Jack Higgins - Brought in Dead

“Oh, well, I’m not going to weep crocodile tears over the likes of Billy Stratton,” Grant said. “We’re well rid of him.” He shivered. “I don’t know why, but this place always makes me thirsty. They must be open by now. Let’s go and have one.”

The saloon bar of the George had just opened and they had the place to themselves. They stood at the bar and Grant ordered brandies all round.

“What about these two villains who had a go at Craig last night?” he asked Miller. “Have you got anywhere with them?”

“Hurst and Blakely?” Miller shook his head. “A couple of real hard knocks. We’ve had a sheet on each of them from C.R.O. a yard long.”

“Which means they were specially imported,” Brady said.

Grant nodded. “I don’t like the sound of that at all.” He swallowed some of his brandy and gazed down into the glass reflectively. “You know I’m beginning to think I may have been wrong about this whole thing, Nick. It’s just that it seemed such an incredible idea.”

“Duncan Craig’s a pretty incredible person,” Miller said. “I tried to make that clear at the very beginning.”

“Have you seen him since last night?”

Miller shook his head. “I tried this morning, but he wasn’t available. Gone to Manchester on business I was told. Of course he’ll have to come in to swear a formal complaint.”

“When he does, let me know. I think I’d better have a word with him myself.”

“You’ll be wasting your time, sir,” Miller said. “He’ll insist that the whole thing was quite simply a common assault and we can’t prove otherwise.”

“But Hurst and Blakely won’t get more than six months apiece for that.”

“Exactly.”

Grant frowned. “There’s no chance at all that they might crack and admit who hired them?”

“If I know Max Vernon, they won’t even know his name,” Miller said.

Grant sighed and emptied his glass. “All in a day’s work I suppose. Let’s have another one.”

“On me,” Miller said.

“Oh no you don’t,” a cheerful voice interrupted. “My round. The same again, Maggie, and make them big ones.”

Chuck Lazer grinned hugely as he climbed onto a stool next to Brady.

“What’s all this?” Miller demanded. “Last time I saw you, you were on your knees.”

“With the world falling in on me, but not now, boy. Not with the pressure off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Max Vernon.” Lazer shrugged. “I mean he’s on the run, isn’t he? Everyone knows his betting shops have taken a hammering since the Flamingo closed and now last night’s little affair.”

“And what little affair would that be?” Brady put in.

“Come off it,” Chuck said. “You know what I’m talking about. That place he was running up the York Road. The cut liquor racket.” He chuckled. “He was making a packet there, too.”

“You mean Max Vernon was behind that place?”

“Sure — everyone knows that.” Lazer looked surprised. “Didn’t you?”

Miller looked at Grant. “See what I mean, sir?”

Grant sighed. “All right. So I was wrong, but just try proving it, that’s all. Just try proving it.”

Park Place was a green oasis on the fringe of the city centre surrounded by old Victorian terrace houses already scheduled for demolition to make way for an inner Ring Road.

It was much favoured by office workers during their lunch-break, but at three-thirty when Max Vernon arrived it was quite deserted except for the cars parked round the edges and the small, greying man in the camel-hair coat who sat on a bench near the fountain.

He was reading a newspaper and didn’t even bother to look up when Vernon sat beside him. “I hope you aren’t wasting my time?”

“Did I ever, Joe?”

“What about that Cable Diamonds job? I got nicked — five hard years while you sat laughing your head off in some fancy club or other.”

“Luck of the draw.”

“You never get involved personally, do you, Vernon? You never dirty your hands.”

“Two hundred to two hundred and ten thousand quid, Joe. Are you in or out?”

Morgan’s jaw dropped. “Two hundred grand? You must be joking.”

“I never joke. You should know that by now.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Half — you provide your own team and pay them out of your cut.”

“And what in the hell do you do?”

“I’ve done my share.” Vernon patted his briefcase. “It’s all here, Joe. Everything you could possibly need and it’ll go like clockwork — you know me. I never miss a trick.”

“Not where you’re concerned you don’t.” Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know. Fifty per cent. That’s a big slice to one man.”

“You’ll only need three men in the team. Give them ten thousand each — contract it beforehand. That still leaves you with seventy — maybe more.” Morgan sat there, a frown on his face, and Vernon shrugged. “Please yourself. I’ll get somebody else.”

He started to his feet and Morgan pulled him back. “All right — no need to get shirty. I’m in.”

“On my terms?”

“Whatever you say. When do we make the touch?”

“Wednesday night.”

“You must be joking. That only gives us two days.”

“No, it’s got to be then — you’ll see why in a moment. There’s an express to London in an hour. You’ll catch it easily. That’ll give you plenty of time to recruit your team, gather your gear together and be back here by tomorrow night.”

“What will I need?”

“That depends. You’ll do the vault yourself?”

“Naturally. What is it?”

“Bodine-Martin 53 — the latest model. Burglar proof naturally.”

“They always are.” Morgan chuckled. “A snip.”

“What will you use — nitro?”

“Not on your life.” Morgan shook his head. “There’s some new stuff the Army’s been experimenting with going the rounds. Handles like nitro, but three times as powerful. It’ll open that vault up like a sardine can.”

“How long will you need?”

“On the vault itself?” He shrugged. “I’ll have to cut a hole into the lock. Let’s say forty-five minutes.”

“And twenty to get you inside.” Vernon nodded. “Just over an hour. Let’s say an hour and a half from going in to coming out.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

“You’ll need a good wheelman to stand by with the car.”

“Frankie Harris is available. He’s just out of the Ville. Could do with some gelt.”

“What about a labourer?”

“That’s settled to start with — Johnny Martin. He knows how I like things done.”

“And a good heavy and I don’t mean some punch-drunk old has-been. You’ll need someone who can really handle himself, just in case of trouble, though I don’t think he’ll even have to flex his muscles.

“I know just the man,” Morgan said. “Jack Fallon. He used to run with Bart Keegan and the Poplar boys, but they had a row.”

Vernon nodded approvingly. “That’s a good choice. I remember Fallon. He’s got brains, too.”

“Okay — now that’s settled let’s get down to brass tacks. What’s the pitch?”

“Chatsworth Iron & Steel down by the river. Only five minutes from where we are now as a matter of fact. Nine thousand workers and the management are still daft enough to pay them in cash. It takes the staff two days to make the wages up, which means there’s never less than two hundred thousand, sometimes as much as two hundred and twenty in the vault Wednesday and Thursday, depending on earnings of course.”

“Isn’t there a night shift?”

“Only for the workers. The admin. side closes down at five-thirty on the dot. It’s housed in a brand-new ten-storey office block between the factory and the river and they’ve installed just about every kind of alarm known to man.”