appointment at a large storage and delivery depot on an industrial estate.

The vacancy was listed as office and general manager's assistant. In actual fact, it was really a casual labourer in a large storage warehouse. The job would only be temporary over the Christmas period but his social worker had indicated that it could be more permanent if he showed willing, kept good time, was not cheeky, did not answer back, did exactly as he was told but, most importantly, he didn't help himself to any of the merchandise, that was a definite no no!

He had heard this so many times before. He looked at the social worker thinking,
the list is endless, you need permission to breath in this workhouse; they want an angel not a labourer.
As the social worker went on and on and on.

It was several days later, Geoff made his way through the warehouse to the manager's office in good time for the arranged interview. His brain was working overtime.
All these commodities stacked up to the ceiling, there must be an outlet and where there is an outlet there is a profit to be made.

‘Hi, you!' a shout from the doorway of the warehouse directed in his direction stopped him from going further into the building. ‘What are you doing here? This is a restricted area,' continued the voice from the doorway.

‘I'm sorry, sir,' Geoff replied meekly, turning to face the dark shadow of a tall man wearing a fluorescent, plastic, yellow waistcoat that couldn't be fastened at the front because of his enormous belly.

‘I've a letter for an interview with Mr. Parker the warehouse manager.'

The man seemed to swell in size at the mention of his name and the fact he'd been given his proper title. All the other workers just called him Bob but he also knew that they made insulting remarks behind his back about being overweight he also did not like the nickname they had given him of ‘Nosey Parker'.

‘You should have gone to the offices at the front of the building, the details should be in your letter,' he continued gruffly. Geoff had seen the sign at the entrance to the building pointing to the offices but had purposely ignored the directions; he wanted to see what was in these large storage sheds.

‘Well, at least you're punctual, that's more than can be said for some of the other applicants. You'd better follow me.' Geoff followed the slow moving manager through the warehouse, noting as he went, the stacker trucks taking great wooden pallets of boxes to be loaded into the waiting vans. He noticed also that all the large vans were different. They varied in colour, shape and size; they were all sub-contractors' transport.

The interview with Bob Parker went quite well, Geoff thought. When asked if he had done any invoicing, Geoff said he had at the school library, careful not to mention the library was in a detention centre. He also said that he had been in charge of booking appointments for prospective clients while working for the sales side at the construction firm, making notes for any alterations that the clients may need in order to complete a sale, even though he had not! He showed the reference on the building firm's notepaper that he had persuaded Mrs. Grant to give him.

When asked, he also confirmed that he was prepared to work overtime, nights and weekends, if and when required. Geoff also said he could drive, which he could, having taken lessons with the eldest Bolton brother. But he failed to inform Bob Parker that he did not hold a driving licence. Bob Parker was about to ask if Geoff's licence was clean of penalty points when the interview was interrupted by the appearance in the office doorway of another of the workmen.

He too was wearing a yellow, fluorescent waistcoat. Ignoring Geoff, he spoke directly to the depot manager.

‘We're going to The Swan for our lunch if you fancy coming, Bob.'

‘Yes! I've nearly finished here, I'll be right with you,' replied the manager. He needed to be there at the beginning because today was Friday. Friday was share out day from the proceeds of goods that had been distributed to several of the staff. These, in turn, sold them privately on the Q.T. The manager then booked them down as damaged in transit, he was rarely asked to return the damaged goods. Geoff added that he was available to start at short notice, within a few days if required, which he could.

‘Leave your details with my secretary,' Bob Parker said importantly, turning to Geoff and indicating a young woman in the adjacent office with a sweep of his arm.

He eased himself slowly out of the leather chair in which he had slumped; struggling at the same time to remove his fluorescent waistcoat, replacing it with a large, brown overcoat as he left the office.

Bob Parker, the depot manager, was a gambler. The lure of the horses had caused him serious problems and this was one way he was trying to pay off his gambling debts, he knew the damaged goods should be sent back to the sender.

From previous experience he knew that the big companies very rarely checked that the goods had been returned to them or followed it up if they hadn't been; they only seemed interested in the appropriate paperwork.

Geoff followed the manager out of his office and watched as he waddled after the group of men, who were several yards in front of him, struggling desperately to catch them up as they made their way in the direction of the main road. He waited a few moments in front of the opaque glass fronted adjoining office door, before giving two sharp knocks.

‘Enter!' the shrill reply came from the other side of the door. The young woman he saw at the desk was not much older than him. She was busy copying from what looked like paper invoices on to a computer that was much slimmer than the ones used in the school library. ‘Mr. Parker asked me to leave my details with you,' he said as he glanced around the small office.

