Billy Rags (20 page)

It was mine and Ray's turn to do the washing up. The kitchens were close to the shower room. I started to collect the trays as soon as everybody had finished eating. Ray stood up as well but I said: “It's all right, Ray, I'll do it tonight. You have a sit down.”

“Don't be silly,” he said. “It's my turn as well.”

“Leave it, Ray. I'll do it.”

I must have sounded more abrasive than I'd intended because Walter turned his head and said: “Didn't you know Billy was in the Scouts, Ray?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And it's bob-a-job week.”

Ray sat down. Walter turned back to the television.

I sit in the car and look at my watch. Two minutes to go. Two minutes and the geezer with the four thousand pounds in his satchel will be walking out of the garage office and across the forecourt to his car. Jackie the driver asks me how long and I tell him. I catch sight of my face in the wing mirror. Beads of sweat are decorating my forehead. I never sweat on a job. I'm always dry as a bone, keyed up so that I can appreciate the action as fully as possible. But today it's different. Today the stakes are too high. This is going to be my last job. This one's for Sheila and Timmy. After this one we get out of it. The risks of living the way we've been living are too great. If I get taken again they'll lock the door and throw away the key. They'll slap twenty years on me after the way I fucked them on the last deal. I've taken too many risks and I've been too lucky. Three thousand quid to me on this one and we're out via Ireland.

I look at my watch again and then I look towards the forecourt.

“All right, Jackie,” I say. “Slide her over.”

Jackie eases the car across the road. The geezer walks out of the office. Jackie stops the car against the curb and I open the door and get out.

The geezer is on the forecourt now. There are two or three cars parked but I know that his is an Austin. I walk up the approach, narrowing the angle, moving between him and the Austin. But instead of making for the car, the geezer swings round and starts running to the other end of the forecourt. I don't get it. He couldn't have cottoned me. He never even looked at me. I was never even in his line of vision.

Then I know.

All hell breaks out. Uniforms everywhere. And every one of them seems to be shouting my name.

I've been grassed.

Tommy came in while I was washing up.

“Gil squared it with the PO,” he said. “He'll be coming down to the showers any time now.”

“Good,” I said.

“Thing is,” said Tommy, “Walter and Gearing have gone up to the Threes to do some soft toys.”

We looked at each other.

The soft toy gear was two floors up in a room on the same corner of the wing as the showers. There was a window in this room that looked out over the plastic roof. The angle was too acute for anybody looking out to see the hole where we'd emerge, but once we were actually on the roof we weren't exactly going to stick by the hole.

“What do you think?” I said to Tommy.

“I don't know,” he said. “But then you can never tell with Wally.”

“Right. Do you think he caught anything about the washing up?”

“You were a bit sharp, Billy.”

“What else could I do? We didn't want him in here, did we?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Well then.”

“It's just that that old bastard doesn't miss a trick.”

“You don't have to tell me that, Tommy. That is something I know all about.”

We stood there for a minute or two, thinking thoughts of Walter.

“Anyway,” Tommy said, “I'm going in the shower.”

“I'll follow you when Gil's gone in.”

“Right.”

“And don't worry about it, Tommy,” I said. “In half an hour you'll be on the other side of the wall.”

Part Two

I was tidying up the last of the trays when Ray came into the kitchen.

He looked all round the place before he said anything. I didn't turn round from what I was doing but I knew he'd spotted something.

“You've done them all, then, Billy,” he said.

“That's right,” I said, stacking a load of trays.

“I just came in to see if you needed a hand.”

“Well it's all done, as you can see.”

I dried my hands on the tea towel and looked at Ray.

“Coming up to watch the box?” he said.

“No, I don't fancy that tonight.”

Why the fuck didn't he clear off?

I put the towel down. Ray had never been a prime mover in his life but he'd seen a lot of schemes played and he was sharp enough to realise something was on and he was very reluctant to leave the kitchen.

I took out my cigarettes.

“What's on tonight, anyway?” I said. “Anything good?”

“Coronation Street.”

I looked at my watch.

“Nearly finished,” I said.

“I'd better go up then,” Ray said.

We looked at each other for a minute or two longer. Then Ray turned and went out of the kitchen.

I waited till he was well out of the way, then I dashed into the shower room. Steam was everywhere. Tommy was already getting the bricks out of the wall and Gil was stacking them behind the bench.

“I think Ray's on to it,” I said.

“Never mind about that,” Tommy said, “open that door and keep a bleeding look out.”

I began to take my clothes off. In the middle of the room was an exercising bicycle that Ray had left there that afternoon when he'd had a quick sweat up and shower. The bicycle should have been put away in the weights cell with the rest of the equipment. There was something out of place about it sitting there in the middle of the shower room. Especially as Ray had been the last one to use it.

“For Christ's sake, Billy,” Tommy said. “Get minding.”

“All right, all right,” I said, “let me get out of my fucking trousers.”

I walked towards the door just wearing shirt and pants. The door opened. We all froze.

