Drink With The Devil

by David Woods

  “Is Grainger and his gang still on site?”

  “I just paid him off and he’s leaving now.”

  “Good. That means we won’t have to order him out.”

  “Order him out?” Why should we?” That man has saved us penalty payments on this contract.”

  “Our new boss has discovered Grainger is an ex-criminal.”

  “So what? He’s a damn good worker.”

  Claude sat down and sighed heavily. “Fred, I’ve a terrible job to do, and there’s no easy way to do it.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Our nutcase of a boss insists I give you the sack. I’m very sorry.”

  Fred spluttered, his round face Betting redder. “What the hell for?”

  “For taking on an ex-con.”

  “That’s a bloody terrible excuse for dismissing someone.”

  “I know, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “But I didn’t know about his record.”

  “That’s what I told him, I’m really so sorry.”

  “Not your fault, Claude. Thanks for trying. When do I go?”

  “Immediately, I’m afraid.”

  Fred signed in resignation. “Okay, but I expect to be paid what’s owed to me.”

  “I’ll see you get paid.”

  The two men shook hands and Fred walked off the site, looking thoroughly dejected.

  Claude picked up the telephone, feeling very angry and upset, and Garry answered in his usual gruff way. Claude just said, “Grainger and the manager have gone.”

  “Good. I hope we didn’t pay Grainger.”

  “He was paid off before I arrived.”

  “I see. Well, you just stay there and get on with the job.”

  Claude slammed the phone down nearly in tears, wishing he had the strength and guts to tell Garry to go to hell.

  Garry put the phone down and laughed out loud, knowing how Claude would be feeling. Weak little men, how I hate them, he thought. He settled back in his comfortable chair and thought about his next move, but no inspiration came so he read the investigator’s report again, this time taking in all the details. “Grainger Construction — where the hell did he get his money from to start a business, and what is he doing with a site on Poplar Drive?” He grabbed the phone and Gordon Simpson answered. “I want you to find out where Grainger got his money from.”

  “Hard work, I expect.”

  “I don’t believe it. Find out straightaway.”

  Simpson had no other work, so he agreed. “I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

  “You will, or starve.”

  Garry slammed the receiver down, got up from his desk and paced around the office. Although a large pile of untouched papers were in his in-tray awaiting inspection and decisions, he could not bring himself to concentrate on work. He rang his secretary instead. “Bring me details of the company’s purchases around the Kingston area. In particular, the school job.” Next he rang the accounts department. “I want details of all payments made to Grainger.”

  The information was on his desk within fifteen minutes. First he studied the list of payments and the dates on which they were made, his anger building up again when he realised his company had been paying Jim Grainger since his release from prison. His rage caused the figures to blur before his eyes, so he got up and paced around the room again, swearing and cursing under his breath. He passed the drinks cabinet twice before stopping to fill a glass, gulping it down and returning to the desk with papers strewn all over it. After calming himself down, adding up the figures and calculating how much Grainger would have paid his gang, it came to a considerable figure. As he cursed out loud and thumped his slender fist down on the desk, pain shot up his arm and he cursed again. The unopened file revealed a list of builders’ merchants and the amounts spent with each of them during the past year, so he shoved it into his briefcase and walked out of the building to his car, parked in its specially reserved position.

  Poplar Drive was a tree-lined road with good-quality detached houses set back from the wide pavement, each with their own tarmac drive. Garry drove down the road slowly, looking at each house. He stopped at the sight of a large house with its windows and doors boarded up, where a gang of men were burning piles of dead trees and bushes. The huge bonfire was sending sparks high into the sky. Garry scanned the site, seeing how large it was, and then studied the men working with a single purpose, each one obviously putting maximum effort into the job.

  When he saw a van parked nearby with Grainger Construction on the side, he felt like setting fire to it. His eyes focused on a very big man, stripped to the waist, dragging a tree single-handed to the fire; his tanned body with huge muscles rippling under the strain as he lifted and sent the tree crashing on to the fire, sending a column of smoke skywards. Garry shivered in awe at the physical power displayed before him, and he realised the big man fitted Simpson’s description of Grainger. His admiration turned instantly to hatred.

  He gripped the steering wheel hard until his hands hurt, shaking his head in disbelief when he remembered that long-haired white-faced man with a beard, who looked so small standing in the dock. He remembered those eyes staring up at him, and a shiver went through his body as the recollection of that day in court returned. He looked again at the bronzed body, once again carrying a huge load. Is this really the same man? Simpson could be mistaken. He studied the other men again before starting the car and driving past the site, glancing across to the fire just as the big man looked up, and their eyes meeting just for a split second. This was enough to convince him that this man was definitely Grainger.

  He accelerated away in search of the first builders’ merchants on his list. The manager, a young man and very keen, having just been promoted by head office, was anxious to please and rushed into the reception to shake hands. Tea was ordered and Garry was invited through to a spacious office. “What can I do for you, Mr. Osborne?”

