A Fairly Dangerous Thing

by Reginald Hill

  ‘No thanks,’ suggested Bertie.

  ‘I can’t, I mean I won’t; look, it’s not just me. I mean …’

  They were all looking at him curiously.

  ‘What are you trying to say, lad?’ asked Cess, his Indian-brave look very much in evidence.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind!’ he blurted out.

  Bertie rolled his eyes revoltingly and muttered, ‘Me mother told me never to stray north of Stanmore.’

  Cess began to clench his fists persuasively, Third Man yawned, Joe pressed himself back against the boulder. It moved slightly, then slid a few inches as though it had been unevenly balanced on some loose stones.

  ‘I thought we’d put all that behind us, Joe,’ said Cess advancing.

  Despite all his efforts to stay relaxed, Joe felt himself cringing away. He tried to force himself upright, but it was as if some heavy hand lay on his shoulder pulling him down. Even when Cess stopped dead in his tracks then took a step backwards, he found he could not move. The musty smell was suddenly very strong.

  He knew what it was an instant before the deep, rasping growl bubbled in his ears and, turning his head, he saw that when the boulder had moved, a gap of some nine to twelve inches had opened up. Through it, clawing curiously at his jacket shoulder, stretched a lion’s paw.

  His panic-stricken leap forward landed him almost in Cess’s arms but the ginger man had suddenly been deposed from the number-one menace spot. As though equally startled by his sudden movement, the paw was swiftly and silently withdrawn.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Bertie.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Joe, Cess, and Third Man altogether.

  ‘Joe!’ said a new voice. ‘Oh, Joe!’

  Fate had decided unexpected lion’s paws were not enough to unstring Joe’s nerves. Another assault was made on him from behind. Spinning round again, he found himself clutching a warm, gently shaking, female body, a pleasurable experience at any other time. But not now. It was Maggie.

  ‘Jesus!’ said Joe unimaginatively.

  ‘Oh Joe!’ cried Maggie.

  ‘I found her outside,’ said Lord Jim. ‘Watching.’

  Cess restored himself instantly to the number-one spot.

  ‘You told her, Joe?’ he demanded threateningly.

  ‘No! No, I didn’t,’ replied Joe, noting with distress that for the second time in a day Maggie’s beautiful breasts were heaving uninhibitedly against his chest without causing him the slightest physical disturbance.

  Cess glowered at him disbelievingly. Then Maggie spoke.

  ‘No, it was you,’ she said, uncertainly at first, but recovering her self-possession fast. ‘I followed you here from the van.’

  ‘The van?’ queried Joe.

  ‘Yes. That bus you put me on wasn’t going back to town at all. It was coming here! I nearly got off when I found out but I thought, why the hell should I? I wanted to see the house. It seemed daft not going just because… And, anyway,you had my picnic and wine.’

  She looked defiantly at Joe, who essayed a small smile.

  ‘How’d you know he was in a van?’ demanded Cess.

  ‘I saw him from the bus. You cut in on us just before the entrance.’ She turned back to Joe. ‘I’ve been looking for you all day, but when you disappeared in the crowd, I headed for the car-park and found the van. It seemed sensible to wait there. Then he, (it’s Mr Carter, isn’t it? Mickey’s father?) came along, fiddled about under the bonnet and had a word with one of the attendants. I heard him say he couldn’t start it and could he use the telephone? There was a lot of coming and going, but finally he said something about leaving the van there overnight and getting a lift home with some friends. So I followed him. I thought he’d be going back to the house or somewhere. But he came up here to the caves. I was standing outside wondering what to do when Charles Atlas here turned up and pushed me in.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Lord Jim. Real old-fashioned courtesy! thought Joe. He looks as if he means it!

  ‘What’s going on, anyway?’ demanded Maggie. She looked at her watch. ‘It’s closing time, don’t you know that? What’re you all doing in here like a lot of troglodytes?’

  Bertie, who had spent the last few minutes feverishly pushing loose stones into the gap above the boulder, spoke for the first time.

  ‘It’s a right mess, Cess,’ he said gloomily. ‘Let’s call it a day, old son, eh? Everything’s against us. Bloody lions crawling through holes, Joe-boy jittery as a drunken nun, and now Miss—Whatsit here.’

