Maurice Procter: Two men in twenty

The girl hung the suede coat on a hook behind the kitchen door, and as she did so she very deftly extracted something from one of the pockets. As she moved to the fireplace it could be seen that she was holding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter in one hand.

'This is Flo, Dorrie's kid sister,' Cain announced proudly. 'Flo, I want you to meet some friends of mine. This is Leo Husker. This is Ned France. Jimmy the Gent, you know. You've heard of him.'

Flo's nod was barely perceptible. She lit a cigarette and stood with one hand on the fireplace, at ease with one foot crossed over the other, inhaling deeply as she stared out of the window at the backs of the houses opposite.

'Flo's all right,' Cain said, apparently seeing nothing strange in the girl's demeanour. 'Best little hoister in the business, she is. But that's out from now on. She'll touch nothing while we're on this job.'

'Well, thank goodness for that,' said Dorrie, calmly lifting her tea-cup. She too seemed to think that Flo's behaviour was normal. She said to the girl: 'There's tea in the pot when you want some.'

Husker was looking at Flo with approval, but also with amusement. He could take her or leave her, it seemed. Perhaps he was not so susceptible to women after all, but only susceptible to Dorrie. Well, France reflected, that goes for me, too. For the time being he was willing to give Husker the benefit of the doubt.

'Get yoursel' some tea an' come an' sit aside a'me,' Husker invited. 'I haven't talked to a nice lass for a long while.'

Cain looked at him. 'You married, Leo?' he asked quite sharply.

'Aye,' Husker admitted. 'Married, an' separated nearly a twelvemonth now.'

'Do you pay?'

'I did for a bit, then I hopped it.'

'There'll be an order out against you. The bogies'll be looking for you.'

'I expect so. They don't look so hard when it's only maintenance.'

'Yes, but if you get picked up and shoved into the nick, the whole business'll come to a standstill. We can't have that. When you've got money in your pocket you'll have to send your wife some. After the first tickle, maybe. You'll have to write and tell her you've finally got a job and you'll be paying regular. Ask her to withdraw the warrant if there is one.'

'He'd better make up his back pay, too,' France said. 'It's the only safe way.'

'Nobody tells me what I do wi' me own money,' Husker retorted.

'The beak will, when he gets hold of you.'

'That'll do,' Cain interrupted, with one hand raised. 'It's early days to be falling out. Leo 'ull pay the arrears a bit at a time, so's there's no sign of flash money. He'll tell his wife he wants her to withdraw the warrant so as he doesn't lose his new job. She'll do it. She won't want to kill the goose.'

'Fair enough,' Husker agreed. His little eyes settled a level glance on France, and the naked dislike showed. 'We'll have to decide who gives the orders around here. I'm not going to be kicked about like a cotton doffer just because I don't have a Eton accent.'

'I'll give the orders,' Cain told him. Then, because he was afraid that Jimmy the Gent might decide there and then that he had had enough of this parrot-nosed bumpkin, he added hastily: 'But everybody has a voice, a-course. We aren't in the bloody army.'

France shrugged, and looked at his watch. He had indeed made a decision. He was not going to back out of the deal, but even if he did have to work with Husker he saw no reason why he should sit and drink tea with him. 'I'm not married,' he said as he stood up. 'I've got a date.'

'You're not going to do a job, are you?' Cain demanded. 'That's a rule we'd better make clear at the start. Nobody does any jobs on his own. We can't afford to have anybody taken down the road.'

Surprisingly, Flo spoke: 'Don't go yet, mister.'

And Dorrie said, with a small note of distress in her voice: 'Do stay and finish your tea. Please.'

France resumed his seat, kept there by Dorrie. But Cain did not seem to have heard Dorrie's remark. He was frowning at her younger sister in a manner which suggested that he would not approve of her getting on intimate terms with a man like France.

Flo returned his glance coolly, and blew smoke in his direction.

Archie Ransom's main garage was in Bermondsey. It was a shabby place, the meanest in a warren of mean buildings, but people who knew of all the purposes for which it was used regarded it as a gold mine. Also, it was said, only Archie knew how far back his premises went into that maze of small concerns. The interior boundary walls, of wood or brick, looked as if they had been there for a long time, but a few people knew that some of them were moveable. A man or a vehicle could disappear into Archie's, and come out into daylight from some other garage or workshop which Archie owned through a nominee.

Stolen motor-cars went into Archie's. Passing through the place they suffered a change, being resprayed, changed in several subtle ways, and given a different but genuine log book, licence, and identification number. To pick up such a car Howard Cain went to Archie's with his newly enrolled driver. Bill Coggan. Cain himself was a good driver, but he did not have the natural aptitude of Coggan, nor did he have the same mechanical knowledge.

At Archie's the big sliding door was open, for this was daytime, and a part of the premises where legitimate business was done. From the glassed-in cubby hole which was his office Archie saw them. He came to meet them.

'About time,' he fumed. 'I want that thing out of my hands. It's taking up valuable space.'

'Where is it?' Cain wanted to know.

'I'll have it brought round,' was the reply. He turned his head. 'Bert! Give George a tinkle and tell him to bring round that Austin hundred and ten.'

There was a vague vocal noise from the direction of the office. Archie seemed to understand it. He took out a cigarette and lit it, looking thoughtfully at Coggan as he did so.

Coggan seemed to be uneasy. 'No hard feelings, Archie,' he said.

Archie shook his head. In surprise, slightly alarmed, Cain asked: 'What's all this?'

'We once had a difference of opinion,' Archie said. 'I told him to get me a certain model Humber Snipe. He pinched a top copper's car and reckoned he didn't know. A Scotland Yard man's mind you. By a thousand-to-one chance one of my night boys happened to know the car, 'cause he worked days at the garage the bogey used. We was able to dump it so as it looked as if it had been used by a joy rider.'

'I shouldn't've done it,' Coggan said humbly. 'Not to you.'

'You're dead right you shouldn't,' said Archie crisply. 'But you can forget it. You won't be doing it again.'

Cain considered his new wheel man. One of Coggan's great advantages as a criminal was that he looked respectable. He always dressed quietly, in the best of taste. When he was driving a car, whether it was an Austin or a Rolls-Royce, he looked as if he owned it. And, like Ned France, he was what is known as 'well spoken'.

'What on earth made you do a thing like that?' Cain asked.

Coggan's thin, dark, intelligent face wore a rueful grin. 'It seemed like a good joke at the time,' he said.

'Do you still play jokes like that?'

'No. I've grown up since then.' There was a note of finality in Coggan's voice. He had apologized to Archie and explained to Cain, and that was enough. Cain understood. He made no further comment, but he reflected that Coggan had had a lot of nerve to play a prank like that on a resolute man like Archie.

The car arrived. It was now a black car. Cain did not ask what colour it had been two days before. 'It looks all right,' he grunted.

'In perfect condition,' Archie said. 'New engine and chassis numbers. Everything in order.'

Cain walked round the car and opened the boot. 'Did you do that modification I wanted?'