Life Goes On (62 page)

The sides of both cars breathed against each other. They occasionally touched, but as light as a kiss, then glanced away. On that score my worries were nil. It was fortunate for Kenny Dukes that Pindarry was the sort of careful driver who would be welcome in any south-coast old age pensioner town. But he could also be very fast, though he knew it was not advisable to speed up at the moment. In the back Jericho Jim was telling him to stop, while Eric Alport shouted for him to ‘get a move on'. Our world was small in those few minutes, and I had immediate plans for making it bigger.

As good a driver as Pindarry, I still needed all my skill to maintain the same velocity as his car. We had to keep the same distance as well, for fear of mangling Kenny's arm. He'd been much in the wars lately, and I hoped the fact would encourage him to put in an application for danger money from Moggerhanger's exchequer.

The situation, then, was that two cars were travelling side by side down the dual carriageway at the same speed, and the same distance apart – such as it was – and almost joined in matrimony by the fact that Kenny Dukes's wrist was trapped in the window of my vehicle. It was a predicament that called for quick thinking, because for the first and last time in our lives we were united by a common desire – that his arm should not be pulled out of its socket.

I had often noticed prior to this incident that whenever quick thinking was necessary, my reactions managed to speed up and make a perfect adjustment. As long as the window stayed closed the car could not overtake and bring me to a standstill. On the other hand, if I kept Kenny's hand a prisoner we would go like this the whole way to London, which I no longer wanted to do. The turning for Harwich would come in a mile or so, but I wouldn't be able to take it with Kenny's helpless arm pegged in my window, the fingers faintheartedly wriggling as if the blood had been drained out.

When I dared, I glanced at Kenny's face in the other car. His distress would have been terrible to see if he hadn't been a member of a lynching party whose first target was me. It was a quick course in lip reading, and I learned more of the subject in that minute than in all my previous life. I read every threat, every plea, every curse. If after the fight which would ensue on getting to London I lost the hearing from both ears, I would at least have learned something useful, which wasn't much of a bonus, though it was more than I had any right to hope for.

Pindarry was also pleading with me to do something. Alport and Jericho Jim threatened and despaired in turn. Even lip reading became unnecessary in the end. ‘Let me go, bastard, let me go!' Kenny roared.

‘You shouldn't have wrecked my house, you ape.'

‘It wasn't me. It was Parkhurst. And Toffeebottle.'

I wasn't listening. I planned the severance some seconds in advance. Speed and timing was vital. Cars hooted to get by. Another few minutes and the rozzers would be onto us. I saw the turn-off. Whether Pindarry had been briefed as to my possible Harwich intention I didn't know, but he was too preoccupied with his companion's peril to remember if he had. Almost at the junction, I wound the window quickly down. At the same time I veered sharply.

Kenny's hand was free, though his bones must have taken a drubbing as the arm grated out. Their car went straight on, while I swerved left and, in good old Black Bess, got onto the slip road without turning over.

As I went away I heard the car that had been behind me crash into the back of the Rolls, because no sooner had Pindarry realised my escape than he panicked, tried to cut in front of me, and slammed on the brakes to stop me when I was no longer there. Too late, he caused the biggest pile-up on that stretch of road since the black fogs of yesteryear.

I won't say I was laughing. Almost certainly, I had lost the boat to Holland – though my resurfaced optimism told me there might still be a chance. If I missed it, I would drop my incriminating evidence in the nearest Royal Red pillar-box so as not to have it in my possession if Moggerhanger's lads finally ran me to ground.

There was no advantage in speeding the last few miles. I would leave things to fate. When a tractor swung in front from a field beyond Manningtree I was as patient as a superannuated brigadier out on a pleasant country drive using a map from the 1930s. The young tractor driver had an earphone system clamped over his cloth cap, and was listening to the Jungle Blues from Radio Zombie as his vehicle moved sleepily along. Both of us waved in friendly fashion when I shot by.

I could smell the North Sea, and sensed a rough crossing, which would be appropriate enough on such a day. Then the sea was in sight, as well as cranes and great sheds, fences and the car parks. The boat was still there. I ran into the ticket office, wondering whether Chief Inspector Lanthorn and his lads would be at the passport control waiting for me.