  ‘Cohen,’ said Maggie. ‘Maggie Cohen.’

  ‘No relation to Allie Cohen who’s got the betting shops in Ilford?’ asked Bertie with interest.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ snarled Cess.

  Joe looked at him with new interest. Uncertainty showed through every feature where previously little other than naked menace had ever made an impression. He glanced at his ostentatiously expensive watch, the kind which concealed the time beneath a whole complex of astronomic and atmospheric information.

  He’d like to make a phone call! thought Joe. But he can’t.It’s too late.

  ‘She does know your name too, Cess,’ said Third Man apologetically. Joe had never heard him speak before. Now he felt like embracing him as a new and unexpectedly strong ally.

  ‘Well?’ said Maggie. ‘Is no one going to tell me?’

  ‘To tell the truth, Maggie,’ said Joe, ‘we’re hiding here till it’s dark, then we’re going to break into the house and steal about a hundred thousand quid’s worth of stuff. This, as you know, is Cess Carter, who’s in charge. That’s Bertie playing with the stones. He’s the one who looks after disposal. And this is Third Man. I’m not sure of his function, or his name for that matter.’

  ‘Simon Bunce,’ offered Third Man, adding apologetically, ‘I’m just a thief.’

  ‘There! Now you’ve met everybody, perhaps we ought to go’

  Feeling fully in command of the situation, Joe put his arm round Maggie and took a step forward.

  ‘Hold it,’ said Cess. His face had returned to normal, Joe noted uneasily.

  ‘You’re going nowhere. Nothing’s changed. In fact it’s lucky you came when you did, Miss.’

  He leered suggestively at Maggie.

  ‘You see, Sir here was beginning to have cold feet. You’re quite fond of him, eh? Aye, my lad’s told me about you too. Well, you wouldn’t like to see him gaoled, would you?’

  Maggie shook her head with less conviction than Joe would have liked. Hopefully, he put it down to mere bewilderment.

  ‘Hear this, then. He’s done enough already to get him five years as an accessory. And we’ve got some pictures as well. Perhaps you’d like her to see the pictures, Joe, lad?’

  ‘No,’ said Joe faintly. ‘No.’

  ‘Right then. We’re OK, Bertie, Miss here will keep quiet for Joe’s sake. And Joe will join in happily for her sake. It’s the perfect set-up.’

  ‘But we can’t take her into the house with us,’ objected Bertie. ‘And I don’t fancy her swanning around outside while I’m on the job, begging your pardon, lady.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Cess triumphantly like one who has reasoned his way to the sic probo in a metaphysical debate. ‘Before we go into the house, we knock her on the head!’

  They compromised in the end on binding her hands and feet, Joe’s protests having been supported by both Bertie and Third Man. Even Lord Jim had shamefacedly come out against his leader. Cess had gone as far as accepting her parole that she wouldn’t cause any trouble while they were all in the cave, but, as he put it, he wouldn’t have trusted the Virgin Mary to stay by herself in the cave once the men had left.

  ‘We’ll be back for you, love,’ promised Joe, testing the makeshift bonds for over-tightness. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He bent down to brush her cheek with his lips. Surprisingly she turned her mouth to his and he felt her tongue running round his teeth.

  ‘This is kinky,’ she whispered. ‘Do you think we could manage
it, all tied up?’

  Joe looked down at her in admiration. Obviously once she decided the time had come to give her all, she didn’t let up until her all was given, even in the face of miserable failures like his own that afternoon.

  ‘Later,’ he said. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Take care,’ she said.

  He joined the others at the entrance to the grotto. Lord Jim he noticed, slipped back, probably to make a quick check that he hadn’t untied Maggie’s hands.

  It was a beautiful night, clear and warm. There was no moon, but the sky was so rich with stars, there scarcely seemed room for one anyway. Though it was after midnight, it had not long been full dark. Since about nine-thirty they had watched a series of cars arriving at the house, presumably for Lord Trevigore’s birthday party. Many of them had turned off on to the safari road, obviously to have a look at the lions while daylight still remained.

  ‘I hope the bastards try it when they’re going home pissed,’ said Cess as he peered down at the road through a small pair of binoculars. ‘They’re thick enough to get themselves chewed up.’

