Stealth

by Stan Mason

  The three police officers alighted from the vehicle and looked upwards trying to ascertain the number of the flat where Wilson was supposed to reside.

  ‘He robbed a bank holding a shotgun,’ ventured Trenchard warily with an element of concern in his voice. ‘He’s probably still got it with him.’

  ‘He’s a burglar and a bank robber,’ returned Frazier swiftly. ‘He’s not a murderer. I don’t think we need to get back up on this occasion.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that we’d better be prepared.’ continued the junior police officer. ‘We don’t want to be caught in the line of fire.’

  They climbed the stairs until they came to the appropriate landing and walked along it staring at the numbers on the doors. Shortly, they came to the one they were looking for and Frazier hammered on the door with his fist in anticipation of getting a successful result. A woman in a dressing-gown answered the call and scanned them up and down with a doleful expression on her face.

  ‘I’ve already got a carpet cleaner and I don’t want to buy anything!’ she snapped curtly, although she knew immediately that they were not salesmen.

  ‘We’re police officers,’ explained Marley firmly. ‘We’re here to speak with Fred Wilson. Will you get him please!’

  ‘I knew you were the cops,’ returned the woman blandly. ‘You’ve all got big feet. You couldn’t fool me in a million years!’

  ‘We’d like to speak with Mr. Wilson,’ repeated Frazier becoming impatient. He had no time for frivolity about the police force. They were on a serious mission to arraign an armed bank robber.

  The woman moved forward a pace menacingly, her face turning to anger. ‘Well if you find him,’ she snarled, ‘tell his this place is a mess. It’s taken me all week to straighten it out at my time and expense!’

  Marley stepped back almost in fear that the woman would assault him. ‘Are you telling me he doesn’t live here?’ he demanded, angrily even before the woman could provide an answer.

  ‘Left here two weeks ago,’ she exclaimed irately, the anger showing in her face.

  ‘Are you certain?’ enquired Frazier, believing that she was providing the man with an alibi.

  ‘Come in and see for yourself!’ came the stern reply.

  The three policemen looked at each other and Marley sniffed the stench coming from inside the flat before deciding not to take up the offer.

  ‘Do you know where he went?’ cut in Trenchard, unwilling to be left out of the conversation.

  ‘As I said,’ repeated the woman sharply. ‘If you find him, I want a word with him and that’s not all. He left me with no money. I’ve got bills which have a final demand. You might tell him that the next time you see him!’

  ‘That’ll resolve a lot of problems,’ muttered Marley under his breath but the words were so incoherent no one could understand them,

  Before they could say another word, the woman slammed the door in their faces leaving them out in the cold.

  ‘Do you think she was telling the truth?’ asked Trenchard naively.

  ‘No one tells the truth around here,’ uttered Frazier harshly. ‘They’re all bloody criminals one way or another.’

  Marley turned on Trenchard with anger in his voice. ‘So much for your grass, Trenchard. Got any other ideas?’

  ‘As it happens I have,’ returned the junior police officer calmly. ‘My grass gave me another address in case he’d moved.’

  ‘You know you ought to write a book of fiction about your grass,’ chided Marley trying to hold back his temper. ‘Okay. Spill it out!’

  ‘It’s fourteen Linford Terrace... still in Charnley Wood.’

  The senior police officer exhaled deeply. ‘Very well. Let’s try that one but if we’re on another wild goose chase, you can kiss your promotion goodbye, Trenchard!’

  They climbed back into the car and made their way to Linfield Terrace, parking a short distance away across the road from number fourteen.

  ‘Maybe just one of us should go,’ suggested Marley. ‘If he sees the three of us, he’ll be out of the back door like a shot and disappear.’

  ‘Why don’t we cover the back as well,’ cut in Trenchard brightly.

  ‘That’s no good. He’ll soon spot anyone guarding the rear. He’ll probably jump over the neighbour’s fence and escape that way,’ continued Marley.

