by Clive Mullis
‘Right you are, sir.’
The journey turned out to be smooth, comfortable and reasonably quick; it could have been longer but Frankie indicated that the lane the driver took for a short-cut may not be the best option; that is, if the driver wanted to have more children. Once they regained the right road, another five minutes saw them pull into the cartpark at the back of the Shovel.
Considering the city centre’s close proximity, the space out back was enormous; room enough for several dozen cabs and carts with the addition of stabling for horses. Some cabbies left both horse and cab there permanently.
Cornwallis paid the fare and the three detectives made their way to the door of the pub, quickly followed by their driver, who, it appeared, had now knocked off for the day.
The place heaved. Cab drivers were eating and drinking as if it were going out of fashion. Plates and jars were being borne by dextrous barmaids as they pushed their way through the crush. Loud and boisterous it may have been, but strangely, devoid of rancour: a cab family get-together where everybody actually got on.
Cornwallis and Frankie had been here before but it took a few moments to get their bearings. It was the first time for Rose so she looked about with interest.
Cab drivers memorabilia littered the place; hardly a space left on the walls where paintings of cabbies sitting atop their coaches, studies of cabbies that had done special service, portraits of cabbies who were elected to represent in the Guild, looked down; there were whips and hats and a collection of fare markers, which were contraptions that when fitted to the wheels of a coach, clicked and turned a dial to show the distance covered, all various types from the ancient to the modern. There were money pouches and licence plates too: anything relating to a cab got nailed up, set on a plinth or locked in a cabinet.
Rose stared in wonder, a transport akin to delight, but which encompassed bewilderment too, back to a time before memory, as ancient cab drivers stared down into the bar of the Shovel, some even holding pint pots as if drinking a toast to their descendants.
Frankie managed to plough his way through to the bar and ordered three pints from the cheerful-looking landlord.
‘Coggs around?’ he asked as the first pint landed in front of him.
‘Aye, that he is; somewhere over yonder,’ replied the landlord, pointing a digit to the far corner. ‘You here to join the celebration?’
‘Celebration?’ said Frankie cautiously, before his brain knocked into gear. ‘Yeah, we is, joining in the fun.’
‘Yeah, he’s pleased with himself, you know. He reckons he’s going to go places now. A cab driver, going places … eh, get it? Ha, ha,’ laughed the landlord.
‘Very droll, I’m sure,’ said Frankie.
‘I thought so, at any rate. This Pipe thing won’t know what’s hit it. Old Coggs will get his likeness up on the wall before you know it. He’ll be the most famous cab driver of this generation, he will.’
Frankie’s bemused expression threw the landlord for a moment, until Cornwallis, listening to the exchange, jabbed him in the back with his elbow.
‘Yeah,’ continued the landlord. ‘Good ol’ Coggs, eh?’
‘Yeah, definitely,’ replied Frankie, as he passed a couple of pints to Cornwallis. ‘Good old Coggs.’
Frankie turned away and they threaded their way back to Rose.
‘Did you hear that?’ asked Frankie as they negotiated the crowd.
Cornwallis nodded. ‘I did; it sounds interesting. Shall we go and find out why our favourite cab driver has suddenly become famous?’
‘Thank the gods for that,’ said Rose as she accepted the pint from Cornwallis.
‘Uh?’
Rose grimaced. ‘I’ve had six propositions since you’ve been at the bar, and two proposals of marriage.’
‘Aren’t you the lucky one, then,’ said Frankie. ‘Did you accept any?’
‘Of course I did. Sorry, Jack, but apparently I’m to be taken to the height of Mount Pleasure, wherever that is.’
‘Ah, a good view from up there. You’ll like it,’ replied Frankie seriously. ‘Big hill just on the outskirts of the city. Graze sheep.’
‘You mean it’s a real place and not a euphemism?’
‘Oh yeah, it’s real enough. Can’t move there sometimes when the rut’s on.’
‘Rams and ewes?’
‘No, gods, no. Couples having a bit of illicit nookie. The problem is that most girls come back down with sheep-shit stuck to their arses. A bit of a giveaway is that.’
Rose expressed a long drawn out sigh, pursed her lips and then took a swig of her beer, deciding not to ask how he knew about the goings-on at Mount Pleasure.
