by H G White
‘Well Jeremy, as you’ll no doubt be aware, the violent storm that hit the area last night brought with it a substantial amount of rainfall, and it is due to this inclement weather that police have been left a multitude of clues, including many shoe prints.’
‘Are the police saying anything else?’
‘Yes, these are ruthless and violent career criminals and, should any member of the public come across them, under no circumstances are they to be approached. The police have given us a hotline number for anyone with information that may lead to the arrest of the gang. The number is 0800 555 111.’
‘Thank you Jane. Our reporter: Jane Horton there, listeners …’
***
Phil, Vaughan and I were sitting in the saloon with Peach up on deck at the tiller. It wouldn’t be long before we’d be meeting Neil then swapping the safe for Peachy’s bike and getting Vaughan’s gear back in the van.
‘Fuck! It sounds like we’re going to get caught.’
Vaughan raised his hand and smiled. ‘Will, you panic too much. Things are going to be just fine. Adhere to our plan and nothing will go wrong, I assure you. We all wore gloves and balaclavas. What can they have? A few footprints, and that is all. The clothing and shoes will be incinerated back at Newton Manor. Now have another cup of tea and think about something else.’
The Principal was so calm and collected. I don’t know how he managed it, but then, he’d been there, seen it, done it and got the T-shirt. At least there was one consolation: no-one would try and tackle me. I might be the ‘New Boy’ but I was a ruthless and violent career criminal not to be approached by any member of the public!
***
We carried out the rest of the plan exactly as Vaughan had indicated. It was early Monday morning when I dropped the van back at the hire office. The safe was now sitting in Vaughan’s workshop, locked away. And all our robbery clothing and shoes had been burned to virtually nothing. I began to rest easy again. Peach would be leaving the boat berthed in a marina on the grand union for a few days. Phil, who’d been dropped back in Bristol, was going to pick up Peach and Vaughan in his car and travel to Newton Manor where Neil and I had arranged to meet them. Come Wednesday morning, all our questions would be answered. Most of them, anyway.
The robbery had been big news in the Midlands but it hardly merited a mention in our little part of the world. When Wednesday finally arrived, once again the nerves started to kick-in.
Pulling up on Vaughan’s driveway, we could see Phil’s car. They’d beaten us to it. I wondered if Vaughan had managed to contain himself and not open the safe before our arrival. As we walked around the back of the house to the workshop we could hear laughter. The three of them were having a cup of tea and a chat. Well two of them were drinking tea; Phil was on the bottled water.
We shook hands. Vaughan had been doing some preparation. The two large filing cabinets against the workshop’s back wall contained a wealth of information regarding different safes and their individual specifications. On the table were technical drawings. One had the company name Weddon & Mather in the top right corner, the same name painted on the safe now standing before us.
‘So then chaps, now we’re all here shall we see what lies within?’ We nodded.
‘Good. Neil lock the door would you? We don’t want any unwanted guests “barging” in, if you’ll excuse the pun, now, do we?’
Neil locked the door. Vaughan studied the drawing, and then using a metre rule, he carefully worked out the specific point of entry needed to avoid the safe’s defensive countermeasures. Picking up a drill with a very long bit, he started drilling downwards at an angle on the front of the safe door.
The process was loud and took some time. I could understand why he hadn’t wanted to do this on site. After a short while, the bit became blunt. Vaughan continued with a second before eventually completing the task. He picked up an object from the table. It looked not too dissimilar to the torches that opticians and doctors use to look at people’s eyes and ears, except it had a long, thin, rigid sort of probe attached to it.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘This Will, is what is commonly known as a fibre optic borescope. We insert this here like so ...’
He was pushing the probe into the hole he had just drilled.
‘And with a little bit of luck, all will be revealed to your Uncle Vaughan!’