‘So, you're one of the applicants applying for the vacancy!' she said disdainfully as she looked up from her typing at the boy standing in front of her wearing a smart sports coat, grey flannels and highly polished, black shoes.

‘If you are fortunate enough to be accepted for this position you will take your instructions from me and Bob; that is Mr. Parker to you, do you understand?'

‘Yes ma'am,' said Geoff respectfully but at the same time smiling to himself, thinking,
you jumped up, silly, little cow.

On his way back to his digs Geoff called at the post office and obtained an application form for a provisional driving licence.
At least I've made a first step,
he thought to himself as he left the post office counter.

At the same time, Bob Parker's secretary, following her boss's instructions, was typing a letter to Geoff's address informing him that he had been accepted for the vacant position, on the condition that he could he start at the beginning of the following week. He would be on a six months trial. Usually, Bob Parker would not have considered anyone so young and without any previous experience, but he'd been let down by a previous applicant who'd rung up, at short notice, saying he'd found a better paid position. With two workers already off claiming they had flu he was terribly short staffed during their busiest period of the year.

Bob Parker would employ this boy Larkin, he would be on the lowest basic rate but he would have time to familiarise himself with the system in time for the Christmas rush, he then had every intention of sacking the boy as unsuitable when the other two men returned from sick leave.

In the meantime it would help to keep the wage bill down a little and, hopefully, keep him in the good books of his employers, who had been very critical lately of his and his staff's performance.

Geoff quite enjoyed working at the depot where he'd slipped into the work routine quite quickly, it was different from the boring position he had occupied at the estate agents on the building site.

If the warehouse wanted a lift he helped them, the rest of the time was spent working in the office with Bob Parker's secretary. She seemed delighted that she now had someone below her to whom she could give instructions and Geoff was informed by her that he must address her as Miss. Alice. Geoff was only too glad to oblige. He was learning all the time how the office functioned, how the orders were made up, recording the various delivery vans that were loaded and the appropriate invoices sent out.

He also saw when the other workers were leaving for home at night and, out of sight of Miss. Alice's office window, the many parcels placed in their car luggage boots. From the snippets of conversations he overheard amongst the staff in the warehouse, their cash share out was on Friday lunchtimes in ‘The Swan' public house.

During these meetings Geoff was in sole charge of the depot, apart from Miss. ‘Alice in Wonderland', as Geoff called Bob Parker's secretary, but she rarely left her office.

The main gates to the depot were always closed and locked by Bob Parker as part of the firm's security, while he and his cronies were away for their liquid lunch.

On the occasional Friday lunchtime the odd van would arrive for loading if the parcels were to be delivered on Saturday. This was not very often as most of the vans had to be loaded and on their way in the mornings before twelve thirty; if they were not, they had to stay there until Bob Parker returned.

Geoff had started to load these vans using the stacker truck, usually completing the job by the time the rest of the staff had returned from their lunch break. He was never reproached for this action as it was less work for the rest of the men in the depot who spent Friday afternoons, which were usually very quiet, playing cards and drinking tea in the canteen and listening to the horse races on the radio until it was time to leave.

Geoff had volunteered to come in on a Saturday mornings to help Miss. Alice to keep her books up to date. He'd now familiarised himself with her system of book keeping as she recorded the input and delivery of all the merchandise that entered and left the depot. Most important of all, he also had access to the list of damaged goods that was given to her by Bob Parker. It had taken Geoff four weeks to gather all this information, familiarise himself with the system and then put together his plan.

That Saturday afternoon, he had decided to visit Jock the Fence but, on a sudden urge, he stayed on the train back to his old area of Offerton on the outskirts of Stockport.

Everything in the area seemed to look so much smaller than when he was last running around that neighbourhood as a small boy. The allotments had been removed and in their place were new starter homes being built for first time buyers. The corner shop, where he'd bought cigarettes and cheap booze for his mother, was empty and all boarded up as was the pie and cake shop, before the bulldozers moved in.

He slowly made his way back to the station, feeling quite depressed and wondering what had happened to his one and only friend during that period, the old tramp.

It was later that afternoon, he casually walked past Jock's shop, he did this several times before he built up courage to eventually cross the threshold and enter the grubby premises. The man he only knew as Jock was there sporting his overgrown beard and greasy hair. He was now also wearing a pair of thick horn-rimmed spectacles, which he must have thought gave him an air of respectability, but in reality made him look even more shifty than before.

‘Hello, Jock, remember me?' said Geoff breezily, as the man looked at him from behind his counter. Jock had recognised the young man; he had been watching him as he had walked up and down past his shop. He had seen him turn around at the end of the street and return. He had looked for, but not seen, any other cars or strangers hanging around in the street.