  “My company has purchased a large amount of materials from you during the past year.”

  “Yes, indeed you have, Sir. And we’re very grateful.” He stopped as tea was served by a pretty girl.

  Garry did not even glance at the girl, but stared at the manager fussing over the cups. He sipped, put the cup down and spoke evenly. “Blakesbuild will be pleased to continue buying from this and other of your branches if you agree to my terms.”

  “Well, Sir, I can only speak for this branch.”

  “That’s understandable, but you’ll pass this on?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “A new building company called Grainger Construction has just started up in this area. It’s run by a criminal, and I will not buy from anyone who deals with criminals. Understood?”

  “Absolutely, Sir. I appreciate you letting us know about it, and I can assure you we’ll cease trading with that company immediately.”

  “Good. And make sure none of your other branches deals with them.”

  The manager wrote down the name and said “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Yes. You can make sure Blakesbuild buy at the best possible price.”

  “Yes, of course, Sir.”

  Garry got up and walked out, leaving the tea on the desk. The remainder of the day was spent visiting the other companies on the list, each one treating him as a VIP, and the results were the same. By the time he arrived home he was feeling much better and greeted Jane with a kiss on the cheek. She was pleased to see him in a better mood and asked “Did you have a good day at work?”

  “Not bad at all.”

  She was really quite worried, having received a phone call from a former colleague, saying Garry had been in a terrible mood and had not concentrated on business for some time. She did not know how to approach the subject without upsetting him but then had an idea. “I was thinking of coming into the office to help out for a few days.” Garry guessed what had happened. “No need, ole girl. I’ll be going in early to catch up.”


  “I’ll join you later, then.”

  “Up to you.”

  Garry left early the next morning to work on the waiting pile of contracts, horrified to find he had neglected his job so badly. It was too late for four of the tenders, which should have been priced and returned a week earlier, so he worked on the others. Jane brought him his coffee and noticed the discarded documents. “What about these?”

  “They’re not worth bothering with.”

  She thumbed through the papers. “A lot of time has been wasted here.”

  “Yes. It’s a shame,” he said, dismissing the subject.

  He worked hard for the next few weeks as he struggled to keep his mind on the job, rather than get twisted up about Jim Grainger. He soon got on top of things again and both companies were running smoothly, with Blakesbuild winning just enough contracts to keep going.

  A somewhat nervous Simpson rang to say he could not find the source of Grainger’s sudden wealth, but the blasting he was expecting from Garry did not materialise, and he was surprised to hear him say. “Never mind. It doesn’t really matter.”

  “Fine. I can send you a bill, then?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Garry put the receiver down and resumed the struggle to keep his mind from wandering. He realised how much harm he had done to himself without Grainger raising a finger against him. It’s so stupid, he thought. If only I could stop myself getting twisted up.

  A further reminder from the past came in the form of a telephone call from Inspector Green, who sounded cheerful. “Thought you’d like to know we’ve charged a man with robbery and arson.”

  “Have you really. Who?”

  “A man called Briggs. Brother of the man killed on the night of the fire.”

  Garry was stunned. “Will Angela be called as a witness?”

  “No need. He’s admitted the crime.”

  “That’s excellent. What about the other man involved?”

  “Still at large, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m still convinced the man you’re looking for is Grainger.”

  “No, Sir. It’s definitely not.”

  “Well, who is it, then?”

  “We’re still hoping Briggs will tell us.”

  “And the best of luck to you.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Garry sat and thought about his conversation with the inspector, but his thoughts were soon diverted by a thick pile of papers being dumped on his desk. He looked at the files and started work, determined not to get behind again.

  * * *

  In the meantime Jim had returned to “The Scrubs,” but this time as a visitor. Oliver Smythe was surprised at his appearance. “My goodness, Jim. You do look well.”

  “I feel pretty good. How about you?”

  “Looking forward to my release in a couple of months.”

  “I thought you’d like to know that I’ve followed your advice and started my own building company.”

  “Well done. How’s it going, then?”

  “Reasonably well. I’ve just bought a building site for four houses.”

  “How are you managing financially?”

  “With money I saved from running my own sub-contract team. The problem now is that, having bought the site, I haven’t got enough for the building materials.”

  “I can help you out,” he whispered. “From a safety deposit box with cash in it, but not a word where it came from.”

  “Of course not. And I’ll pay you back with interest as soon as I can.”

  Oliver pushed a slip of paper across the table. “I’ll see you in a couple of months.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Planning permission was granted the day Jim finished the demolition contract, and he studied the paperwork until late that night. Four detached houses fitted the site well and he made out a schedule, stating when each stage should be completed, deciding to build two houses and sell them in order to raise enough money to build the other two and secure another site.

