Pick Up the Pieces

by J F Straker

  It was on the Friday that Forthright made his bid for a key to the garage. He and Loften were working on a car under the lean-to outside. It was a cold day, and the main doors were shut, the small inner door closed but not locked.

  ‘This perishing cold eats right through one,’ said Loften, blowing on his fingers. ‘We ought to have a brazier out here.’

  ‘We ought not to be working out here at all in this weather,’ grumbled Forthright. He began searching among his tools, then in his pockets. ‘Blast! I’ve left my ignition spanner on the bench. I’ll nip in and get it.’

  He walked round to the garage door and pushed it. It did not move.

  ‘Someone’s released the catch,’ he said. ‘Can I borrow your key, Mr Loften?’

  ‘If I’ve got it.’ Loften searched his pockets, ‘I think that’s the one,’ he said, tossing it to Forthright. ‘Try it, anyway.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He went into the garage, to reappear a few moments later. As he walked the few yards that separated him from Loften he stumbled; the key slipped from his fingers, and both men saw it drop through the grating that covered an old disused drain.

  ‘Blast!’ said Forthright. ‘I’m sorry about that, Mr Loften. It’s this damned cold. My fingers feel like lumps of ice.’ Loften nodded sympathetically. Not your fault,’ he said. ‘It’s not important I never use the damned thing. White always has the garage open of a morning long before I get here.’

  As he told the others later, Forthright was surprised at how easy it had been and how calmly Loften had accepted the loss. ‘He never suspected a thing. Only bad moment was when the key teetered on the edge of the drain. I thought it wasn’t going to fall in, and I couldn’t shove it with my foot. Loften was watching.’

  ‘What would you have done if it had stuck?’ asked Wells. ‘He’d have noticed you’d swapped the keys.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t. I’d have picked it up and given him back his own key. But it would have wrecked our plan for getting into the garage. I couldn’t have tried again.’

  They felt more confident now that this first and vital step had been successfully negotiated. ‘Roll on, Tuesday,’ said Chitty, his little eyes gleaming behind the thick lenses. ‘I can’t wait to know what it feels like to handle a decent-sized wad of dough!’

  4 End of a Tyrant

  As the sitting-room door opened the three men jerked their heads nervously towards it. Above the noise of the radio they had not heard Chitty’s footsteps in the hall.

  His face was set and grim, his voice unusually restrained. ‘Well, he’s back,’ he said. ‘Been back just over half an hour.’

  ‘Lights out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Pop Wells sighed. Forthright looked at the clock. ‘Twenty-five past ten. If we leave here at eleven that should give him time to get to sleep.’

  The cards were on the table, but they had not used them. The moment they had waited and planned for was now too close for pretences. Wickery cleared his throat noisily.

  ‘Got the pieces of paper ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. They’re in my pocket with the key.’

  Chitty was walking restlessly about the room. As he passed the fireplace he threw his half-smoked cigarette into it, took a dirty pair of gloves from his pocket, and put them on. For a while he stood looking at them, flexing his fingers. Then he drew off the gloves, stuffed them hurriedly into his pocket, and resumed his restless pacing.

  ‘Sit down, man,’ said Wells. ‘You make me nervous.’

  Chitty grunted, but sat down. ‘Let’s have a drink,’ he said. It’s cold out.’

  Wickery had seen the bulge in the other’s hip-pocket. ‘We want to go easy on the booze,’ he cautioned. ‘One of us is going to need a steady head tonight. And a steady hand.’

  ‘You worry about yourself, mate. Mine are steady enough. Come on, Harry, fetch it out.’

  Forthright looked at him. Then he leaned back in his chair and reached behind him to the cupboard.

  ‘Beer, eh?’ said Chitty, accepting the proffered bottle. There was a slight plop as he unscrewed the top and tilted the bottle over the glass. ‘I could have done with something stronger. However, here’s how.’

  Forthright looked inquiringly at the others, but they shook their heads. Wickery could not resist a dig at Chitty. He knew it was foolish, but he had suffered much from Chitty’s tongue during the past year.