He looked through the eyepiece part of the borescope and into the inner workings of the safe mechanism. He began to turn the combination dial from left to right, sometimes several turns in one direction, and then perhaps only a turn or so in the other. Finally, he pushed the dial inwards and it clicked. He moved the safe handle downwards and pulled the door open. There, in front of us, the contents of the safe were at last exposed.
There were two shelves almost full of papers and a medium-sized box. Peach immediately grabbed the box. He put it on the table and we all gathered round. It wasn’t locked. Peach lifted the lid. Inside, sitting neatly on top of one another, were three books. Peach lifted the top one carefully. It had a brown and green leather binding. On the side in gold lettering the initials JTB, beneath the letters was the Roman numeral ‘I’. We had the journals.
***
Peach had brought with him all the tools he needed to perform the extraction together with a temperature and humidity-controlled archive box. Once he’d removed the promissory note he would place it in the box and stop any deterioration taking place.
As I watched Trev going to work, Phil started rummaging through the papers that were left on the safe shelves. He was not happy.
‘There are only commissions for paintings and sculpture here. Where’s the three million the radio’s been banging on about?’
Vaughan looked at him. ‘Sadly, the world is full of dishonest people Philip. You can’t trust anybody these days. I suspect that someone is working an insurance scam.’
‘That’s all well and good Vaughan but if I’m going to be appearing on Crimewatch, I’d at least like something to show for it!’
‘I thought we did this to obtain the journals Philip.’
‘Yes we did Vaughan, but it would have been nice to have taken home a little bit of treasure.’
Phil had distracted me with his hunt for extra booty. I turned my attention back to the archivist and his search. Peach had cut open the binding on the first journal. It hadn’t contained the note. He was now starting to work on the second. I was beginning to get a bad feeling. As he continued to edge the binding away carefully, making sure not to damage anything underneath, he cursed. Things were definitely not looking good.
He took the last journal, placed it on the table and gave it the same treatment as volumes I and II. As Trev finally peeled away the last piece of binding, we gasped at the sight before our eyes. There it was. Staring up at us from the table. Absolutely nothing!
We had gone through that whole escapade for a big fat zero. Phil was pissed off; Neil was silent. It was Peach I felt sorry for. He had given his all to this quest – money, time and effort. He now felt embarrassed. I could see it, so could Vaughan. Phil was still moaning about the three million.
Vaughan walked over to the flight case that contained the explosives. I wondered what he was going to do. He opened it and pulled back some sacking. Underneath were half a dozen bottles of champagne. There never had been any explosives. It was all a wind-up. He’d made us bring the case along so that, had he cracked the safe on the night of the robbery and we’d found the note, we’d have been able to have a good celebration at his expense.
He took a bottle out. ‘Come on chaps, we did pretty well for a first effort. Let’s have a glass, and drink to “absent documents”.’
We all joined him for a drink. He was trying to cheer us up and we couldn’t have asked any more from the man. Without his help we would never have managed to complete the robbery. But we didn’t really feel in a champagne mood.
We sat there awhile, talking. Hundreds of years was
a long time; and to have expected the note to have remained hidden and not destroyed was a big ask – too big. I felt like I wanted to put the whole thing behind me and I was sure the others were having similar feelings.
I asked Vaughan what would happen to the safe and all the bits and pieces. He said not to worry, that he’d take care of it, but he’d decided that first he was going to see his sister at the weekend.
As we walked dejectedly to the cars, I suggested to Phil and Peach they come and stay at my place for the night. After all, I’d just remembered, it was Wednesday – the night of Gavin’s gig. We could take the girls with us. They thought it was a good idea.
We headed back. On the way we had to stop a couple of times for Neil. He’d been having stomach problems again.
Chapter 31
Wednesday 8 p.m. South Wales
Life’s a bummer. What more could I say?
Neil was sick as a dog, and he had a serious bout of the trots. I think the stress of the robbery was taking its toll. He wasn’t coming out. Denise said she would stay with him, but he was insistent (through the toilet door) that she go and have a good time with us. She reluctantly agreed. I was glad she was coming; it was nice for Tegan to have a girl friend with her.
