The New Collected Short Stories (69 page)

‘I won’t make an offer until I’ve seen the goods,’ said Benny.

Bryant fell silent again.

‘So where are they?’ asked Benny, trying to make the words sound unrehearsed.

‘It doesn’t matter where they are,’ said Bryant.

‘It matters if you expect me to give you a valuation,’ snapped Benny.

‘What if I could show you half a dozen of them right now?’

‘Stop pissing me about, Kev. If you’re serious about doin’ a deal, tell me where they are. If not, fuck off.’ Not tactics Inspector Matthews would have approved of, but
with his appeal coming up in a few days’ time, Benny couldn’t afford to wait another six weeks before Bryant spoke again.

‘I’m serious,’ said Bryant quietly. ‘So shut up and listen for a minute, unless you’re doing a bigger deal this week?’ Benny thought about another year being
knocked off his sentence and remained silent. ‘While I was banged up on remand, one of the cons was arrested for possession. Heroin, class A.’

‘So what?’ said Benny. ‘People get arrested for possession every day.’

‘Not while they’re in prison, they don’t.’

‘But how did he get the gear in?’ asked Benny, suddenly taking an interest.

‘This con picks up the stuff from a mate while he’s on trial at the Old Bailey. Durin’ one of the breaks he asks to go to the toilet, knowing that the guard has to stay outside
while he’s in the cubicle. While he’s on the john, he stuffs the gear into a condom, ties a knot in it and swallows it.’

‘But if the condom split open in his stomach,’ said Benny, ‘he’d be history.’

‘Yeah, but if he gets it into prison, he can make a grand. Five times what he’d pick up on the out.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ said Benny.

‘Once he’s banged up in here, he waits till the middle of the night, sits on the toilet, where the screws can’t see him through the spy hole, and—’

‘Spare me the details.’

After another long pause, Bryant said, ‘On the day I was sentenced I did the same thing.’

‘You swallowed two ounces of heroin?’ asked Benny in disbelief.

‘No, you stupid bugger, you’ve not been payin’ attention.’ Benny remained silent while Bryant rolled a cigarette then kept him waiting until he’d lit it and inhaled
several times. ‘I swallowed six of the diamonds, didn’t I?’

‘Why in Gawd’s name would you do that?’

‘Prison currency, in case I ever found myself dealin’ with a bent screw, or in need of a favour from an old lag.’

‘So where are they now?’ asked Benny, pushing his luck.

‘They’ve been in this cell for the past three months, and you haven’t even set eyes on them.’

Benny said nothing as Bryant climbed down from the top bunk and took a plastic fork from the table. He slowly began to unstitch the centre strip that ran down the side of his Adidas tracksuit
bottoms. It was some time before he was able to extract one small diamond. Benny’s eyes lit up when he saw it sparkle under the naked light bulb.

‘Six stripes means six diamonds,’ Bryant said in triumph. ‘If any screw checked my tracksuit, he would have found more stashed in there than he earns in a year.’

Bryant handed the diamond over to Benny, who took it across to the tiny barred window and studied it closely while he tried to think.

‘So, what do you think?’ asked Bryant.

‘Can’t be sure yet, but there’s one way to find out. Let me see your watch.’

‘Why?’ asked Bryant, holding out his arm.

Benny didn’t reply, but ran the edge of the stone across the glass, leaving a thin scratch on the surface.

‘Hey, what’s your game?’ said Bryant, pulling his arm away. ‘I paid good money for that watch.’

‘And I won’t be wasting good money on this piece of shit,’ said Benny, handing the stone back to Bryant before returning to the bottom bunk and pretending to read his
newspaper.

‘Why the fuck not?’ asked Bryant.

‘Because it’s not a diamond,’ said Benny. ‘If it was, it would have shattered the glass on your watch, not just left a scratch on the surface. You’ve been robbed,
my friend,’ said Benny, ‘and by a very clever man who’s palmed you off with paste.’

Bryant stared at his watch. It was some time before he stammered out, ‘But I saw Abbott fill the bag with diamonds from his safe.’

‘I’ve no doubt you saw him fill the bag with something, Kevin, but whatever it was, it wasn’t diamonds.’

Bryant collapsed on to the only chair in the cell. Eventually he managed to ask, ‘So how much are they worth?’

‘Depends how many you’ve got.’

‘A sugar bag full. It weighed about two pounds.’