‘Hello, Cullen! Where is it this time, then? Continental holiday, eh? I hope you aren't getting a bit above yourself. We wouldn't like that down at the station. We're getting to love you more and more. Without you our lives wouldn't be worth writing home about. Our careers would be in jeopardy. Stand still, you bastard. There's nothing you can do. It's a fair cop, I think you'd call it. I'd like to say, though, that that little incident on the A12 just now had us absolutely brimming over with admiration. We had a chopper overhead filming the whole thing. No, I know you didn't notice it. You were somewhat preoccupied. We'll run the film for you one day – when you come out. Trouble is, film doesn't keep very well. After twenty-five years it'll be pitted and smudgy. You'd better come with me. And I don't want any fucking nonsense. All I have to do is warn you that anything you say will be used to your detriment at the trial, and thrown back at you by the beak to get you the maximum possible sentence.'

‘You're too late, mate. The boat's leaving.'

‘I didn't ask you that.' I bit my tongue rather than snap at him. ‘Just sell me a ticket. I'd like a cabin, if you've got one.'

‘Oh well, maybe it's not too late, sir.' He loved playing with late arrivals, but lifted the phone. I stood so calmly I didn't even light a cigar, though my innermost tripes shook like jellies.

‘Room for one more?'

I looked idly around the room as seconds went by. My troubles weren't over. They never would be. Moggerhanger might have someone waiting for me, even supposing I got on the boat, when I drove off at the Hook. There was no saying how far his vindictiveness would reach. The only reason for pursuing me was if he had proof that I had got the envelope. I didn't see how that could be, though I was blind enough to believe anything. He wouldn't stop me entering Holland, even if I had to leave the car on board and walk off. Such were the whirlings in my brain as I waited by the window.

‘You're in luck. But you'll have to get a move on.'

I took the ticket without a word, then drove to the passport window with that vital laundrybook in my hand. I got it straight back, and the customs didn't bother me. An old salt took half my ticket and pasted a chit on the windscreen. ‘That's a vintage car, sir, ain't it?'

I thanked him for the compliment, and trundled ever onward into the car deck, hearing the steel wall fall to behind. A matelot offered to wash my car, and such was my relief at being on board that I gave him a fiver in advance. I felt the vibration of the engines while struggling upstairs with my briefcase, overnight bag and umbrella.

Bursting sticks of chalk drew the ship out of harbour. I stood on the top deck, cold spray hitting my face. Lights winked from the flat countryside of Essex, and we were soon on the watery big dipper. There was a slight rust about the ironwork of the lifeboat derricks.

I sat by the wreckage of my lunch, staring at paper flowers on the cafeteria table. Loudspeakers put out audio-masochistic music which I had even been too old to appreciate as a kid. One song had the word ‘Revolution' wailed over and over by a group drugged either on Moggerhanger's wares or their own souls.

I couldn't stay in that plastic maritime palace for processing tourists into foreign parts, so got up to walk. The rhythmic tinkling of pinball machines dominated every gangway and recreation place, though I was glad to be out of Moggerhanger's reach. A man wearing a newspaper-hat led four kids in a conga-dance along the deck.

Safe at last, I felt weak and purposeless though what else could I expect? Only my worst enemy would know that to make me powerless all he had to do was stop threatening me. Maybe Moggerhanger wasn't that subtle, but I stayed on the alert, all the same.

I left my case in the saloon, though I wouldn't let go of the briefcase, and went on deck to watch a ship go by. Tinkling morse came from the wireless office. Was Moggerhanger sending a telegram to his agent on board, telling him to throw me over the side? Not on your big fat Bertie. All said and done, he was only a racketeer, one of many, and not even my wildest imagination suggested that his influence went beyond the land. Trying to reach a higher deck, the gate wouldn't give, and I was about to get it open when I noticed the words GREEN TOE GANG painted there.

The sea was heaving, with an invisible menagerie in the rigging, snarling and roaring. White cock-heads went to the walltop of the horizon, spumed up and never far away. I wanted to throw myself at it like the laughing man, but went on laughing after reading the words GREEN TOE GANG over and over. There was no mistake. I got under cover from driving rain, to the popsong noises I had despised a few minutes ago, but wherever I walked I sooner or later came upon the same GREEN TOE GANG label pinned over a door that I tried to open but couldn't.