So off we went to Gavin’s gig. I was probably taking a very big risk in doing so. If Gavin spotted someone he knew (and he knew plenty of people) their presence would be announced to the crowd – usually in some form of ridicule. But as we needed cheering up, and I had sort of said to him I'd go, go we did.
Gavin wanted to show off his new toy. Who could blame him? I was beginning to feel like the Will of old. The wonder cream my GP had prescribed had worked wonders. I could even dance if I felt like it. I didn't. But all the pain had gone. Yes the memory of the examination still remained, but that was small potatoes compared to what I'd been going through with my grapes. So the time had come to forget about the quest, and time to support Gavin.
The Coopers was a big pub. It had been called The Coopers Arms but the latest owners had decided to drop the ‘Arms’, I don't know why. I thought the name sounded better with it. The pub had a decent-size stage and the room was plenty large enough for you to make yourself heard at the bar while the band played.
Gavin’s band was a tight outfit, with him most definitely the leader. He chose the tunes, he played the solos, he was the spokesman. That was fine though because he was the personality.
The band was called ‘Pair an' a G-string’ which was pretty tame by Gavin’s standards. Gavin liked to shock, and usually did. I was quite shocked when they asked us for a tenner each at the door. Gavin had neglected to mention that bit when he came round to fix the toilet, but hey, plumbers and overcharging, who’d have thought it? Everyone needed a lift, so we handed over our dosh and in we went.
As we entered the pub, the band was just striking the last chords of the number they'd been playing. On the final cymbal crash the crowd started cheering and whistling. They were rowdy and Gavin loved every second of it.
Gavin clicked his fingers, the sound-and-lights guy plunged us into complete darkness. The crowd went very quiet indeed; you could almost hear a pin drop and then it started. Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung, Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung. The familiar guitar riff of You really got me.
The crowd started cheering; we were still in darkness. Staying in time with the music, the drummer gave the low tom a heavy clout with both sticks. As he hit the drum, a spotlight beam came on, focused to pinpoint accuracy. The room remained in darkness apart from the beam, now shining on its target.
Gavin stood there with his back to the audience. His tight leather trousers had no arse in them. He was wearing a leopard-skin thong, the glare of the beam reflecting from his shiny bare-arse cheeks. With every Chuh he'd twitch his left cheek, with every Chung he'd twitch his right. Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung, Chuh – ChungChung – Chuh Chung.
If I'm honest it was quite impressive. The cheering and whistling was getting louder. I wondered how many people in the crowd were secretly tensing their arse-cheek muscles to see if they could do it. I'd tried and failed. The twitching continued; the bass and drums were now in. Suddenly the drummer smacked the snare drum three times and Gavin swung round to face the crowd, with his husky vocals taking over from his twitching arse, the enthusiastic mob was soon in a frenzy and Gavin in his element. I looked at Tegan. She was blushing. I asked her, ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah, he's really good.’
‘He is a bit of a showman, it must be said.’
‘That arse thing. How does he do it?’
‘Oh, been trying yourself have you?’
‘No, it’s so hard to do. I just wondered, that's all.’
I'd caught her out. ‘You must have been trying, otherwise you wouldn't know.
‘Well OK, I did have a little go.’
‘I think everyone in here has been having a go.’ I suspected that Gavin had probably been practising in front of the mirror for several months to perfect his arse-cheek trick.
I decided to wind her up. ‘You can ask him when he comes over during his break.’
‘No, I'd be too embarrassed.’ Whether she was embarrassed or not, Gavin would be over in between sets.
He carried on with more of the same, guitar soloing to his heart's content. If the drummer took a 16-bar solo then Gavin took a 32-; if the bass player turned himself up a bit then Gavin turned himself up that little bit louder. It didn't matter though; he was giving good value for money.
