Signal Red Part 23

'Oh, you can't have a shooter because it might go off and hurt somebody,' lisped Hussey in a high-pitched feminine voice.

'Hey, lads,' said Roger meekly. 'Have some respect. It's Bruce's tickle. He calls the shots.'

'Or not havin' the shots.' The other two giggled like very overgrown schoolboys. 'He treats us like we got muscle between our ears sometimes.'

'Yeah, well sometimes you have,' said Roger, suddenly angry. 'Look, he wants you for what you are good at. Puttin' the s.h.i.+ts up people. Now if you want to join the cooking and dishwas.h.i.+ng rota-'

'f.u.c.k off. Can't we get some bird in for that?'

'And a bit of the other while she's at it.'

Roger shook his head. They were nice enough boys, but something on this scale was beyond their experience. Hussey was a car thief who readily used his fists whenever he deemed the occasion demanded it. Which, when he was in his late teens, had been surprisingly often. Now he had calmed down, and tried his hand at pickpocketing. If caught, though, he was still liable to try and punch his way out of trouble.

Tommy Wisbey was a bookmaker and thief who intimidated by his size and rarely needed to thump anyone. If he did, Roger was under no illusion that those ham-hocks of arms - he looked like Popeye when he stripped down - would cause some damage.

'Just do what Bruce wants and you'll get your whack. Equal shares, he said, once the expenses are deducted. How fair is that?' Bruce could easily have upped his own stake, or insisted that the originating gang - the Heathrow boys, essentially - deserved a higher cut. But Roger knew Bruce thought an unequal division of the spoils led to resentment, which might cause someone to gra.s.s when his perceived 'tiny' whack ran out. There would, after all, be a hefty reward on offer.

'You know he said we might need a few more bodies?' asked Wisbey. 'Not for the was.h.i.+ng-up, but at the train. What about Freddie Foreman? Or Frankie Fraser?'

Hussey shook his head. 'You'd have to keep those two on leashes.'

'Nah, they're all right. Good boys,' insisted Wisbey.

Roger knew the names. They were a couple of enforcers for the likes of the Richardsons and the Krays. They had reputations for violence that left Bobby Welch, Tommy and Jimmy looking as threatening as Rag, Tag and Bobtail. Bruce wouldn't like that. There was something else Bruce wouldn't like. 'Fraser is red-hot, isn't he?'

'I suppose,' said Wisbey.

'He was on Police Five,' said Hussey. 'Wanted for doing some bloke.'

'So don't approach anyone till you've cleared it with Bruce or Charlie or Gordy. They only want people they know, remember?'

The other two grunted. The euphoria caused by alcohol fading, they lapsed into silence, their arms folded. Jim's head began to nod as he fell into a fitful snooze.

After fifteen minutes, Tommy Wisbey spoke.

'There's one thing I'm really p.i.s.sed off about, Roger.'

'What's that?' asked Roger, annoyed that they should be so ungrateful. Plenty would take their places.

'Meself, I prefer Cluedo.'

Thirty-nine.

Bridego Bridge, July 1963 'Here we go. Now!'

Roy let the clutch in and Tony felt the front of the brand new Mini Cooper S judder as the power hit the front wheels. Next to them came the deeper roar of an Austin Healey 3000 Mk. II roadster, with Bruce behind the wheel.

The two cars shot out of the car park next to the fis.h.i.+ng pond and turned right, Bridego Bridge receding rapidly in the Mini's mirror. Unlike the Healey, which filled it.

'He's got more power than us,' shouted Roy as he worked the Mini's gearbox.

The Austin pulled out behind them. Tony could see it in his wing mirror, Bruce behind the wheel, Gordy somehow folded into the pa.s.senger seat. It was a race and the last one to Leatherslade would buy lunch at the Red Lion pub in Brill. Bruce had taken the Austin Healey on 'a test drive', as he was considering buying one when he got his hands on the cash. This probably wasn't the kind of test drive the garage had in mind.

'Read the map,' Roy instructed. 'Check the sharpness of the bends, and whether they are right- or left-handers.'

The Mini was s.h.i.+fting, the little tuned-up engine doing its best to roar, although as the Healey drew close they could hear the deeper note of its larger lump.

'Right at the end,' said Tony. 'T-junction.'

Tony's mouth went dry as he watched the turning approach. Roy appeared not to know where the brake was. At the last moment, he stamped on the middle pedal once, changed down, then went back on the gas. Tony hoped nothing was coming. Roy leaned on the Healey slightly and flung the little Mini to the right.

'Disc brakes,' Roy grinned. 'f.u.c.kin' brilliant. Much better than the standard Mini.'

The Healey fell back as it took the bend in a more refined manner. Then Tony watched it grow larger in the mirror once more as Bruce got the power back down.

'Sharp right at Ledburn. You have to go into the village. Watch-'

Roy jerked the Mini out and zipped by a dawdling Triumph Herald, then tucked back in.

'Did I say right?' Tony corrected. 'I meant left.'

'Keep it together, Tone. There're only two choices, after all,' Roy laughed. 'Right or left?'

'Left. My side,' he clarified.

A pair of decent-looking pubs went by in a blur and Roy took the turning. Tony caught sight of startled residents, stepping back from the kerb as the two cars powered recklessly through their hamlet.

'Long straight section to a crossroads.'

'How long?'

'Half a mile.'

'Not enough for him to have us.'

Tony looked up from the map. It was beautiful rolling countryside, the roads lined with hedgerows, guarded with stands of extravagant horse chestnuts.

'How far? This it?'

'No. Be signposted Wing.'