It was Ray. He strode into the room, towards the bicycle. But he stopped dead when he saw that the hole had been opened up.

“Ray,” Tommy said, his voice a low shriek. “What you doing? The bleeding door.”

Ray didn't move. He just stood by the bike and stared at the hole. Then at Gil. Tommy's words hadn't registered at all.

I leant forward and closed the door.

“What's happening?” Ray said.

Tommy bluffed it.

“What do you mean, what's happening?” he said. “We're stashing some gear, that's what's happening. And you nearly gave us fucking heart failure didn't you, my old son?”

Ray kept looking at Gil. Then in a quiet voice Ray said to me: “What you told him for?”

The noise of the showers confined Ray's voice to my ears.

“It was Tommy's idea,” I said. “They used to know each other on the Moor.”

Ray still didn't move.

“Ray, come on,” I said, arms beseeching. “Shift the fucking bike out. If they check the weights cell we're nicked.”

“Either that or give us a hand with the bricks,” Tommy said. “Don't just stand there like a spare prick.”

Ray thought about it. Then he picked up the bike. He'd had the sense to realise the fact that if he'd offered to help with the bricks, and it was right what he thought, we were making one, then he'd have got a bar over his head. So all he could do was to pick up the bike and leave us alone.

I opened the door and let him out and closed the door behind him.

“Well, that's it,” said Tommy. “He'll tell Walter.”

“It's too late to worry about that now,” I said, taking my shirt off. I wanted to go down in my underwear to cut out the risk of snagging on the brickwork.

I was the biggest, so it had been agreed that I should go first.

I climbed into the hole and eased down head first for the second entrance into the cellars. I wriggled my head and shoulders into the cellar opening but my feet were still sticking out into the shower room through the first hole. It was a tight fit round my shoulders and with my feet outside I couldn't get any purchase to push myself through.

“Tommy,” I said, “push on the soles of my feet.”

“Right.”

He nearly broke my fucking ankles but the pressure allowed me to force myself through a little further. And now my feet were in the chimney so I could brace them on the back of the chimney and force myself through that way. When I was halfway through I felt in the darkness for the steel girder Tommy had told me about. It ran across the cellar roof and the only way down was to grab hold and swing, unless of course you went through head first on to the cellar floor.

The cellar was pitch black. My fingers found the damp iron. I heaved and swung and then I let go. I hit the cellar floor and overbalanced and jarred my elbow on the floor. I straightened up and lit a match. The bundles of clothes were on the floor. I blew the match and grabbed my clothes and put them on. Then I picked up Tommy's bundle and waited for him to drop through. He was only a couple of seconds behind me. I gave him the bundle and he got changed while Gil made his way down. There wasn't a bundle for Gil. There hadn't been time. He had to take his chances in what he was wearing.

The hooked rope was in Tommy's bundle.

“Got the rope, Tommy?” I said.

“Yes.”

“Christ,” said Gil. “I can't see a fucking thing.”

I reached out and grabbed hold of Gil and pushed him behind Tommy.

“Hold on to Tommy,” I said. “He knows the way. I'll hold on to you.”

We moved off. It was slow going. Tommy knew the way through the cellars, knew how many arches there were to the wall where the tunnel was, but he had to feel his way along. I just hoped his arithmetic was up to scratch.

It took us nearly five minutes to feel our way to the tunnel. I kept wondering what was going on upstairs, whether or not Walter had started creating, whether or not the screws had missed us, whether or not they'd found the hole.

“Here we are,” said Tommy. “And so's the ladder, my lovelies.”

Gil and I stopped. There was a short silence, then Tommy grunted as he pulled back the bar he'd cut through.

“Done it,” he said. “I'll go through first with the ladder.”

I heard the ladder being pulled through. Then Gil and I felt the bars and found the bent one and crawled through into the tunnel. We had to go bent double like miners in a book of Orwell's I remembered reading, but at least with the tunnel there was only one way to go and that was forward. After a while I saw dim light ahead of me, drifting down the ventilation shaft.

Tommy was already going up the ladder when I straightened up into the ventilation shaft. He took the padlock off and opened the grille and stepped out into the yard without making a sound.

I followed him out, and then Gil. Now we were all out in the open. Naked. No cover.

But the nick was quiet. No commotion. Nothing had gone off inside. Not yet.

I pointed to the dangling rope.

“Gil, up there. And don't make any noise on that plastic. It's murder.”

We ran to the rope and Gil started up. Tommy went next. He was halfway up the rope as Gil pushed himself up through the hole.

He made a terrible racket.

You cunt, I thought. Why the fuck did we bring you?

The sound of the plastic rattled and cracked through the yard's silence. Then the racket stopped. Gil must have got to the office roof and pulled himself up.

Tommy went through the hole and didn't make a sound and all the time as I climbed up the rope I was expecting to hear the alarm go off. But it didn't.

I went through the hole without making any noise.

I was in the open air. I could hear the sound of the city.

I looked towards the office roof. We had to cross it to get at the section of wall we wanted. Gil was outlined against the sky, balancing on the edge of the office roof. Tommy and I began to crawl towards him.