  ‘Who’s going then?’ asked the junior police officer.

  There was silence for a short while and then Trenchard decided to become a hero. ‘I’ll do it. After all, I’m only going to ask if he’s there. It’s not as though I’m going to arrest him on my own. You two will back me up, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ uttered Frazier although the tone in his voice was without conviction. ‘That’s what we’re here for. All you have to do is to ask him to come down to the station. We can sort him out there.’

  Trenchard nodded and alighted from the car, walking over the road to the house. He went boldly up to the front door and hammered on it with the large rusty knocker. A man with a white T-shirt opened it and stared at him bleakly.

  ‘Whatcha want!’ he snarled looking as menacing with a face resembling a rotweiller.

  ‘I’m a friend of Fred Wilson,’ the police officer told him. ‘I owe him some money and I want to pay it to him,’

  The man rubbed his hand over his face which hadn’t been shaved for at least a week. ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ he retorted irately. ‘If I ever get me ‘ands on that git, I’ll wring ‘is bloody neck. ’E owes me two months rent. But if you’ve got money you owe ‘im, I’ll take it from you.’

  ‘Well it’s not as simple as that,’ returned Trenchard, as fear began to course through his body. He had dug a hole for himself and now he was having to find a way out. ‘It’s kind of complicated.’

  ‘’Ave you or ‘ave you not got ‘is money! Because if you ‘ave, you can give it to me fer ‘is arrears.’

  At that point, Trenchard took fright. He turned and ran as fast as he could down the garden path, almost pulling the small iron gate off its rusted hinges and he raced across the road to the waiting police car. As he climbed inside, Marley stared at him in surprise.

  ‘What the hell’s going on, Trenchard?’ he demanded sharply.

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ uttered the junior police officer trying to catch his breath. ‘Wilson’s not there any more.’

  ‘So much for your bloody grass!‘ snarled the senior man. ‘The next time he gives you any information, don’t bother to tell me what it is. I don’t want to know!’

  ‘Back to the station?’ intervened Frazier tiredly.

  ‘Yes,’ responded the senior police officer. ‘Put on the siren or we’ll be late for lunch.’

  The police car set off with its siren blaring and Marley felt his blood-pressure rise. Fred Wilson was the utter limit. He was like a slippery eel and no one could nail him down. It was a time for further despair and desperation. However he knew that the criminal couldn’t hide for ever. Now that he was in action again, he would soon be caught and punished. Marley couldn’t wait for that time to come. He could hardly wait!

  Chapter Eight

  Despite half-an-hour passing by at Sam’s father’s house, there was still no proper discussion concerning the next bank raid by the four criminals. They had shouted insults at each other with extraordinary bad language, but there was no progress with regard to any future plans. They continued to argue for quite some time until there came a loud repeated banging on the ceiling from the walking cane of Sam’s father upstairs. It was only then that they calmed down as Sam rose from his seat to answer the call.

  ‘It’s the old man,’ he told them glumly. ‘I’d better see what he wants.’

  As he left the room, Brad looked at the other two men with a slight smile on his face. ‘Did you hear the one ab
out the man who tried to rob a bank but he was Irish with a very strong Irish accent. Very shortly, the police came and arrested him and he was sentenced to four years in prison. When he spoke, the Warden couldn’t understand him either so he put him in a cell with a convicted teacher who taught the Irishman the way to speak properly. When he was released, he could speak with a very posh accent. Without delay, he sawed off a shotgun and went into a bank to rob it. In educated tones he told the cashier to hand over the money. ’You’re Irish, aren’t you?’ said the cashier. ’How did you know that?’ asked the Irishman in perfect English ’Well.’ she said, ‘you’ve sawn the wrong end off the ruddy shotgun!’

  He burst into laughter but Ginger stared at him angrily.

  ‘Oy!’ he shouted. ‘My grandfather was Irish!’

  ‘No offence against the Irish,’ retorted Brad inoffensively. ‘It’s only a joke.’

