Alan Hunter - Gently Go Man

‘That’s just a dodge of mine,’ he said. ‘Got to keep an eye on the till when you’re down here.’

‘On your customers, too,’ Gently said.

‘Well,’ Leach said, ‘they don’t all come from Mayfair.’

Now the old man had produced an envelope and handed it to the blonde. The blonde turned her back to open it, then nodded, glancing at the cellar entrance. She reached underneath the bar.

‘Now see this mike-’ Leach began, moving.

‘Hold it.’ Gently pushed him aside.

What the blonde had handed over was a box of chocolates.

Gently was up on the instant, ran down the cellar and up the stairs. Leach came bolting after him shouting, trying to catch hold of his jacket. The old man was opening the door to go out. He stopped in surprise as the two men rushed in. Gently grabbed the box away from him, planted himself panting against the door. The blonde chose the moment to let go a scream. A customer knocked over a chair as he jumped to his feet.

‘You give that back to him!’ Leach was shouting. ‘You give that back to him, or I’ll do you!’

‘Get over there,’ Gently ordered him. ‘He’ll have the box after I’ve seen it.’

‘What’s going on?’ said the customer, a navvy.

‘Police,’ Gently said. ‘In pursuit of a felony.’

‘It’s a bloody lie!’ Leach shouted, white-faced. ‘It’s him committed felony — he’s pinched those chocolates!’

‘They’re not mine,’ the old man was quavering. ‘Please give them back to me, they belong to someone else.’

Gently motioned to the navvy. ‘Guard this door,’ he said. The navvy looked stupid, but he moved in front of the door. Gently took the box to a table, stripped the ribbon from it and lifted the lid. Under brown corrugated wrapping lay a neat layer of chocolates.

‘Look at them,’ Leach was beginning. ‘Bleeding chocolates, that’s all.’

But Gently had scooped the chocolates out and lifted the separator that was under them. He stood back.

‘Just chocolates?’

The second layer was of cigarettes. Slightly brownish, loosely made, there would be four to five hundred of them.

‘Gawd,’ Leach said, ‘gawd.’ His face was a greyish mess.

‘Any comment?’ Gently asked.

‘Yeah,’ Leach said. ‘I didn’t know about them.’

‘Save it,’ Gently said. He turned to the old man, who stood pop-eyed. ‘What do you know about it?’ he asked. ‘Where did you get the money for these?’

The old man swallowed, shook his head. ‘I was asked to come in and get them,’ he said. ‘A young man gave me ten shillings to collect them. He said there was someone here who he didn’t want to see.’

‘Where were you taking them?’ Gently rapped.

The old man winced. ‘Just over in the car park. I was out for my airing when this young man accosted me. He’s waiting there by his motorcycle for me to bring them back.’

Gently hesitated, picked up the box. ‘Take me to him,’ he said. He looked at the navvy. ‘See these people don’t leave,’ he ordered him. ‘They’re to stay right where they are, not to move from this room. If they try, put your head out and bawl for the police and assistance.’

He pushed the pensioner through the door, took his arm across the street. The park by now was pretty solid with cars and several people were moving amongst them.

‘How was he dressed?’ Gently muttered.

‘He was dressed for motorcycling,’ said the pensioner. ‘If we keep this side of the cars he shouldn’t see us till we’re nearly up to him.’

They kept to that side of the cars, the pensioner trotting along jerkily. When they were three-quarters of the way across he pulled hard on Gently’s arm.

‘He’s over there,’ he whispered, ‘by that fire-hydrant place.’

‘Keep with me,’ Gently said. He disengaged his arm.

But just then a motor roared on the other side of the hydrant station. Gently belted through the cars, hurled himself round the small building. He caught only a glimpse of a powerful bike cornering sharply into a back street, its black-leathered rider lying it close, its registration plate invisible. The pensioner came stuttering after Gently.

‘That’s him!’ he exclaimed, ‘That’s him!’

Gently stood clutching his box. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s him.’

He returned to the milk bar where the navvy remained dutifully guarding the entrance. Leach was sitting on one of the bar-stools, the blonde was snivelling into a handkerchief. Leach’s eyes glittered when he saw Gently come back with the pensioner only, but he didn’t say anything, kept his face sullenly averted. Gently confronted him.

‘Who was he?’ he asked.

‘How should I know?’ Leach said. ‘I don’t know nothing about this caper. I’m being used, that’s what it is.’

‘You,’ Gently said to the blonde. ‘Who were you expecting to pick that box up?’

‘She don’t know nothing,’ Leach put in quickly. ‘She wouldn’t be such a bloody fool as to know anything.’

‘That’s right,’ the blonde sobbed, ‘I don’t know nothing. I serve behind the bar, that’s all I do.’

‘Give me that envelope,’ Gently said.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ sobbed the blonde.

‘Just the envelope,’ Gently said. ‘The one this gentleman here handed you.’

‘He didn’t hand me no envelope.’

‘Let’s keep polite about it,’ Gently said. ‘He handed you a fat manilla envelope, after which you gave him the chocolates.’

‘It’s down the front of her dress,’ said the navvy unexpectedly. ‘I saw her shove it there while you were out.’

‘So?’ Gently said.

The blonde looked murderous. She felt in her bosom, tossed the envelope on the bar. Gently lifted it by one corner and let the contents slip out. They were a bundle of forty or so pound notes, old ones, held together with a rubber band.

‘That’s a lot of money for a box of chocolates.’

‘It was owed us,’ Leach snapped. ‘We don’t know nothing about what was in the chocolates.’

‘But you’ll know who owed you the money.’

Leach made a rude suggestion. ‘Bloody find out,’ he added. ‘We’ve said all we’re going to say.’

Gently sat amiably on another bar-stool. He slowly filled and lit his pipe. When it was alight he blew two rings, placing one of them in the other.

‘You’re in a bit of a jam, Leach,’ he said.

Leach was impolite again.

‘You’ll be going away,’ Gently continued. ‘You’ll be going away for quite a spell. This isn’t the only box, is it? You’ve been filling some more down in the cellar. You’ve got a stock of reefers here, you’re the local distributor for the top boys.’

‘I’m being used, I tell you,’ Leach said. ‘I’ve never seen them things before.’

Gently shook his head. ‘You won’t make it stand up, Joe. Look at it squarely. You’re due for a rest.’

‘I ought to have pitched you,’ Leach said, spitting.

‘We’ll let that pass,’ Gently said. ‘But you’re in a jam right up to your ears, and if you’re wise you’ll stop trying to buck it. Because a kind word could make a difference to you, Joe. And I’m the one who could put in the kind word.’

‘You think I can’t see it coming?’ Leach said.

‘Who was this box for?’ Gently asked.

‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’ Leach said, sneering. It don’t happen to have a name and address.’

‘Where are you getting the stuff from, Joe?’

‘Look for the trademark on it,’ said Leach.

‘It’ll be maybe worth a year to you, Joe.’

‘Yeah, but I value my health higher,’ Leach said.

‘I’ll tell you something else,’ the navvy said. ‘I keep my eyes about me, I do.’