  ‘We don’t need Dutch courage,’ he said.

  Wells frowned. Even Forthright looked apprehensive. But Chitty either did not hear or for once chose to ignore the challenge. He continued to pour the beer steadily down his throat.

  Wells sighed with relief and licked his thin lips. ‘Go through the details again, Harry,’ he said. ‘I want to make sure I’ve got ‘em right.’

  They were to leave the cottage by the back door, said Forthright, and take the track through the woods. It wasn’t completely screened from the road, but it was sufficiently far from it to make detection unlikely. When they arrived at the garage he would put Loften’s key in the lock, and they would then each draw one of the four pieces of paper he had prepared. NO was written on three of these, YES on the fourth. They were then to separate and go into the forest by different routes, far enough to enable any one of them to make his way to and from the garage without the knowledge of the other three. ‘It’s only a few minutes’ walk to the garage from here — we should be in our places by ten past eleven, and it’ll be about a quarter past when the chap who’s drawn the YES goes into the garage. After that it’s up to him.’

  ‘Except that there’s to be no killing and no bashing, either,’ said Wickery, looking at Chitty.

  ‘Yes, yes. We know all about that,’ Forthright said testily. ‘Leave the key in the lock when you come out, and hide the cash-box under the back of the junk-heap in the yard. Nobody’ll think of looking for it there, and it’ll be weeks before that pile is shifted.’

  Chitty put his glass down on the table with a thump. ‘You mean we’re not taking the money with us?’

  ‘No. Too damned risky. The police might search us — and our homes. We’ll leave it hid until the heat’s off. It’ll be safe enough.’

  ‘How long do we have to wait?’ asked Chitty. ‘I don’t want to hang around here for weeks. I want to get cracking.’

  ‘You’ll wait until it’s safe,’ said Forthright. ‘Certainly a week or two. We’ve got to carry on as before — unless White sacks us. If you start chucking money around the police will want to know where it came from.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Wells. ‘What next?’

  ‘Well, after the money’s been hid the chap goes back to his place in the forest. We’ll all wait until the church clock strikes a quarter to twelve, and then we’ll meet again behind the garage. I’ll collect the key from the door, and we’ll come back here. We’ve got to be back before midnight — the radio shuts down then.’

  Wickery was surprised at his own calmness. His only worry was that either Chitty or Forthright might do something foolish. He hoped that it would fall to him or Wells to go into the garage. White was a sound sleeper, and he’d have had plenty to drink. There shouldn’t be any danger. And, much as he hated White, he lacked Forthright’s and Chitty’s leaning towards violence. All he wanted now was the money to ease the financial strain on Doris and himself. Compared to that, revenge was unimportant.

  Wells found himself sweating. Maybe that was due to the heat of the fire

  but he knew he was afraid. He hated White and he needed the money, but the thought of going into the dark garage, of climbing the stairs to the flat above, filled him with fear. Suppose White was not asleep, was waiting for him? And, even if all was well, he would have to rummage under the bed, defenceless, completely at White’s mercy if the man should wake.

  Pray God, he thought, don’t let it be me!

  ‘Why not draw lots now?’ asked Chitty.

  ‘It’d save us having to use our torches in the woods.’r />
  ‘I thought of that,’ said Forthright. ‘But even if we didn’t say a word our faces would give us away. I bet we’d all know at once who was going to do the job. And we don’t want that.’

  ‘Why not? We can trust each other, can’t we?’

  ‘Perhaps. But it’s better if we don’t have to.’

  ‘We’ll have to face each other when we get back,’ Wells pointed out.

  ‘Yes, I know. But we’ll have got used to the idea by then, and the job will be over and done with.’

  ‘Time we were on our way,’ said Wickery. ‘It’s nearly eleven.’

  They got up slowly. Now that the time had come there was a sudden lack of eagerness. They were setting out on a criminal enterprise, however justified they considered that enterprise to be; deliberately putting themselves outside the Law. We’ll always have tonight on our consciences, I suppose, Wells thought uneasily. Just as well we shan’t be seeing so much of each other. Harry and Dave will be leaving Chaim, and Bert and I will be in different jobs. We couldn’t go on as before, not even if White gave us the chance.