  To Joe it seemed the same thought must have occurred to Lord Trevigore. There seemed to be a full contingent of park-wardens on duty, as well as the attendants necessary to open and close the bridge and house-gates for the visitors. It still seemed the worst possible night to have chosen for the job, but Cess seemed very happy with things, so there was little to be gained from making the point again.

  The last car turned up after eleven, about an hour later than the main body. The owner seemed to have a great respect for the lions as the vehicle moved at snail’s-pace from the bridge to the house, and the driver experimented with both dipped and full headlights as a potential deterrent, much to Cess’s amusement.

  Another hour had elapsed since then and the tension had mounted steadily, for Joe at least. Three times he had apologetically retired into the azaleas.

  ‘Try to tighten up, Joe,’ Bertie had whispered confidentially after the third visit. ‘Too much of that weakens you.’

  Now, weakened or not, it seemed the time had come. Cess made a small movement of his head and set off down the slope towards the house, disappearing into the darkness after only three or four steps. Bertie and Third Man followed. Joe hesitated. A large hand pressed into the small of his back.

  ‘Come on.’

  It was Lord Jim, reappeared from the cave. He sounded quite kindly, like an old schoolmaster talking to a new boy. On their way down to the car-park, Joe was glad of his company. Three or four times he would have stumbled and fallen had not his companion steadied him with massive ease.

  Things became easier once they reached the level lawns which surrounded the house, though even here Joe would have walked straight through an ornamental pond if Lord Jim had not grunted a warning. They kept clear of the building with its line of brightly-lit first-floor windows in the private apartments, till they were opposite the dark stables-block and the adjoining car-park. The VW van was where they had left it, right up against the wall. Its doors were open and the other three were busy unpacking the cardboard boxes. As they approached, Joe’s foot sent a stone clicking over the gravel and the three shadowy figures spun round.

  ‘God!’ said Joe in horror, wishing for the comfort of the azaleas once more. Once again, it was a comfort to feel Lord Jim’s reassuring touch.

  The cause of Joe’s horror was their hideously flattened faces, dimly visible as he went nearer. The explanation was almost as immediate as the shock. Nylon stockings used as masks. Only the shock lasted longer.

  ‘Right,’ said Cess, unmistakable despite what the dark and his mask could do. ‘Quick as you can into these.’

  These were a pair of black gym-shoes, a black sweater and a nylon stocking. Joe took them reluctantly. It was like putting on an enemy uniform when for so long you had been pretending you were just a prisoner-of-war.

  ‘Come on!’ snapped Cess. Lord Jim was already halfchanged, the others fully so and sorting oout some other gear. Joe took off his jacket and tossed it into the van, pleased at the thought that he had removed all his personal effects from the pockets and left them in the glove-compartment of his own car. Why the thought pleased him, he couldn’t say. It would make no difference whether they were caught or not.

  Suddenly he was beset by an absolute conviction that they would be caught. Nevertheless his fingers tied the laces on his gym-shoes with careful efficiency and even pulled the absurd stocking over his head.

  Bertie meanwhile had produced a walkie-talkie set from one of the boxes and was fiddling with the controls. Satisfied finally, he spoke into the attached mouthpiece.

  ‘Blue,’ he said. ‘Blue. Blue. Blue.’

  ‘Yellow,’ answered a tinnily distant voice almost immediately. Joe assumed it was Killer, parked over the bridge.

  ‘Blue, out,’ said Bertie, nodding with satisfaction. But Yellow wasn’t satisfied.

  ‘How’s things? Everything OK?’

  Cess reached over and took the radio from Bertie’s hands. Placing his mouth close to the mouthpiece he said in a voice brittle with cold rage, ‘Bloody well belt up!’

  Obviously he expected no reply. It would have taken a very brave man to essay one, thought Joe. This was not a night to bend any rules that Cess had laid down.

  The initial exchange, he worked out, was all that had been required. Communication established; mutual reassurance that all was going well. The more you spoke, the more chance there was of the wrong people hearing.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Cess.

  He, Bertie and Third Man were carrying fairly large canvas bags, not full, but not quite empty either. Lord Jim had a coil of what looked like clothes-line over his shoulder.

  ‘Can’t I carry something?’ asked Joe, with old-fashioned lower-middle-class courtesy.

