Consequences (5 page)

‘What?’

‘That way, if the blackmailer is watching your comings and goings you can use it as an excuse for going out. Calmer now?’ he asked.

‘Yes a bit, thank you,’ she said forcing a smile, and retrieved a tissue from her handbag. A team of police watching out for her, yes that did make her feel safer. She exhaled, wiping her nose.

Larry leant forward, moving in for a kiss, his hand automatically reaching out for her breast. Liz held her breath, gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. His mobile rang, and he leaned back and a long moan escaped from his lips. Liz heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ he said.

‘Sorry kid...must go...maybe next time eh? Armed robbery at a petrol station to deal with,’ he said, by way of an explanation, as he got out of the car.

‘Shame.’ she said, rather too enthusiastically, even to her own ears. He leaned back in the car and pecked her on the cheek. At the same time he slid his hand underneath her jumper and squeezed her breast hard. It was so expertly done; so quick, so brief she never anticipated it.

 ‘Keep in touch...everything will be okay.’ He winked and was gone. She locked the door behind him. Stunned, she realised he had come for sex. Nothing could have been further from her mind, although she was quietly pleased he still fancied her. If he got it sorted for her perhaps she would reward him, she thought. After all he was being very good to her. They’d been close at one time. Larry had seemed so confident he knew how he could solve her problem, that it gave her strength. She didn’t feel so alone. If Malcolm knew, however, that she’d be drawing money out of their account he’d go ballistic. She shuddered, knowing how violent he could be. She steered out of the car park and a car pulled up on her tail. It couldn’t pass on the single track road, but continued to be right on her boot. She had two choices; she could either pull into the next passing spot or continue on the road. What the hell was she to do?

Licking her dry lips, she clutched the steering wheel hard and pressed down the accelerator. What if it was the blackmailer? What if she stopped and he pulled in behind her? Ahead she could see a white van in a viewing spot and as she approached it was obvious her follower had seen it too, as he backed off. It was a police dog van, thank the Lord. She indicated to pull in behind it and the car tailing her passed in a blur, sounding his horn. Was she being paranoid or was it the blackmailer telling her he’d seen her meeting Larry?

Larry skidded onto the petrol station forecourt where uniformed officers were already in attendance. An instant response firearms car passed by as it toured the area. Everything appeared to be under control he thought, as he climbed out of his vehicle and strolled across to where four ‘uniform’ were talking to a pale young female, wearing the petrol station’s brightly coloured clothing. The door to the petrol station was open and the bright lights made Larry screw up his eyes.

‘DI Banks,’ he announced to his audience. ‘I’ll be outside directing the theatre of operations when you’re ready to update me.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied one. The others looked at him with their mouths open, lost for words at his remark and his dramatic entrance.

Larry contacted Control, ‘DI Banks – just to let you know I’m at the scene and I’ve taken charge.’

One of the officers joined him in the yard.

‘How much did they take?’ asked Larry, as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘Oh...only about a hundred quid, she thinks. She’ll know the exact amount when she’s checked the till, but for now I’ve asked her to let SOCO examine the kiosk.’

‘Yes...good...do we have a description?’

‘She describes the robber as a young, thin, tall, white male, baseball cap pulled down over his face, no car. He came in on foot...she believes she saw a gun.’

‘Had he been in the garage before?’

‘She doesn’t think so but I’ve seized the CCTV tape, just in case there was anyone on it that resembled her description.’

Larry took the video cassette offered by the officer. ‘Thanks, I’ll get it checked,’ he said, stuffing it into his pocket.

‘It’s not good quality and the camera’s set a bit high up on the building, sir,’ he said, sounding disappointed.

Larry tutted as he shook his head, ‘I’ll have a look at it and see what we can do and record it as a theft, it’ll keep the violent crime figures down,’ he chortled. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave it with you kid as they say,’ Larry called out to the officer and his probationer as he walked back to his car. ‘I’m on the mobile if you need me. It’s time for a drink,’ he shouted.

‘As who says?’ Asked the young rookie. ‘Is he joking about a drink?’ he whispered as the officers watched him go.

‘Who Acting Inspector Banks?’ mocked his mentor. ‘One thing Larry Banks never jokes about is alcohol, son.’

