Drink With The Devil

by David Woods

  The telephone was ringing as Garry entered his office the next morning complete with hangover and bad temper. “Gordon Simpson here. I’ve a proposition for you regarding your problem.”

  “Oh yes. And what is it?”

  “Six thousand pounds will make it go away permanently.”

  Garry was stunned into silence for a couple of seconds and then growled, “If this is some kind of a rip off, I’ll have you strung up.”

  “No rip off, guv. Just meet me with the cash and forget about it.”

  “Okay. This morning?”

  They arranged a meeting place and Garry drew out the cash from the company’s account, stuffing it into a large brown envelope. Simpson walked out of the block of flats and looked nervously up and down the street, noticing two men sitting in a car fifty yards away. They followed his car to a large car park behind a cinema where Simpson got out and sat in Garry’s car, Garry looking nervously around the car park. “Did anyone follow you?”

  “No, of course not,” said Simpson.

  “What’s the deal, then?”

  “I know a gang who’ll get rid of Grainger for ever.”

  “Okay. But these are my conditions. Number one, there’ll be no contact between the gang and me. Number two, it must look like an accident. Number three, I’ll pay three thousand now and three thousand when the job’s done. And when I read about his death in the newspapers.”

  Simpson nodded his pale face. Okay, that’s sounds fair. Now give me the money.”

  Garry handed him the envelope.

  Simpson walked quickly back to his car and drove away, looking straight ahead. After a couple of minutes he noticed the car with two men in following, and wondered if Garry had seen it. Anyway back at the flat he sat down worrying about the mess he was getting himself into, and counting the money when suddenly the flat door burst open and two men entered.

  “Well, how did yet get on?” said one of them.

  “It’s all agreed. You get two thousand five hundred to do the job and the same when it’s finished.”

  “Who’s the bloke to be topped?”

  “A builder called Jim Grainger.”

  The two men looked at each other for a moment. “Where does he hang out?”

  “On a building site in Sussex. For sixteen hours a day.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “A big bloke in his mid twenties, with dark hair.”

  Further details were discussed and Simpson handed over the money. “This also pays my rent.”

  “The final payment will.”

  “Okay. Let me know when it’s done.”

  “You bet, we will.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The wooden site building was bulging with office equipment and humming with activity. Jim had his desk across one corner of the office, finding it difficult to work with the two ladies chattering as they processed the paperwork. The almost constant stream of men coming in to ask questions and the telephone ringing every ten minutes was beginning to get on his nerves, and he was pleased when everyone went home so he could get some peace.

  One evening after the women had gone Billy walked in clutching a scrap of paper. “By the way, Jim, I forgot to tell you about a fat geezer who was nosing around the other day.”

  “What about him?”

  “It was the same bloke who wanted to buy rubble from the school job.”

  Jim looked up sharply from his paperwork. “I remember you telling me about him.”

  “Yes. And shortly afterwards we couldn’t get any supplies.”

  “That’s right. D’you think he’s up to something?”

  “I don’t know. But he was asking questions about you.”

  “Was he now?”

  “Yes. This is his car registration number.”

  “Thanks. We’ll have to keep our eyes open.” Jim changed the subject. “This office is too small. I can’t get any work done.”

  “I’m not surprised with those women chatting all day.”

  “We’ll get some wood sections and build on the end.”

  “Okay. I’ll get on with it.”

  A week later the extension was finished, and Jim worked on after dark moving his furniture. After Billy had switched on the night security lights which illuminated most of the building site, and gone home, Jim looked out of his new window at the show house opposite. It looked even better floodlit. He could see a lot of the site from his chair and relaxed for a while, reflecting on his achievements. He was very proud of the show house and all the other detached houses he had built. The mature trees on the site had been carefully preserved where possible, making the houses look even more attractive.

  His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a man walking by the window, knocking at the door and walking in. Jim studied the face of a tall dark-haired man dressed in a black suit, and his heart sank when he remembered the man, a fellow prisoner who used to be in the next cell and whom he did not like. Jim got up and shook hands.

  “Hello Ken. How are you?”

  “I’m fine mate. They said you always work late.”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “Only I was down the local pub and they said you might have a job for me.”

  “You don’t look as though you need one.” Jim was trying to think of an excuse to turn him down.

  “Well, I do. And I thought you might help a fellow ex-con.”

  Jim sat and stroked his chin, racking his brains for an answer. “What can you do?”

  “Labouring. I’ve worked on a building site before.”

  Jim looked at the man’s hands, soft and pale, and was about to turn him down when the telephone rang in the next office. He got up. “Sorry about this. I haven’t moved the phone yet.”

  “That’s all right mate.”

  Jim closed the door behind him and picked up the phone to find it was Ron Smart with a list of the latest prices for building materials. He sat down and started making notes.

  Ken Bridger, in the next office, paced up and down for a while and then sat himself in Jim’s chair, opening each drawer and rummaging about for anything valuable. An expensive pen caught his eye, which he tried on a scrap of paper, not seeing the face peering in the window.