  He tried to fix his mind on the thought that the money was theirs, that it wasn’t stealing. But, although that comforted his conscience, it did not still his fear. With a guilty sense of shame at invoking the aid of his Maker in such a project, he began saying to himself, over and over again, ‘Oh, God, don’t let it be me! Oh, God, don’t let it be me!’

  Chitty was thinking of the weapon he would take with him up the stairs. One of those heavy spanners, perhaps, or a wrench. He wouldn’t use it if White kept quiet, but he wasn’t going to be caught napping. If the swine woke up he’d let him have it. No point in being squeamish then .

  In imagination he heard the sickening, squelching thud as the heavy weapon descended on White’s defenceless head, and shuddered. Pop was right, it wouldn’t be all that easy to kill a sleeping man. Not even a man he hated as much as he hated White. His thoughts switched to the money. Several hundred quid, Bert had said. That was a tidy sum, maybe a hundred each. But he didn’t like the idea of leaving it on the junk-heap. Better to force the lock and share the cash out right away. He’d a good mind...

  His little eyes glittered as a brilliant idea occurred to him. None of them knew exactly how much the box contained. If he had to do the job, why shouldn’t he abstract a hundred or so and leave the rest to be shared out later? The others wouldn’t know; and wasn’t the chap who took all the risks entitled to a major share of the perks?

  Well, here’s hoping, he thought. I don’t know as I’m over-keen on doing the job, but I could do with that extra hundred.

  They put on their gloves, tested the torches, and went out through the back door and along the track to the garage. They walked quickly, without speaking. Forthright wondered about the radio. It was a reliable set — but suppose it went wrong tonight? Suppose there was a long break in the transmission; would Ma call out, or knock on the ceiling? Suppose she had one of her bad turns, or suppose someone called at the cottage? It was late for callers, but one never knew. He had impatiently rejected these same doubts when they had been raised by the others, but he could not reject them now. He was glad when they reached the garage and the need for action superseded his fears.

  No light was showing, no one moved on the road. He took the key from his pocket and fitted it in the lock, making sure that it turned easily. Then he went back to the others.

  Without a word each in turn selected a folded slip of paper from his outstretched hand and went off into the forest. Wickery took the right-hand track. Wells and Chitty followed the main path towards the ridge known locally as the Swan’s Neck, and after a few yards forked right and left respectively along little-used tracks leading into the heart of the forest.

  The remaining slip of paper clutched tightly in his gloved hand, Forthright turned and walked back along the way they had come. If I’m one of the lucky ones, he thought, I can keep an ear cocked for that radio.

  His hands felt hot and uncomfortable in the unaccustomed gloves, but they did not tremble as he clumsily unfolded the paper and switched on his torch.

  *

  The chiming of the church clock brought both relief and anxiety to the four men. The job was over. There had been no alarm, apparently no hitch. Now they had to await the consequences.

  They assembled quietly and quickly behind the garage, and, after Forthright had collected the key from the door, walked in silence back towards the Forthright cottage. Half-way there Chitty stumbled and fell. Pop Wells helped him to his feet. ‘Hell!’ exclaimed Chitty. ‘I’ve lost my ruddy glasses.’

  He knelt down and groped with his hands on the path. The others did likewise, not wishing to use their torches.

  It was Wickery who found them. ‘I’m afraid they’re broken,’ he said, handing the frame to Chitty. ‘Both lenses gone.’

  Chitty swore softly. He was almost blind without his spectacles. ‘That means I’ll have to go into Tanbury tomorrow to see the oculist.’

  Tomorrow, thought Wickery. Tomorrow’s going to be rather different from the days that have gone before. I’ll be glad when it’s over.

  The cottage was as they had left it, the radio still playing. They filed into the sitting-room and stood around awkwardly, blinking at the light. ‘Hadn’t you better see that Ma is all right?’ asked Wells. He caught sight of his face in the mirror over the fireplace, and hastily smoothed down the ruffled wisps of hair.