I had stumbled on the flagship of the Green Toe Line, the gang's
Titanic
, no less, gone from one frying pan into another. I staggered like a blind man, but found the first class bar and sat with coffee and brandy, a little internal bandaging for the nerves.

Smoking the last of Moggerhanger's cigars, I was filled with admiration at how the Green Toe Gang had affixed their name to so many doors and barriers. After all, they could have owned the ship without advertising the matter. To take over such a vessel was even beyond the power of Moggerhanger. He may have had the money, but hardly the panache. After a while I began to laugh on the other side of my sandpaper face at the thought that, having with such expertise escaped one racketeer's minions, I had imprisoned myself on the good ship GREEN TOE GANG from which the only escape was to swim through a Force Nine Gale. The sensible course was to meet the Big Chief face to face. A jaunty crew member was walking between the tables, and I called him over. ‘Where does the boss of the Green Toe Gang have his cabin?'

He looked at me as if I was crackers. ‘What gang?'

‘Green Toe Gang.' He thought I'd walked on the ship straight out of an Essex loony bin.

‘Was it on telly?'

‘It could have been, I suppose.'

‘Well, I wouldn't know, then, would I? I work shifts.'

‘The Green Toe Gang,' I said. ‘It's written all over the place. You can't fool me. I can read. Where's the boss of it?'

Something occurred to him, and he laughed. ‘Oh! Ah! Green Toe Gang! That's a good 'un, mate. And to think – I never thought of it! There ain't no boss, though, except the skipper, and Green Toe Gang don't bother him.'

‘Doesn't it? Why not?'

‘Well, you see, Green Toe Gang's Dutch for NO ENTRY. See? It's in English underneath.'

He walked off, laughing, while I stood white-faced at the bar, thanking God for my narrow escape. Maybe the situation wasn't as bad as I thought. I'd have another brandy, then go to my cabin and sleep so as to arrive in the Netherlands as fresh as a tulip. On landing I would drive to a lovely small town in the south, and put up at a hotel for a couple of days, where I could feed myself silly. But I had reckoned without fate, a mistake I had made too often in my life.

‘Get me one, will you, Michael, my owd duck? A double, if you don't mind. And a nice black coffee for Maria. She's feeling a bit queasy with the rocking of this superannuated troopship.'

I tried to stop myself sliding into a dead faint. ‘You must be joking.'

‘I'm not,' he said blandly.

‘How did you get on board?'

‘Well,' he said, ‘we didn't come on hidden in a crate of oranges. Bill Straw travels like a gentleman – you ought to know that by now.'

Maria wore a fur coat and a hat. She looked at me with her large, beautifully liquid eyes. Bill was impeccably got up, a Burberry on his arm and a large holdall by his feet. ‘Aren't you glad to see us?'

‘I'm stunned out of my mind with the shock' – which must have been true, because I ordered the brandies and coffee, and we took them to a table.

‘Perfectly understandable,' he said. ‘You've been through hell in the last three days.'

‘It was my impression that you had, as well.'

He leaned across Maria, who stroked the back of his neck. ‘The only thing wrong with these boats is that they don't sell them little custard pies I like so much. And the tea-bag tea's rotten.'

‘If you'd told 'em you was coming, they'd have mashed a real Worksop pot.'

He lifted his brandy. ‘You're as sarky as ever, aren't you, Michael? Here's to a lovely trip abroad for all of us.'

‘I didn't know you fancied a threesome.'

Maria slapped my hand, spilling some of the brandy.

‘What I'd like to know,' I said, ‘is how you came to be on this boat. I thought Moggerhanger had you in Durrance Vile up to a couple of hours ago.'

He took such a while over lighting his cigar that I knew he was about to tell me a pack of lies. ‘You'll never believe me – but what do I care? He let us go last night.'

‘Why?'

‘He saw no point in holding us. It was you he wanted to frighten. He knew the three of us were like one happy family, and that the mere idea that he had got us at his mercy would make you cough up the doings. Claud's a reasonable man, though he did make it a condition of our release that I wouldn't phone Upper Mayhem and tell you about it. You can understand that, can't you, Michael?'