Benny wrote down some numbers on the back of his newspaper before offering his considered opinion. ‘Two grand perhaps, three at the most. I’m sorry to say, Kev, that Mr Abbott saw
you coming.’

Bryant began picking at the remaining stripes on his track-suit bottoms with the plastic fork. Each time a new stone fell out, he rubbed it across his watch. The result was always the same: a
faint scratch, but the glass remained firmly intact.

‘Twelve years for a few fuckin’ grand,’ Bryant shouted as he paced up and down the tiny cell like a caged animal. ‘If I ever get my hands on that bastard Abbott,
I’ll tear him apart limb from limb.’

‘Not for another twelve years you won’t,’ said Benny helpfully.

Bryant began thumping the cell door with his bare fists, but he knew that no one could hear him except Benny.

Benny didn’t say another word until lights out at ten o’clock, by which time Bryant had calmed down a little, and had even stopped banging his head against the wall.

Benny had spent the time working out exactly what he was going to say next. But not before he was convinced that Bryant was at his most vulnerable, which was usually about an hour after lights
out. ‘I think I know how you could get revenge on your friend Mr Abbott,’ whispered Benny, not sure if Bryant was still awake.

Bryant leapt off the top bunk and, towering over Benny, their noses almost touching, shouted, ‘Tell me. Tell me. I’ll do anything to get even with that bastard!’

‘Well, if you don’t want to wait twelve years before you next bump into him, you’ve got it in your power to make him come to you.’

‘Stop talking in fuckin’ riddles,’ said Bryant. ‘How can I get Abbott to come to Belmarsh? He’s hardly likely to apply for a visiting order.’

‘I was thinking of something more permanent than a visit,’ said Benny. It was Bryant’s turn to wait impatiently for his cellmate to continue. ‘You told me the judge
offered to reduce your sentence if you told where you stashed the diamonds.’

‘That’s right. But have you forgotten they ain’t diamonds no more?’ shouted Bryant, inching even closer towards him.

‘Exactly my point,’ said Benny, not flinching, ‘so it shouldn’t take the police long to work out that they’ve been taken for a ride, while Abbott has ended up with
ten million of insurance money in exchange for two pounds of paste.’

‘You’re fuckin’ right,’ said Bryant, clenching his fist.

‘As soon as the police realize the diamonds aren’t kosher, they’re gonna throw the book at Abbott: fraud, theft, criminal deception, not to mention perverting the course of
justice. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was sent down for at least ten years.’ Benny lit a cigarette and slowly inhaled before he added, ‘And there’s only one place
he’s heading once he leaves the Old Bailey.’

‘Belmarsh!’ said Bryant, punching his fist in the air as if Manchester United had just won the Cup.

The physical instruction officer at Belmarsh had never seen this particular con in the gym before, despite the fact that he clearly needed some exercise, nor, for that matter,
the police officer he was deep in conversation with, who clearly didn’t. The governor had told him to lock the gym door and make sure that no one, screw or con, entered while the two men were
together.

‘Bryant has made a full confession,’ said Detective Inspector Matthews, ‘including where we’d find the diamonds. Half a dozen of them were missing, of course. I presume
there’s no chance of retrieving them.’

‘None,’ said Benny with a sigh. ‘It broke my heart to watch him flushing them down the toilet. But, Inspector Matthews, I was thinking of the bigger picture.’

‘The one where you leave this place in a few weeks’ time?’ suggested the detective inspector.

‘I admit it had crossed my mind,’ said Benny. ‘But I’m still curious to know what happened to the rest of the diamonds?’

‘The insurance company sold them back to Mr Abbott at a slightly reduced price, on the understanding that neither side would refer to the matter again.’

‘That’s a relief,’ said Benny, ‘because I’ve got a favour to ask you, Inspector Matthews.’

‘Isn’t two years off your sentence enough to be going on with?’

‘It certainly is, Inspector Matthews, and don’t think I’m not grateful, but it won’t be long before Bryant works out the reason you haven’t arrested Abbott is
because the diamonds
are
kosher, and I double-crossed him.’

‘Go on,’ said the detective inspector.

‘I just wondered if you could find it in your heart, Mr Matthews, if I was ever foolish enough to be found wanting again, to make sure that I’m never sent back to
Belmarsh.’