  Forthright shook his head. ‘She’d wonder why. I never do, not unless she knocks. What about a game of solo? We’ve got to do something for the next half-hour.’

  ‘Count me out,’ said Chitty. ‘I can’t see without my specs.’

  ‘About those specs,’ said Forthright. ‘If anyone asks, say you broke ‘em on the way home tonight.’

  They sat down at the table. Wells cut and Forthright dealt. As he watched the pile accumulating in front of him Wickery said quietly, ‘There’s blood on the cards.’

  Forthright flushed. ‘I scratched my hand looking for Dave’s specs,’ he said. But he did not offer his hand for inspection.

  Nobody made any comment, and he continued dealing. After a few hands Wickery said he wasn’t going to play any more — he didn’t feel like it.

  He kept thinking of Doris. When the news broke she was certain to ask some very awkward questions — and how was he to answer her? And how to explain the money when they collected it? Doris liked her uncle no more than he did, but she would certainly disapprove of what they had done.

  It was as Forthright was gathering up the cards that the knock came.

  They looked at each other and then at the clock. A quarter past twelve — too late for any ordinary caller. At a nod from Forthright and with a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach Wickery, who was nearest the door, opened it.

  Molly Wells stood there, blinking at the light. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But Mum’s had one of her turns. She asked me to come and get Dad.’

  Wells stood up. ‘No sense in chasing after me at this hour,’ he grumbled. His wife’s turns were notorious in the village. They occurred without apparent cause, usually at times most inconvenient to others. For that reason she received scant sympathy from her family. ‘What can I do?’

  But he was secretly relieved at the summons. He would be glad to get away from the others. ‘I was just coming, anyway,’ he said.

  Molly looked at Dave, and then away. ‘I didn’t mind the walk,’ she said. ‘I don’t often get out of an evening nowadays.’

  After she and her father had gone the three men talked desultorily, killing time. Chitty would have liked to have walked home with Molly, but he knew she would not have been pleased had he done so. In her father’s company they would have had nothing to say to each other. I’ll get her alone in a day or two, he thought, and put things right. No sense in going on like this. Not now.

  At a quarter to one they went upstairs to say good-night to Ma. It was a habit they had formed. Looking at
her as she lay in the bed she so seldom left, Wickery wondered anew how anyone so frail and shrivelled could still live.

  ‘And about time too!’ said the old lady. ‘Sitting there all night, playing cards and smoking! What good does it do you, eh? That’s what I want to know.’

  Wickery confessed that it did them no good at all. ‘We’ll probably give it up, Ma,’ he said. ‘Dave here says he’s fed up with solo, and Doris doesn’t think much of being left alone so long.’

  ‘Nor I don’t wonder, either,’ said Ma. ‘Where’s Mr Wells?’

  ‘He went home quarter of an hour ago,’ said Forthright. ‘Molly came for him. Mrs Wells had one of her turns.’

  Ma Forthright nodded sagely. ‘Cards always lead to trouble,’ she said. ‘Always did and always will.’

  Wickery wondered whether she might not be right on this occasion.

  *

  Wells called for Forthright on his way to work the next morning. He had no liking to face alone the trouble that he knew lay in store for them. ‘He may not find out until later that the money’s gone,’ he said. ‘But when he does there’s going to be one hell of a flaming row!’

  White had not unlocked the garage doors when they arrived, and they walked up and down to keep warm, speculating aloud on what was likely to happen. Ten minutes later Loften drove up in his car. ‘White must have had a thick night,’ he said, as he joined them. ‘He’s usually an early riser. If you hadn’t lost my key, Harry, we could have let ourselves in. Brrh! It’s cold.’

  As the minutes passed, and still there was no sign of White, Wells and Forthright grew silent.

  ‘What’s happened to Chitty and the Wickerys?’ asked Loften. ‘They’re late too.’

  Forthright explained that Chitty had broken his spectacles the previous evening and had gone into Tanbury to have them repaired. ‘He’s as blind as a bat without them,’ he added.