  Ginger clearly disagreed with him. ‘Too many people take the mickey out of the Irish!’ he complained. ‘They’re a very intelligent people.’

  ‘Pity it doesn’t pass down to their offspring,’ muttered the getaway driver almost under his breath.

  At that moment, Sam returned to the room with an ostensibly painful expression on his face. ‘The old man’s complaining there’s too much noise going on. We need to keep it down, fellas.’

  ‘Let’s get on with planning the next bank raid, for God’s sake!’ declared Wilson angrily. ‘We’ve wasted too much time arguing. I say that we do the same bank again, only this time we do it properly.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Brad boldly. ‘What do we need to do for it to be proper?’

  ‘One of us needs to go into the bank to sus out everything. The security system, the number of cashiers, the office of the Manager, and how to get to the safe. We need to rob it when there are less customers around. We also need to find out when any money’s delivered, and so on.’

  ‘That’s a lot for one man to do,’ ventured Ginger, trying to get his head around all the details.

  ‘If we don’t plan it properly, we’ll never succeed,’ responded the leader curtly. ‘It has to be like a military operation.’

  ‘Will there be tanks?’ asked Ginger naively.

  They all ignored the question as though he hadn’t spoken and carried on talking.

  ‘Enough!’ yelled Wilson after a short while. ‘We need to get down to brass tacks. Now the same person doesn’t have to do all those things I mentioned. We can split it up two or three ways. The important thing is not to draw attention to ourselves. It needs to be like guerrilla warfare.’

  ‘How did monkeys get in on the act?’ asked Ginger puzzled by the term.

  ‘Monkeys?’ snapped Sam. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Gorilla warfare... monkeys!’ returned Ginger naively.

  Sam threw his empty can of beer at the other man in disgust. He couldn’t make up his mind whether Ginger was cracking a joke or not but, in any case, he decided that the man was a complete fool.

  ‘I still think we should stick to burglary,’ stated Brad firmly. ‘It’s so much less complicated.’ He picked up the last can of beer and opened it, drinking from it noisily.

  ’We must act more professionally this time,’ continued Wilson without responding to the other man’s suggestion. ‘What I mean to say is that each one of you needs to concentrate on what you’re doing. We’re robbing a bank to get money. There’s no time to pussy-foot around. You, Sam, need to be more firmer with the cashiers. Put the fear of God into them. Make them open all their drawers, including those beneath the safe where they keep bundles of cash. And you, Brad, go straight to the Manager’s office and snatch the keys from him.’

  ‘Hold on!’ objected Ginger. ‘That’s my job!’

  ‘You’re going to be the getaway driver, Ginger. That’s what you do best.’

  ‘I don’t wanna be the getaway driver,’ stated the other man irately.

  ‘You’ll do what you’re told!’ came the stern response. ’or you don’t come with us at all!’

  Ginger turned to face the fireplace and began to bang his hand repeatedly on the mantelshelf in a temper.

  ‘Take no notice,‘ suggested Brad flatly. ‘He get over it.’

  ‘If I do that,’ uttered Ginger turning towards them, ‘I want a proper car... one that works!’

  ‘That, I think, is a priority,’ said Wilson. ‘How are you getting on with the Brad?’

  ‘I‘m going to steal a white van a couple of hours before we hit the bank.’

  ‘What if I can’t get the Manager’s keys to the safe?’ asked Sam. ‘Come to think of it, we‘d be better off to take Will Hunter with us. He‘s really good at those things.’

  ‘I‘m ahead of you there, Sam,’ declared the leader blatantly. ‘I’ve already invited him. He should be here any moment.’.

  ‘Can I have a gun?’ asked Ginger cutting into the conversation. ‘I could still be in the bank and run out in time to drive the car away. I can be the lookout.’

  Wilson looked up to the ceiling in frustration. Ginger was not his favourite man for the bank raid. Before anyone could continued, there was a knock on the front door and Sam went to answer it and admitted answered Will Hunter.