Matthews rose from the bench at the far end of the gym and looked down at the old con. ‘Not a hope, Benny,’ he said with a grin. ‘I can’t think of a better way of
ensuring that you finally get yourself a proper job and stay on the straight and narrow. And by the way, there may even come a time when you want to come back to Belmarsh.’

‘You must be joking, Mr Matthews. Why would I ever want to come back to this shit hole?’

‘Because the judge was as good as his word,’ said Matthews. ‘He’s cut Bryant’s sentence in half. So, with good behaviour, he should be out in a couple of
years’ time. And when he is, Benny, I have a feeling it won’t be Mr Abbott he comes looking for.’

W
HEN THE DOORBELL RANG
, Julian Farnsdale looked up.

The first decision he always had to make was whether to engage a potential customer in conversation, or simply leave them to browse. There were several golden rules that you adopted after so
many years in the trade. If the customer looked as if he needed some assistance, Julian would rise from behind his desk and say either, ‘Can I help you?’ or, ‘Would you prefer
just to browse?’ If they only wanted to browse, he would sit back down, and although he would keep an eye on them, he wouldn’t speak again until they began a conversation.

Julian wasn’t in any doubt that this customer was a browser, so he remained seated and said nothing. Browsers fall into three categories: those simply passing the time of day who stroll
around for a few minutes before leaving without saying anything; dealers who know exactly what they are looking for but don’t want you to know they’re in the trade; and, finally,
genuine enthusiasts hoping to come across something a little special to add to their collections.

This particular customer unquestionably fell into the third category.

Julian studied him out of the corner of one eye, an art he had perfected over the years. He decided he was probably an American – the tailored blazer, neatly pressed chinos and striped
preppy tie. The man may have been a browser but he was a browser with real knowledge and taste because he only stopped to consider the finest pieces: the Adam fireplace, the Chippendale rocking
chair and the Delft plate. Julian wondered if he would spot the one real treasure in his shop.

A few moments later, the customer came to a halt in front of the egg. He studied the piece for some time before looking across at Julian. ‘Has it been signed by the master?’

Julian rose slowly from his chair. Another golden rule: don’t appear to be in a hurry when you’re hoping to sell something very expensive.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Julian as he walked towards him. ‘You’ll find Carl Fabergé’s signature on the base. And of course the piece is listed in the catalogue
raisonné.’

‘Date and description?’ enquired the customer, continuing to study the egg.

‘1910,’ said Julian. ‘It was made to celebrate the Tsarina’s thirty-eighth birthday, and is one of a series of Easter eggs commissioned by Tsar Nicholas the
Second.’

‘It’s magnificent,’ said the customer. ‘Quite magnificent. But probably out of my price range.’

Julian immediately recognized the bargaining ploy, so he mentally added 20 per cent to the asking price to allow a little room for manoeuvre.

‘Six hundred and eighty thousand,’ he said calmly.

‘Pounds?’ asked the man, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes,’ said Julian without further comment.

‘So, about a million dollars,’ said the customer, confirming that he was American.

Julian didn’t reply. He was distracted by a screeching sound outside, as if a car was trying to avoid a collision. Both men glanced out of the window to see a black stretch limousine that
had come to a halt on the double yellow line outside the shop. A woman dressed in a stylish red coat and wearing a diamond necklace, matching earrings and dark glasses stepped out of the back of
the car.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ asked Julian.

‘Looks like it is,’ said the customer, as the woman stopped to sign an autograph.

‘Gloria Gaynor.’ Julian sighed as she disappeared into the jewellery shop next door. ‘Lucky Millie,’ he added without explanation.

‘I think she’s doing a gig in town this week,’ said the customer.

‘She’s performing at the Albert Hall on Saturday,’ said Julian. ‘I tried to get a ticket but it’s completely sold out.’

The customer was clearly more interested in the jewel-encrusted egg than the jewel-covered pop star so Julian snapped back into antique-dealer mode.

‘What’s the lowest price you’d consider?’ asked the American.

‘I suppose I could come down to six hundred and fifty thousand.’

‘My bet is that you’d come down to five hundred thousand,’ said the American.

‘Six hundred and twenty-five thousand,’ said Julian. ‘I couldn’t consider a penny less.’

The American nodded. ‘That’s a fair price. But my partner will need to see it before I can make a final decision.’ Julian tried not to look disappointed. ‘Would it be
possible to reserve the piece at six twenty-five?’