'Hang on.'

A throbbing filled the Mini's cabin. 'Christ, he's right behind us.'

At a particularly splendid horse chestnut, Roy put the Cooper S into a power slide, the snub rear-end poking out, almost touching the Healey's gleaming chrome b.u.mper. Bruce backed off, giving Roy enough s.p.a.ce to complete the turn, catch the drift and get the full bhp of the 1071cc engine onto the asphalt.

Tony, his heart thumping away, checked the OS map once more. 'Through Wing, left towards Cublington.'

Another couple of pubs, more outraged country folk and a left turn. The ominous black Healey was behind them again.

'c.r.a.p,' said Tony. 'You should have gone left there at the fork.'

He turned and watched the roadster take the correct route and disappear from view.

'No problem.' Roy braked, and Tony shot out an arm to steady himself on the windscreen as the front end of the Cooper dipped viciously. The driver found reverse first time and the gearbox whined as he took the Cooper back and resumed the chase.

'I though the left was the main drag-'

'Doesn't matter now,' Roy said evenly. 'Next?'

'Cublington. Some sharp bends.'

'Good.'

There was no sign of the roadster until they took a narrow bridge - Tony with his eyes closed in case there was anything coming the other way on the other side - and landed with a spine-jarring crack.

'What the f.u.c.k was that?' he asked.

'Suspension bottoming,' said Roy. 'Needs better shocks.'

They watched the handsome rear of the Healey diminish in size as it pulled away. Roy darted the Mini forward, sweeping into the bend. Tony felt the body roll and, he swore, two wheels lift.

'Long left curve,' said Tony, 'then a b.l.o.o.d.y sharp right.'

'Brilliant. He can't do the bends. He'll have us on the straight, but that thing doesn't handle.' He flashed a knowing smile. 'Not for Bruce anyway.'

Tony knew he was a good driver, a very competent roadman. But Roy was something else. His gear changes were sharp, precise. The rev counter never made wild swings, the engine note remained constant, and the speedo stayed well over to the right. He was what they called a 'natural', the kind of driver who had a feel for both the car and the road.

'That right-hander's coming up.'

'Hold on, 'cause I'm not slowing.'

They emerged almost on top of the Healey. Roy let out a whoop. 'He missed a gear, I'll bet.'

With the precision of a slot-car, the Mini pulled out and zipped past the Austin. Tony looked up and caught a glimpse of Bruce's mouth working overtime. He didn't have to be a lipreader to guess what words were coming out. The next section, between Oving and Pitchcott, was twisty enough to thwart Bruce and the Austin Healey. It would come burbling behind, threatening to shoulder the Cooper aside, but Roy brilliantly used the bends and curves to his advantage.

'Railway bridge. Not our railway line, though. Long hill down to Chearsley. It's straight.'

Roy nodded and pushed the engine to the red line. The Healey fought back again, edging closer. 'He's got us. s.h.i.+t.'

Tony looked over his shoulder. Gordy was jumping up and down in his seat, willing Bruce on. The bigger sports car reeled them in until, like a stately liner, it glided past. Gordy flashed a V-sign.

'Nice,' said Tony.

'Don't panic. Just enjoy the scenery on this stretch. We'll come back at them.'

Tony had to admit that the Chilterns did look lovely, streaked with sunlight, interrupted by the shadows of low cloud. On a nearby hillside to his left, Tony saw a strange observatory, a domed housing for a large telescope, but didn't feel he could distract Roy from his focus on the road.

'He's pulling away. Any bends?'

'Sharp right to Chearsley, coming up. Really sharp.'

'How sharp?'

'Ninety degrees. Then through Chilton, on the B4011 and we're there.'

Roy didn't reply, just grunted as they recovered ground on the right-hander, driving through the narrow lanes as if they were tied to the Healey's rear b.u.mper. Nice big houses, thought Roy. Gardens, horses, conservatories, but such was their speed he had little time to process much more than flash images. Roy suddenly dived into a gap between the Austin and a brick wall that didn't seem to be there. Tony's eyes flicked shut again. When he opened them they were through and in front, into the final twisting lanes that would take them to Leatherslade Farm.

'f.u.c.kin' Land Rovers and lorries my a.r.s.e,' Roy said. 'You can't beat a quick motor.'

They turned right up the unmarked track that led to Leatherslade, Roy finally allowing the Mini to breathe, dropping to second as he manoeuvred between the ruts and potholes.

'What time?' he asked.

'Eighteen minutes,' said Tony.

They pulled over in front of the house and Bruce drove alongside. He climbed out and leaned on the hardtop of the Healey. 'You were lucky there're so many bends,' he said to Roy. 'It'd eat that little toy otherwise.'

'Tell you what, after you've bought lunch, let's swap cars and do it in reverse. See how you get on then.'

Bruce considered this as he watched Gordy unfold himself from the pa.s.senger side. 'What, and ruin my excuse?'

'You change your mind about the Jags?' Roy asked.

Bruce frowned. To him, the race had been a bit of a laugh, not to prove a point.

'No, Roy. I told you, the money will weigh over a ton. We need a lorry. We stick with the plan.'

Gordy looked a little pale after being thrown around by Bruce. 'Yeah. f.u.c.k that. We stick with the lorry and Land Rovers.'

Roy did his best to hide his disappointment, and indicated his acceptance. He just hoped Bruce didn't live to regret it.

Forty.

Headley, Surrey, May 1992 Bruce took off his overcoat and sat down at the kitchen table while I put the kettle on. Roy, apparently dazed by his old boss's arrival, stared at him, open-mouthed.