‘Let’s find Coggs,’ suggested Cornwallis quickly, eager to get off the subject in case Rose asked him some pointed questions about the place. ‘The landlord said he was over there,’ he said, waving a hand in the general direction.
Chapter 9
Cornwallis forced a path through the crowd with Rose following close behind, but the sea of bodies just closed behind him and she had trouble keeping up, but she kept her composure despite some interesting brushes with one or two cabmen. Frankie just growled at anyone in his way and miraculously, he forged a path quite easily.
‘Randy bunch, aren’t they?’ said Rose as Frankie closed in on her.
‘I think hopeful would be a more apt description,’ replied Frankie. ‘Some o’ them could be your grandad.’
Cornwallis managed to squeeze through to a gap in front of a table surrounded by raucous and cheering cabbies. Beer flowed in vast quantities as the residual glasses indicated. At the head of the table sat Coggs, and he appeared to be the worse for wear.
The three detectives stood behind Coggs until the drunken revellers looked up and noticed them.
‘Ay, ay, look ‘o we ‘ave ‘ere,’ said one of the revellers, struggling to focus his eyes. ‘Tis The Pipe man.’
‘An’, an… It’s the uvver one too,’ said another.
‘Yeah, an’ is that a girl? I can tell that, ‘cause o’ ‘em,’ said a third, flapping his hand vaguely and trying to stand up to prove his point.
The cabbie came dangerously close to connecting with Rose, but Cornwallis, fixing him with a steely-eyed expression which could have withered a walnut, intercepted him. The potential prodder returned to his seat duly chastised.
Coggs turned in his chair and cast an unfocused look over his shoulder. He wobbled as the alcohol exerted its influence but then he broke out into a fixed vacant grin. ‘Itsh me mates,’ he slurred as recognition dawned. ‘If it ain’t me ol’ mates come to help me shella…. celbra… celer bra…’ He waved a loose hand. ‘Party thing.’
Cornwallis and Frankie reached forward and each grabbed the cabbie under the arm and lifted him up off his chair as Rose pulled the chair away: they about turned and dragged Coggs away.
‘Back in a minute, boyssh,’ said Coggs as his head lolled.
‘Right, Coggs, it’s time for an explanation,’ said Cornwallis once they were outside and had him pinned up against the back wall.
‘Explanasshun?’
‘The Pipe. What have you done?’
‘Dun? Ain’t dun nuffink.’
‘You’ve done something, haven’t you?’
Coggs grinned drunkenly. ‘Whatsh good fer the chicken is good fer the weasel, or summat like that.’
‘What’s he on about?’ asked Frankie.
‘I think we need to sober him up a bit,’ said Rose.
‘I don’t think we have the time for that,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘I mean, look at him. He’s sweating beer as it is.’
‘Need a widdle,’ announced Coggs with a hint of desperation.
‘Not now, Coggs,’ said Frankie.
‘I think it is now,’ observed Rose as the cabbies hands started extracting the means pertaining from his trousers.
‘Oh gods: hold me pint, Rose, and don’t drink it.’
Frankie propelled Coggs around the corner just as
the splashing began, followed by a lot of swearing and various shouts of outrage punctuating the peace. A couple of minutes later he re-emerged with Coggs.
‘Wouldn’t put the bloody thing away,’ said Frankie with disgust. ‘He said he wanted to give it an airing.’
Rose looked down and then leaned in closer. ‘It’s difficult to tell. I assume you persuaded him to put it away?’
‘Too bloody right I did. He might whiff a bit, the little bugger dribbled down his trouser leg.’
‘Ooh, nice.’
‘We’ve put up with worse,’ said Cornwallis. ‘Now we need to find out what he’s up to. Would you kindly do your worst, Frankie.’
Frankie bunched up a fist ready to do his quick sobering of potential informants when Rose stepped in.
‘Wait a minute. Hold this, will you.’ She handed Frankie his pint and gave hers to Cornwallis. ‘Coggs: look at me, will you?’
Coggs turned his bleary unfocused eyes upon her and grinned lewdly.
‘Just tell us what you’re up to.’
‘Oh, that? S’not a secret. Done you up like a kipper. We’s going to set up in competition. We’s going to set up an above ground Pipe thing. Going to get big coaches and carry loads o’ people. We’s going to call it an ommni… omami… ominunib… a bus service.’