  Two burly men walked in and approached the desk. “Hello, Mr. Grainger. We’ve come to see you about a job.”

  Ken was taken by surprise. “B-But I’m not Mr ...” His sentence was cut off abruptly as one of the men moved quickly around the desk, and clamped his hand over the frightened man’s mouth. They quickly pushed him outside into the shadows and behind a pile of bricks. Whilst one man had his hand over Ken’s mouth, the other had a firm grip on his arm, which was twisted up behind his back.

  Ken found himself looking at a grinning big dark man, who spoke in a high pitched tone. “Well, Grainger, I’ve wanted to kill you for a long time. Now I’m being paid for it.” He landed a heavy punch to Ken’s stomach and Ken pitched forward groaning, whilst the other man stood back laughing. Ken struggled to get up, clasping his painful stomach, but the big man pulled him upright and crashed his huge fist under his chin, his jaw bone breaking with a sickening crack, and he fell unconscious on to the soft earth. The big man gave a short burst of laughter and said, “Right, we’ll carry him around the back of that show house.”

  They picked him up between them and made their way, mostly in the shadows, to the show house back door, which was locked. They dropped the unfortunate man on the concrete path, the big man kicked the door in and they picked him up again, carried him upstairs and left him on a bedroom floor.

  After about five minutes Ken regained consciousness and tried to get up, but without success, as his whole body was shaking and he collapsed again. The two men returned after going back to their car for petrol cans, soaked the stairs, floors and all the ground floor carpets. Ken smelt the fumes and tried to crawl towards the stairs, but as he got nearer he smelt smoke and flames billowed up the stairs, meeting him on the landing. Alth
ough he tried to cry out, his jaw would not move. The smoke made his eyes stream and breathing difficult. He retreated back into the bedroom but the fire moved faster, catching up with him before he reached the window. He drew breath, screamed and choked. The air was filled with black smoke, flames and fumes from the furniture, and he only breathed in twice more before the poisoned air killed him.

  The two men watched from the back of the house as flames leapt out of the bedroom window. This convinced them their job was done, and they ran around the house towards the car parked beyond the site building.

  Jim finished his long phone call, and was relieved when he returned to his office and found his visitor had gone. He sat down, thinking Ken must have changed his mind about needing a job, but then he saw his pen on the desk and one of the drawers open. Searching all the drawers he found nothing of value missing, and he sat back wondering why the pen was lying there — perhaps he had not remembered using it. His deliberations were interrupted by a crackling sound, and when he looked out of the window he could not believe his eyes — the show house was on fire.

  He ran to the door and for a split second stood staring at the blaze, but a movement around the side of the house averted his gaze. Two men were running towards him, the first was twenty yards away when Jim recognised his face. The last time he had seen that man was on the night of the fire at Manor Farm, and his mind flashed back to remember the man standing over his dead companion.

  Jim roared with anger as he ran towards the two men, who saw him and ran back towards the shadows, but Jim ran around the burning house and gained on them. As he looked back at the flames, an explosion rippled through the house and temporarily blinded him, but he turned away and ran on, his eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness again. He saw a figure standing still in front of him and lunged forward, but tripped over a concrete block and fell headlong in the mud. He struggled to get up, but a blow on the back of his head knocked him out.

  The smaller of the two men threw down a short length of scaffold pipe and said, “Come on, let’s get out of ’ere.”

  “We ought to finish ’im,” said his companion.

  “What for? He’s only a labourer. Look at his clothes.”

  “That’s true. And he didn’t really see us.”

  They ran for their car just as people from the completed houses were emerging to watch the fire. Jim lay unseen behind a large stack of blocks and bricks. The fire brigade worked all night but were unable to save the house, and all that remained in the morning were the brick walls. They started sifting through the debris at first light and discovered the charred unrecognisable remains of a male body.

  Jim regained a sort of hazy consciousness an hour before dawn. Hearing loud noises which hurt his head, he crawled slowly away from the fire not knowing where he was, or in which direction he was going — his only need was for peace, his memory was lost and his past was a blank. When he tried to stand up he collapsed again, giddy and unbalanced, but eventually he reached the edge of the site on all fours. A light breeze blew country smells into his nostrils and spurred him forward to the open pasture fields, and after crawling through a gap in the hedge, he sat still in the half-light watching the red glow of sunrise emerging on the horizon. Birds started singing in the hedge close by and his memory began to return, but only the part appertaining to his life spent in the forest.

  Sometime later he felt better and got to his feet slowly, walking unsteadily beside the hedge. As he walked, the memory of his time living among the animals and birds became clearer. He searched the area for trees and saw woodland at the other end of the field through which he was strolling.