The nearest pub was the King’s Head and that’s where Larry was heading. He found decision making thirsty work. He knew a couple of pints of hand - pulled Tetley’s would go down a treat. Staring at his pint in awe as it stood on the bar, he was mesmerised by the froth that spilled over the rim of the glass and trickled down the side. He reached in his pocket to get the money to pay, not taking his eyes off the pint of beer that he picked up delicately, like a long lost treasure. He could feel the cool, wet glass in his hand and savoured the thirst-quenching nectar that had the smoothest of heads.

‘Ahhhhh,’ he sighed, it sure was good he thought, as he drank it dry and ordered the next. It stopped his hands shaking. Free bread and dripping decorated the bar. What more could a man want he thought, as he tucked in. Police officers knew the pubs in the town long before the street names: not because they were all drinkers but because that was where trouble was most prevalent. Larry propped up the bar in such a place, where he felt at home, and his thoughts went back to Liz Reynolds and her situation. Let’s face it; he’d nobody else on the go at the moment. He smiled as he wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand, deciding there and then that he would keep quiet at the nick about the blackmail. He’d sort it himself. It’d be a good collar and she’d be so grateful to him when it was all over, No one would have been any the wiser, especially Malcolm. He ordered another pint. Boy, he wasn’t half beginning to enjoy Dylan’s absence. Detective Inspector Banks – now that sounded good...very good. He really should go back to the office, he thought. He would, after another.

Larry was dozing in Dylan’s chair, after snagging up the tape from the garage in Dylan’s machine, when, late that afternoon, a familiar face appeared at his office door.

‘Hell fire...no, it can’t be? Is this the same Larry Banks...a bloody pen pusher?’ Gary Warner guffawed loudly as he walked in the office. Larry staggered from behind the desk and shook his hand vigorously.

‘It must be five years since I’ve seen you.’ said Larry, yawning. ’What brings you to Harrowfield? Are you still with the Regional Crime Squad?’

‘Yeah. I’ve come to speak to Jack Dylan about a dealer on your patch that’s starting to feature in one of our operations: ‘Operation Whirlwind’ would you believe?’

‘Who the hell thinks up the bloody operational names, eh Gary? Jack’s away so I’m your man,’ Larry said, red faced, shoulders back and chest out.

‘Right then,’ Gary grinned.

‘Come on, let’s go talk over a jar, shall we? Walls have ears that pubs don’t.’ Larry patted Gary on the back as he steered him into the general office and out of the nick.

‘It smells like you’ve had a few already mate.’

‘Just the one. I had to meet a snout at lunchtime, you know what it’s like. I couldn’t order an orange juice now, could I?’ he laughed.

‘We’ve got good information from an ‘undercover’ that Frankie Miller is importing heroin and cocaine on a regular basis,’ Gary told Larry, whilst they sipped their lager in a quiet recess of the Armitage Arms. ‘He’s not been out of prison long. Him and his brother own Millers Haulage, so if you’ve got any intelligence no matter how trivial we’d be grateful if you passed it on,’ he said, taking a sip of his pint, ‘especially with an undercover officer being involved.’

‘Yeah, I know of the Millers, they’re loaded. We’re obviously in the wrong business.’ Larry said thoughtfully.

‘Only joking mate, there’s no need for that look. You still married?’ Larry quickly placed his pint glass down on the table as quickly as he’d changed the subject.

Gary studied his drinking partner carefully. ‘Yeah. I’m well looked after. What about you? Still playing the field or have you settled down?’

‘Not likely. Although I’ve got myself a very demanding attractive, wealthy, married woman after me,’ Larry said beaming.

‘Well there’s nothing urgent with this job at the moment so it’s for your and Jack’s ears only, for the safety of the undercover cops, if you’ll just update him for me when he gets back?’

‘No problem. One for the road?’

‘No...I’m driving.’

‘Go on, just for old time’s sake.’

‘Just half a Coke then,’ Gary said, as he handed his glass over the bar to the landlord.

‘Two more pints please my good man.’ Larry roared, slamming his glass on the bar.

‘I said Coke.’ Gary yelled above the noise of the pinball machine, as he walked towards the toilets.

‘Ah, come on...I’m not ordering bloody Coke in here, they’ll think I’ve gone soft.’ Larry bellowed.

‘No mate, I’m driving,’ Gary firmly reiterated.