  The next morning he collected his gang of labourers and delivered them to the new site. A bonfire was made with the contents of the garden, and all worked with enthusiasm, pleased to be part of a new building company. Looking across the site, Jim saw a red sports car. The man inside seemed to be staring in his direction, but he looked away when their eyes met. Jim continued to watch as the car sped away, and so did Billy who remarked, “It’s probably that bloke who wanted to buy some rubble.”

  “Oh yes. You told him we’d be working here.”

  “Yes, but I think we’ll need the rubble ourselves.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  Jim got on with the work and soon forgot about the car. They stripped the house of its lead and copper pipes, together with the lead from the roof, and it was all loaded on the van, which was weighed down to the axles. Jim drove carefully to the nearest scrap merchants, and was delighted with the amount the proprietor was willing to pay.

  Within a week the old house was reduced to a pile of rubble, the proceeds from the demolition easily paying the wages and providing some spare cash. The company whose staff drew the plans and obtained planning permission also provided a good on-site service, setting up level markers, taking levels and also producing a detailed specification. Jim purchased a garden shed, which was used as a site hut, and made up a sloping bench on which to lay out the plans. His next move was to get the foundations and drains dug, so he rang the local plant hire companies to hire a digger, and finding they were fully booked, he went back to the site looking very worried. Billy saw his glum expression.

  “What’s up, Jim?”

  “I can’t get a digger. They’re all fully booked.”

  “That’s funny. I thought they were crying out for business.”

  “So did I.”

  “What are we waiting for? Let’s dig them by hand.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get some tools.” Jim filled the van with spades, shovels and wheelbarrows purchased from the local hardware store. All six men pitched in and worked until dark, hardly any sound audible except metal clanging against stones, and the squeaking of wheelbarrow wheels.

  The next day they worked hard again, but by late afternoon all the men were exhausted, except Jim. He looked at the haggard men and said to Billy, “You’d better drive them home.”

  “Right, what about you?”

  “I’ll stay until you get back.”

  He worked on steadily, and by the end of the third day the foundations and drains were finished. He used the van to visit builders’ merchants, the first company he visited being the largest in the area and part of a national group. He strode in to the trade counter and said, “My name’s Jim Grainger of Grainger Construction. I’d like to open an account.”

  The man behind the counter looked blank. “Just a minute. I’ll be back with my governor.” He returned with a young man dressed in a dark suit, who looked Jim up and down and said nervously, “Mr. Grainger, I’m sorry we can’t open an account for you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Head office orders, I’m afraid.”

  “But I’m prepared to pay on delivery.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “What if I pay cash in advance?”

  “Sorry, I still can’t.”

  Jim leaned over the counter and gave the man an icy glare. “Why not?”

  “Head office orders,” he repeated.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mark visited Home Farm with more plans, and greeted Angela nervously, giving the impression he felt guilty about luring her to his flat, but Angela was her usual cheerful self, and they discussed the plans and work schedule. When they had finished the business Mark said, “I did enjoy our evening together. May I take you out again?” Angela smiled. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  They had dinner together, talking almost non stop, and drove straight back to the farm for a brief cuddle and goodnight kiss, which became the set procedure of their social life togethe
r. Mark did not suggest another visit to his flat.

  * * *

  The new Manor Farm House was completed a year after the fire, and was ready for a grand house-warming party. Jane was eager to meet Mark, while Garry did not hide his curiosity either. Every weekend he would aske “When are we going to meet this stout fellow?”

  “When I’m ready,” was always her reply.

  The party was arranged and Jane said to Angela, “You will invite Mark, won’t you?”

  “Yes, but I can’t guarantee he’ll come.”

  “But you must insist.”

  The occasion was a complete success with local farmers arriving in big cars. Some of Garry’s university friends came with their wives and Jane’s many friends and relations filled the house with loud talk and merriment. Mark escorted Angela and was greeted warmly by both Garry and Jane. They liked him instantly, and made sure he felt at home. Garry enjoyed the role of host, making sure everyone’s glass was full, especially his own.

  As the evening progressed he became more and more drunk. Jane saw him staggering towards the bar and tried to stop him filling his glass yet again. She was unsuccessful and was left to say farewell to the guests when Garry disappeared upstairs with a bottle of brandy and a glass. Angela and Mark stayed until midnight.

  Garry continued to run Blakesbuild and Osbornes brilliantly when he was sober and in a good mood, but badly when he was drunk and aggressive. The two companies struggled along without managing to expand or improve their profitability.

  As Jane became more heavily pregnant, she spent an increasing amount of time with her mother in Wiltshire, and left Garry to his bottle. Sometimes he stayed in his flat, and in his darker moments Jim Grainger still featured as his enemy in many vivid visions of physical violence and torture, each time brandy playing a major part in producing this effect. When he sobered up and returned to reality he was angry with himself for being so stupid. The only times he stopped drinking was when he realised the companies were doing very badly, and then he would hide the brandy, working long hours to retrieve the situation. He always succeeded and felt relieved that his own future was safe again.