  It had become light when he reached the wood. He entered it slowly, trying not to disturb the wildlife. The morning chorus reached a crescendo as he walked among tall beech and oak trees, and sunlight filtered through, shining on the droplets of dew clinging to leaves and twigs. He examined a droplet closely, marvelling at the colours contained within its round shape. Then he walked slowly on as though in a trance, sitting for a while on a fallen tree trunk, just taking in the tranquil atmosphere of a forest clearing with flowering heather growing in the sandy soil. Only thirty yards away, a young deer broke cover on the other side of the clearing. At first she stood motionless staring at Jim, but then twitched her ears forward sniffing the air, and moving forward she nibbled at a tuft of grass, lifting her head with grass hanging out of her mouth. She munched slowly but after a few minutes disappeared between the trees. Jim watched her go as he took a deep breath of air, filling his lungs with sweet tasting country fragrance

  Sounds were emerging from the forest all around him, all familiar friendly noises. A rabbit stuck its head out from under the heather, only two yards from him, wriggling its nose about, sniffing and disappearing again. Jim stroked the hair away from his face, and whilst smoothing it backwards his hand touched a big lump on the back of his head, which was sore and throbbed. He got up from his tree trunk and walked to the centre of the clearing, finding a large-leafed plant with water collected on its soft green surface. He bent down low to suck the liquid into his mouth, finding it tasted pure and refreshing.

  As he walked into the forest again, over a carpet of leaves and twigs which crackled as he trod, the ground felt springy, making walking a pleasure, and he reached the edge of the forest to look out across a field of grass and clover. Cows were eating nearby and, seeing him standing there, they wandered over. Four of them gradually edged closer, lifting their large noses up to his face to sniff and then breathing out steam through giant nostrils. Jim slowly lifted his hands to rub the nearest cow’s ears, and she responded by moving nearer. Then he heard a high-pitched whistle and saw a man in the distance. The cows turned and walked away as Jim disappeared back into the forest. He walked for a while, but started to feel tired and when he came to a clearing again, he curled up in the heather and fell into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Billy Bradford turned into the building site with a van full of workers, but stopped suddenly, horrified at the sight of the show house completely gutted. He nearly fell out of the door and ran across to a group of firemen. “When did this happen?”

  “Last night,” said one of the men. “Are you anything to do with Grainger Construction?”

  “Yes. Site foreman.”

  “Where’s the boss?”

  Billy spun around and saw the Morris pick-up in the same place as the previous evening. “He must be about somewhere.”

  A grim-faced fireman moved closer. “We’ve searched the office and site, but can’t find anyone.”

  “He was here last night.”

  A policeman intervened. A young plain clothes officer, who stared straight into Billy’s eyes with a stern expression. “When did you last see Mr. Grainger?”

  “Last night at about 8.30.”

  “Would he have left the office unlocked and the door open?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  “We’ve recovered the body of a tall man from the fire.”

  “Oh, my God. Is it Jim?”

  “We’re assuming it’s Mr. Grainger.”

  “Has anyone told Rosie?”

  “Who’s Rosie?”

  “The lady he lodges with.”

  “No, not yet.”

  “I’d better tell her before she reads it in the newspaper.”

  “After you’ve answered some more questions.”

  They walked across to the office to avoid the press. Billy answered a lot of questions and finally was asked, “Did anyone have a reason to kill your boss?”

  “No one I can think of.” He thought for a minute. “Are the Briggs mob still inside?”

  “Yes. I know what you’re thinking. Perhaps they got someone to settle their old score.”

  “So you know about his past?”

  “Yes of course. I’ll check into his known associates.”

  Billy drove the old van towards Kingston, feeling distraught at having lost such a good friend and worrie
d about how Rosie would take the news. She was standing at the kitchen door as he approached through the back garden. Her white hair was untidy and she looked ill. Before Billy could speak she said, “What’s happened to ’im?”

  “Let’s go inside, Rosie.”

  They went through to the sitting room and sat down and she said softly. “They’ve finally got ’im, haven’t they?”

  “I’m sorry, Rosie. There’s been a fire and the body of a man was recovered. They’re pretty sure it’s Jim.”

  Rosie slumped forward, head in hands, and cried bitterly. Billy got up quietly and walked into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a cup of tea, but Rosie could not be consoled. After about half an hour she stopped crying and just stared at the floor. “I’ll be all right now,” she whispered.

  Billy left the house and returned to the site where men were standing about talking in low tones, and staring at the blackened shell. The firemen had finished damping down and were packing up. He got the men together in the office and spoke clearly. “We’re all shattered at the news and none of us feels like work, so we’d better all go home.”

  One of the younger men stepped forward. “What’d Jim have wanted us to do?”

  “Work like ’ell,” another man growled.

  The others nodded and they filed out to carry on with the construction of houses. Billy was left feeling guilty at his own weakness and worried about running the business. He sat down heavily, thinking about the problems facing him and how he was going to pay the wages. There was all the paperwork Jim used to do late into the night, and he was just beginning to panic when a knock on the door made him jump.