‘A what?’ exclaimed Rose.
‘You ‘eard,’ said Coggs, grinning drunkenly.
Cornwallis raised his eyebrows. ‘A bus service?’
‘Yeah, gonna apply to the Assembly, we is.’
‘And then what?’ asked Rose.
‘Gonna run it, ain’t we.’
‘Well,’ said Frankie. ‘If what he’s saying is true, then he’s got good reason to want to shaft The Pipe.’
‘There’s definitely that possibility, but let’s find out. Coggs,’ he yelled into the cabbie’s ear. ‘Did you do for a dwarf last night?’
‘Do a dwarf?’ replied Coggs, sobering up at the thought. ‘Wot do yer take me for?’
‘No, not that, we mean scrag, kick the shit out of, beat up,’ said Frankie, leaning in menacingly. ‘Did you beat up a dwarf last night on the docks?’
Coggs pushed both arms out, flapping his hands in denial. ‘No, no, no, don’t do that sort o’ thing. What’re you on about?’
‘Were you at the Long Man last night, for the dominoes?’ asked Cornwallis, changing the subject.
Coggs nodded, his head on a spring. ‘Yes, yes, wouldn’t ‘ave missed that. Good match it were too.’
‘Good, now we’re getting somewhere. You saw a dwarf playing for the Long Man, remember?’
Coggs nodded again. ‘Yeah, I remember ‘im. Pulled a double six out o’ nowhere; didn’t see that coming.’
‘So who took a dislike to it, then?’
Coggs shook his head. ‘No one I know. We plays fair; it’s a serious game.’
‘But someone took exception to Sigi,’ said Frankie.
‘Yes, someone did,’ added Cornwallis. ‘Someone who has something against The Pipe.’
‘What? The Pipe? Oh no. Not me, it weren’t me, or any cabbie. None of us, nosirree, weren’t us,’ said Coggs.
‘But you said you’re setting up in competition, you’ve been banging on about it.’
‘Competition, yes, but we don’t beat people up.’
‘Someone did,’ reiterated Rose, taking a deep breath and sighing. ‘And you were there when it started.’
Coggs dragged his eyes up to her face. ‘Honest, it weren’t us.’
The three detectives stared at Coggs as the cabbie stared back. In the end, Cornwallis broke the silence.
‘What do you think, Rose?’
Rose took another deep breath. ‘I think he’s telling the truth.’
‘So do I, but the attackers came from the Long Man. We’ll have to go back and have another word.’
‘Does that mean yer done wiv me?’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘For the moment, at any rate.’
‘What about this bus thing?’ asked Frankie.
‘In truth, good luck to them; fair competition and all that. Actually, it might not do us any harm; it could be good for the city.’
‘Really?’ said Rose, a bit shocked.
‘Yes. It means we will have to keep ahead, develop, innovate; if you don’t move forward, it means you’re going backwards.’
‘That sounds like advertising speak,’ observed Frankie distastefully.
‘Exactly. Blue sky thinking.’
Frankie grabbed Cornwallis’ beer and gave a sniff. ‘Sure it’s just beer in here?’
Cornwallis grinned. ‘We need to be where it’s at, Frankie. Shake the tree and see what drops.’
‘Yeah, a lot of bloody shite.’
‘Can I go now?’ asked Coggs, seeing an escape route. He seemed remarkably sober.
‘Yes,’ said Cornwallis, with a wave of his hand. ‘Go back to your celebration and make the most of it while you can.’
‘Hang on,’ said Rose, peering closely. ‘You’re not pissed.’
Coggs grinned. ‘I’m not bloody stupid either. When you lot came in, being pissed seemed to be a good option. I thought you were going to kick the shit out of me.’
‘We still might,’ said Frankie, getting ready to do the honours.
‘No, you won’t, not now. In any case, if you did, I wouldn’t tell you what I saw at the Long Man.’
‘Wha… what?’ exclaimed Cornwallis. ‘You just told us you didn’t know anything.’
‘I didn’t, I said it weren’t us.’
Cornwallis took a deep breath in order to keep his temper in check. ‘In that case, we’ll start again, Coggs, and this time you can tell me everything, including the answers to the questions that I haven’t asked. Is that clear?’