  ‘You just walk without tripping over your bollocks,’ sneered Cess. ‘That’ll be enough.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ muttered Joe and strode off angrily along the side of the stables, almost immediately stubbing his toe against the foot of a buttress. He hopped painfully high to the air, trying to keep his screams in.

  ‘Christ!’ said Cess whose eyes, though invisible behind the mask, were clearly being rolled.

  The others moved, silent and sure-footed, along the side of the house. Cess himself took up the job of mentor to Joe and urged him along with twice as much roughness as Lord Jim had found necessary. The man was nervous, thought Joe with surprise. As long as this merely further honed rather than blunted the fine edge of his generalship.

  He still had no idea how they were to get into the house. There must be some connection with the party, otherwise how to explain Cess’s obvious foreknowledge? But what it could be was beyond him. Perhaps they would merely knock at the door and be admitted by some venerable butler?

  Cabaret for his Lordship’s party, he imagined Cess saying. Miss Sylvie and her Exotic Dancers, at your service.

  How exotic could you get? he wondered, looking ahead at Lord Jim, whose usual grotesqueness had been given a new dimension by the addition of a nylon stocking. He had pulled it down over his face till only the foot remained, flopping rakishly over his left ear and giving him the outline of some bloated pixie. Suddenly he stopped and Joe wondered fearfully if he had spoken out loud. But the little man’s attention was fixed firmly on the upper reaches of the house.

  Joe followed his gaze. They had come right along the building to the inhabited end and now stood beneath the line of festal light on the first floor.

  Perhaps he’s going to sprout wings and soar aloft like Peter Pan. Or Dumbo.

  Something slightly less dramatic but just as unexpected happened. A first-floor window opened and a naked man stepped out on to the sill. Joe felt himself thrown forward with tremendous force so that he crashed violently against the wall. It was Cess, of course. The others without any prompting were already hugging the side of the house as though it were the breasts of Venus herself.

>   Painful though the experience was, Joe could not altogether blame Cess. Unaided, he would certainly have remained on the edge of the lawn marvelling at the strange apparition above.

  Next moment he was glad he hadn’t. There was a reedy cacophony of well-bred laughter overhead, accompanied by the easily recognized sound of a thin jet of liquid striking the ground only a yard away.

  ‘Dirty bastard!’ snarled Cess softly. ‘Like bloody dogs.’

  ‘Come inside, James, before you fall,’ cried a not-too-anxious female voice.

  ‘Nearly finished, my sweet. Here I come!’

  With a Tarzan-like cry, the figure fell backwards through the window. The men below remained still in the shadow of the wall for another five minutes, but no one else, clothed or naked, appeared to be interested in taking the air.

  ‘Right,’ said Cess. ‘Jim, get on with it.’

  Jim advanced to his former spot on the grass.

  ‘It’s a bit chancy, old love,’ said Bertie diffidently.

  ‘It’s always chancy. But it’ll bloody work,’ said Cess with a note of vicious challenge in his voice.

  Bertie shrugged and didn’t reply. But Joe had the feeling that he wished he was tucked up safe and warm in bed in whatever quarter of London he normally inhabited.

  Now something else was happening above, this time on the second floor. From a window almost above that which had been the source of the recent hazardous micturition, something less noisome but just as puzzling descended. It was, Joe decided, a thin nylon line. To climb up, he supposed. Well, if they were expecting him to climb up that, they were going to be sadly disappointed.

  Lord Jim had unwound from his shoulders the coils of rope he was carrying and now with swift efficiency tied one end of it to the end of the line dangling from the window. He waved his hand and it was rapidly hauled up. It was not, Joe now observed, a single length of rope, but two lengths, parallel. Joined at intervals of about eighteen inches by crosslengths.

  In short, or rather at length, a rope-ladder.

  And Joe, with sinking heart, knew as an absolute certainty that they were going to expect him to climb that.

  Above, a shadowy figure leaned out and signalled. This obviously meant the ladder was secure as Third Man now started forward at a nod from Cess and began to climb, the canvas bag now slung over his shoulders. He made it look quite easy, though Lord Jim helped a lot by grasping the bottom of the ladder and leaning back with all his strength to keep it as rigid as possible and away from the wall.