  ‘Ah!’ said Wilson as he entered the room. ‘Our white knight on a horse.’

  Ginger stared at the man with a strange expression on his face. ‘I don’t see no horse!’ he bleated.

  ‘Hi, fellas,’ greeted Will immodestly. ‘You called for an expert and now you’ve got one.’

  Brad snorted as though he disliked the man. ‘Here we go with the bull!’ he uttered disconsolately.

  Hunter sat down beside Wilson on the old sofa and stared at them all. ‘ must say it’s good to be part of a robbery with you guys, What’s the job?’ he asked with interest.

  ‘A little French bank in the City. Do you want in?’ enquired Sam.

  ‘Can’t wait to get my hands dirty again. But why that one?’

  ‘It’s small and easily accessible.’ cut in Brad dryly.

  ‘Hm... sounds okay to me. I’ll bring my magnum,’ returned Hunter thoughtfully. ‘When’s it gonna happen?’

  ‘We’ve some working out to do but it’ll be soon,’ Wilson told him.

  Hunter nodded his head slowly. ‘Makes my mouth water to be back in the game again. I’ve robbed four banks so far and got away with it each time,‘ he boasted.’.

  Sam entered the conversation again. ‘No one’s told you that we already robbed the same bank.’

  ‘How much did you get?’ asked the newcomer with surprise.

  ‘Never mind,’ intervened Wilson ashamedly. ‘Just be ready. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘It was just over two hundred quid,’ admitted Sam with chagrin.

  Wilson removed his cap and swiped Sam over the head again in annoyance. ‘Why don’t you shut your cake-hole!’ he shouted.

  Hunter stared at them strangely. ‘Is that all,’ he managed to say beginning to have his doubts about joining them.

  ‘It’ll be worth our while next time,’ said the leader in a hopeful tone. ‘This time we’re going to plan the strategy and tactics instead of just barging in blindly.’

  ‘Strategy... tactics! Where did you learn those words?’ asked Brad looking astonished.

  ‘I heard them spoken by a politician on television, but I’m darned if I know what they mean.’ admitted Wilson candidly.

  ‘Okay,’ rendered Hunter, somewhat warily because he wasn’t sure that the gang knew exactly what they were doing. ‘Set out your plan. I want to see it before I commit myself fully.’

  Wilson shrugged his shoulders. ‘The pen is mightier than the sword,’ he uttered.

  They all looked at him with surprise on their faces. As far as they were concern
ed, he seemed to have gone off his head.

  ‘Is this the man whose face launched a thousand ships,’ cut in Brad to fill the silence that existed even though no one understood what he meant.

  After a brief moment of silence, then they all started to shout again with Sam’s father banging his walking stick repetitively on the ceiling to shut them up. This was going to be a tough assignment for all of them and there was an incredible amount of doubt, indecision, uncertainty and apprehension. If it was going to take place, it was going to be one hell of a robbery. But no one could guarantee what they would come away with of whether any of them might be captured. It was all done to luck with no safety net arranged in case of fall-out”

  ***

  On the following Wednesday, Paula came to Waverley’s house to take him to the next rehearsal. She got out of her car and walked up the path to ring the doorbell. There was no immediate answer so she rang it again. She waited a while longer and, after pressing it again, to receive no reply, she turned to leave. She hesitated for a while puzzled as to the reason why he failed to respond. However, as she started to walk down the path, the door opened and Waverley appeared.

  ‘Are you ready?’ she asked as he stared bleakly at her. She paused when he didn’t answer. ‘You’ve change your mind again, haven‘t you? Well I’ve come here on my winged chariot to rescue you from your delirium. You can’t let me down, Neil. Come on... we have to go!’

  He looked at her with an expression showing that he was about to refuse but then he reconciled.’

  ‘Be with you in a minute,’ he told her, going back inside to get his coat. He returned shortly and went to her car in the driveway. He opened the door on the passenger’s side before looking at her and raising an objection.