‘Okay.’ Larry said, picking up one jar and downing it in one. ’Waste not, want not.’ he gurgled, his mouth full of beer.

‘A half of Coke it is for my colleague, please landlord,’ Larry said.

As Gary walked back towards the bar he felt uncomfortable. This was supposed to be a quiet drink; the last thing he wanted was for attention to be drawn to them.

‘When’s Jack back? Is he off for a while?’ he asked, making a mental note to give Dylan a call on his return.

‘Next week …’till then I’m in charge of his patch.’ Larry shouted, proudly, for anyone to hear.

Gary left shaking his head in dismay. What had happened to Larry since he’d last worked with him? He was no longer the great thief taker he had once been.

Back at the station, Larry sat in the office with his feet up. It was Dick Foster’s retirement do that evening; the buffet would be his meal and after a few pints in the bar, that would be Larry sorted for the day. His life these days seemed to take him from one public house to another. He hardly knew Dick, a PC from the front office, but that didn’t deter him. After all, the poster did say ALL welcome, and anyone who’d done thirty years in the job definitely deserved a toast to them. Thirty years in the job, Larry dreaded the thought he was looking for a much easier option. A wealthy widow with her own pub, he contemplated. Not too much to ask for, was it? He smiled at the thought, and as he did so he pulled the drawstring of the blind and yanked hard, although he regretted it instantly as dust flew down on him. Waving his hand in front of his face and coughing fitfully he took the wedge from under the open door and employed it to keep it shut. Pulling up a visitors chair to rest his feet on, he made himself comfortable, in Dylan’s chair. A smile crossed his face as he remembered the conversation he’d once had at his local.

‘What happened to that lovely young barmaid you were knocking off?’ Larry had asked the barman, pulling a face at the woman now behind the bar, he could only describe as being as ugly as a bucket of frogs.

‘Ah, she went off with a punter.’ He said pulling Larry’s pint. ’So, I married the landlady,’ he nodded in the direction of the unfortunate looking lady.

‘Why?’ Larry had gasped, paying the barman.

‘Well, my favourite drink is on tap. I’ll never be frightened of her leaving me - I can have sex when I want it, and she’s ever so grateful...do you want me to go on?’ he’d said, chuckling.

Larry remembered him saying, as he fell into a deep sleep.

About an hour later he woke up. He needed a clean shirt for the evening. On the way he’d change out of his new suit at his flat, and have a couple of shots of Jack Daniels as an aperitif.

Someone has put on a good spread he thought, as he headed straight for the buffet. It was early, so there was hardly anyone about as he overloaded his platter. Why the hell didn’t they give out bigger plates? He thought as he ambled to the bar.

‘The first drink’s on me,’ someone shouted. The day was getting even better. Larry stuffed his face with pies, sausage rolls, scotch eggs, what a rare treat. He looked around the room. No one else was eating. He chuckled; perhaps the food wasn’t supposed to be eaten yet, he thought as he discreetly slid his empty plate and dirty napkin along the shiny bar surface. Now, which ‘wooden top’ can I blag the next drink off, and where was Dick Foster he wondered, as he looked around the room? At the end of the bar people were handing presents and hugging a kind faced man with laughing eyes...Dick Foster. Larry grinned knowingly...he wasn’t a detective for nothing now, was he?

He swayed as he sat on the bar stool, surveying the crowd as he overtly nodded to people as they passed, and in doing so toppled off his seat and into the chest of a large buxom woman.

‘What the fuck?’ came the shout. As he knocked her to the floor she screamed. A big strong arm yanked Larry to his feet by his collar in one fell swoop. Before he knew what was happening, he was staring into the shirted chest of the lady’s husband, and was bounced out of the bar like an abusive, drunken teenager.

‘Fuck off home. Otherwise you’ll be investigating your own assault, you plain clothes wanker.’ the man shouted.

Larry wasn’t one for doing as he was told and no way was a ‘wooden top’ going to talk to him like that he thought, as he picked himself up off the gritty, tarmac driveway and dusted himself down.

Jack Dylan was quick to resume work mode, as he hurriedly got ready to go to court for a bail shout, and Jen was a lot more relaxed arriving home from the Isle of Wight than when they’d left. Immediately after she’d made breakfast she was stuffing clothes into the washing machine, whilst making a mental list for the supermarket.