When the end of the first set came, I found myself actually wanting more. Then Gavin addressed the crowd. ‘We're going to take a ten-minute break for quarter of an hour. See you back in thirty minutes!’
I was looking forward to having a chat and buying him a pint. He was now walking in our direction, high-fiving a few people and having a word here and there. Suddenly he was standing next to us.
‘So, what do you think?' he asked me.
‘It's very good Gavin. The crowd’s really enjoying it.’
‘How's the sound?’
‘Great, I can hear everything. You especially.’
‘Well that's the way I like it!’ He looked at Tegan. ‘Hi, we haven't been introduced. I'm Gavin, Will’s plumber.’ He grabbed her hand, put it to his mouth and kissed it.
She blushed and then answered, ‘Yes, Will told me. I'm Tegan.’
‘Tegan wants to know how you do your bum trick,' I said.
Tegan stared at me – daggers. Gavin spun round and twitched his arse at high speed L-R-L-R-L-R-L-R-L. We both started laughing. Gavin turned back round to face us. ‘Plenty of practice and natural ability. Have you tried?’
‘Yes, but I can't do it, so I'm not going to try any more,’ Tegan admitted.
It was time for a change of subject. ‘I didn't know you had such a big following Gavin.’
‘Yeah, quite a few of them are my customers. Others are friends, but all are appreciators of great music and Gluteus maxterity.’
I had to give it to Gavin. He knew how to big himself up. He also knew how to bring the subject back round to his skilful arse.
I tried to change the subject again. ‘Do you fancy a beer Gav?’
‘Negatory on that one my friend. I don't drink during performances. I have to stay on top of my game. Besides, I'm driving. Can't leave my new guitar here overnight. It might get nicked. There are a lot of envious people out there.’
‘I thought you said they were all your customers and friends.’
‘Friends they may be, but when it comes to a man's axe then it ain't worth taking the chance.’
‘If you fancy, after you're finished we could have a couple, back at mine. Leave your guitar in the house, the van’ll be safe in the street tonight and you can pick them both up tomorrow?’ I could see Gavin mulling it over.
‘Mmm …, might be a plan. Let's see how the next set goes and we'll take things from there.’
What did he mean? Was he expecting to get cann
ed off and run out of town? I couldn't see it myself, especially not with the way that the first set had gone. As Gavin took to the stage for the second time, the crowd started cheering again. Even more outrageous than the first delivery, the opening number had pyrotechnics. I thought they were illegal in pubs, but hey – this was Gavin Gittings. I guess the theory was that if anything went wrong and someone caught fire, he could always turn the water pressure up and hose 'em down.
About half-way through the second set, Gavin thought he would be funny and decided to introduce me to the crowd. He asked them to welcome his good friend over on holiday from Germany – Helmut Rhoid. I knew it had been a mistake telling him I’d been to the doctor’s.
He got the crowd to chant Helmut! a few times and then give me a round of applause. It was a bit annoying really because Phil, never one for wasting an opportunity to wind me up, decided to start calling me Helmet.
It didn’t end there. While I was at the bar, a really irritating anorak came up and asked me in a bad German accent which part of Germany I was from, to which I replied, ‘I'm from here.’
He responded in his bad German accent, ‘Herr Rhoid, it is better in Wales than in Germany, no?’
I could see he wasn't getting it, so I just humoured him. ‘Nein Dummkopf, Churmany iz far supeer-reearr und vil olvaze be mein hom-lend.’ He looked a bit insulted and buggered off. Having done my bit for Welsh–German relations, I was able to sip my pint without further annoyance.
Gavin had already played three encores, and not a man to quit while ahead, decided to give the crowd one last tune. As he exhibited his guitar-playing skills, recreating the famous solo from Another Brick in the Wall and adding a few custom licks of his own, I reflected on the evening. It had been a good shout coming to the gig. Everyone, with the exception of Neil (still back at the house and hopefully not feeling quite as ill as when we left him) had had a great time.