Gil waved us back with his hand. Tommy and I stopped dead. Gil got down on to the plastic and began to crawl back towards us.

“What in Christ's name is he playing at?” Tommy said.

When he got near enough to speak Gil said:

“We're rumbled. There's a screw with a dog looking towards us. He must have heard us on the plastic.”

I felt sick.

“Us!” Tommy said. “Listen, you cunt . . .”

“Shut up!” I said. “We'll have to go the other way.”

“What other way ?”

“Across the plastic.”

This was the only alternative. Back across the plastic and drop down by the remand wing that butted on to the other side. Then round the end wing to a spot I'd seen when I'd been over the main prison, towards the main gate. I knew we had a good chance of getting over if we could make that spot. In any case, we had no choice. And there was no time left for gut-crawling. We had to leg it.

Gil picked up the rope and wound it round his waist. Tommy went off first, then me, then Gil. The noise was like thunder. As I ran I could see men getting up at their windows in the remand block, silhouetted against their cell lights. Then I heard Wally's voice coming on the wind.

“You bastards,” he screamed. “You fucking bastards.”

His voice sang in my ears as I ran.

“On the roof,” he screamed. “Cracken's on the roof.”

We got to the end of the plastic.

Tommy said: “Hear that cunt?”

“Yes,” I said. “If we're put back he'll wish he'd let us get away.”

We ran across the roof of the remand wing. Gil unwound the hooked rope as we ran. When we got to the edge of the roof Tommy fixed the rope and we all slithered down to the ground.

The wall was only forty feet away from us but this section had a continuous line of barbed wire bracketed along its rim. The spot I'd got in mind was where the wall joined a relatively low building near the gate. The nearest part of the building was single-storey, with a flat roof. From this I'd figured we could get up to the rest of the building, then on to the barbed-wire-free wall and down.

Tommy and I ran towards the building. The ground was damp and cold under our feet. Gil was still by the wing, trying to shake the hooked rope free. Tommy reached the building first. He put his foot on a window sill and went up on to the flat roof. I followed him up and waited for Gil. By now he had freed the rope and was running towards us, winding the rope round himself as he went. He was about twenty feet from the building, just past the corner of the wing. I got set to stretch out a hand to help him up.

Then a screw rounded the corner of the wing, coming from the other side. The screw was only a few feet behind Gil but Gil didn't see him or hear him.

“Behind you,” I shouted.

But as I shouted the screw dived. The tackle took Gil entirely by surprise. He hit the ground face first. The screw tried to scramble on top of him but Gil lashed out with his feet and caught the screw in the chest. Gil managed to get to his feet again and made a few more yards to the building. More screws pounded round the corner of the wing. The first screw was up again and charging for Gil.

Gil was at the building now but he was never going to be able to get up on the roof. They'd pluck him off before he got a foot on the sill.

“The rope,” I shouted.

Gil started to unwind the rope but the first screw jumped him again. Gil tried to fight him off but by the time he'd freed himself the other screws had arrived and he was smothered.

“I'm sorry, Gil,” I said.

Gil lay on the ground, fastened there by the screws. He looked gutted, but he nodded to me in reply.

I took off after Tommy. Behind me the whole nick was in uproar.

Tommy was at the far corner of the flat roof looking up at the next part of the building. This was a facing wall, about ten foot high, but about six inches from the top a line of foot long spikes jutted out horizontally. I grabbed Tommy by the waist and pushed him up. He grasped the spikes and heaved himself and swung his legs, wrapping them round the spikes so that he was hanging on the horizontal line. Then he manoeuvred himself so that he was on top of the spikes and then all he had to do was to roll himself over on to the roof.

I took my sweater off and threw it at the spikes until they caught in the wool. I began to pull myself up. But the sweater started to tear. I couldn't trust my weight on it. Tommy was leaning over the edge of the roof, looking down at me.

“Tommy,” I said, “double the sweater.”

Tommy didn't move. He just kept looking down at me. Every time a whistle blew or a walkie-talkie crackled on Tommy's head would flick in the direction of the sound.

I thought: he's going to leave me.

“Double it, Tommy,” I said.

Then he leant forward and took the sweater off the spikes and twisted it into a rope and lay down and hung the sweater over the edge. I grabbed hold and scrambled up until I could get a hold of the spikes. Tommy straightened up and began to move away. I couldn't seem to lever myself over the spikes the way Tommy had done. I was too heavy. Tommy was out of sight now. In my desperation to get over the spikes one of them cut into my hand and sank into the flesh. Pain flashed up my arm. I almost let go.

“Tommy,” I shouted.

Tommy's voice came from somewhere on the roof-top.

“Come on, Billy.”

“I'm fucked on the spikes.”

There was a silence. Then Tommy appeared back at the edge. I laughed, as though everything was some big joke.

“I've clobbered my hand,” I said.

Tommy leant forward and grabbed my shoulder and pulled me over on to the roof.

“Thanks,” I said.