Coggs suddenly found himself going backwards at a rate of knots until he was once again pinned to the wall, his head bouncing nicely on the bricks as the wall stopped his momentum. Cornwallis and Frankie had their hands on his shoulders and they weren’t being gentle.
‘Now, Coggs,’ said Cornwallis menacingly. ‘I have one hand holding a glass and one hand holding you, Frankie is likewise. If either of us decides to hit you we will have to use the one holding the glass and it will be carnage, understand?’
Coggs couldn’t nod fast enough, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down his neck as he swallowed hard.
‘Now, tell us what you saw.’
‘There were two young fella’s,’ said Coggs hurriedly. ‘They just kept an eye on the dwarf.’
‘Who were they?’
‘Dunno,’Coggs gulped. ‘They weren’t with us and I don’t think they were local. One of ‘em wore a leather apron thing, loads of scorch marks on it, the other wore a leather hat, the type that ‘as an extra bit that rolls down to protect yer neck. That were burnt too.’
‘Blacksmiths?’ suggested Frankie.
‘Could be,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘Though I can’t for the life of me think why they would want to close down The Pipe.’
‘Doesn’t have to be blacksmiths,’ said Rose. ‘Could be anyone working with fire. Glassblowers, foundrymen, wheelwrights, barrel makers. The list can go on.’
‘Yeah,’ said Frankie. ‘But we want the list to stop. Who do you think they were, Coggs?’
‘The leather seemed to be for big stuff, iron working, I reckon. Oh yes, they had a blanket tied up with rope too.’
‘A blanket?’ asked Cornwallis as he looked at Frankie.
‘Yeah, dunno what that were for.’
‘I think we do. Anything else?’
Coggs shook his head and Cornwallis and Frankie eased their hands away. Coggs took the opportunity to scarper as rapidly as he could.
‘Ironworkers?’ said Frankie, bemused. ‘What would they want with the dwarfs?’
‘Who knows, but it’s somewhere to start,’ said Cornwallis thoughtfully. ‘We’ll go to the Stoat and chew things over,’ he added, coming to a decision. ‘It’ll be quieter without the cabbie
s and we’ll get a decent pint.’
Frankie turned the pint in his hand contemplatively. ‘I didn’t think this were that bad.’
‘No, but it’s not Hammerhead’s Scull Breaker and Eddie has just put on a fresh barrel.’
‘Ooo,’ replied Frankie. ‘You’ve persuaded me.’
‘It doesn’t take much,’ said Rose laconically.
Chapter 10
The desperate high-pitched scream rent the thin air, threading the nerves and mangling the senses like a saw-toothed bow scraping the string of an out of tune second-hand fiddle. The noise exploded without warning in the dead of night. The pitch, high as a banshee’s and designed for maximum penetration: strident; needle-like; sharp and extremely painful, silenced everything around it. It didn’t know mercy, it just signalled the absence of hope — it was just plain bone-chillingly evil.
‘Zzzz,’ snored Frankie, oblivious.
‘Frankie,’ hissed Isabella, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘It’s your turn.’
‘Gnnerh?’ groaned Frankie. ‘Wassersermmasser?’
‘Tulip needs you.’
‘Urrgh.’
‘She might have a bit of wind.’
‘Wind?’
‘Yes, I fed her an hour ago, so she’s not hungry.’
‘Shit.’
A pause ensued.
‘That’s definitely a possibility,’ agreed Isabella in the end.
The wail paused during the conversation, but now it started again anew and this time it had knobs on.
‘Frankie,’ implored Isabella.
‘All right, I’m going,’ replied a reluctant Frankie.
He flung off the blanket then rolled onto his side and then continued the roll with the help of Isabella’s foot until his knees landed with a bump onto the floor. He stood up slowly and groggily and then yawned, stretching his back and scratching his bits.
‘There are two ladies present, Frankie, so please put something on. I can see your hairy arse lit up by the moonlight.’
‘Ain’t you the lucky one.’
‘No, not at this time of night, I’m not.’
‘It’s a thing of beauty, my darling.’
‘Bugger off,’ she replied, rolling over. Within seconds, he heard her snoring gently.