“He’s not here for you now, you pensioned-off old fart. And I for one won’t shed a tear.” With that, the bookmaker threw the stool to the floor where it spun like a giant top towards Moe and Downes, coming to rest at the older man’s feet. Downes appeared to be hypnotised by it.
“Now piss off.” Reluctantly, Legge let himself be persuaded back to the counter. The girl hurried to let her boss inside. With a last dismissive look back, Legge pushed past and disappeared into his office, the door slamming shut. Moe felt for the kid. Jobs must be hard to find – and keep – in an out of season resort like Baytown.
The spectating punters, suspecting the fun was over, drifted away. Moe and Swift had been so busy watching Legge go that they hadn’t seen Downes down on his knees amongst the discarded dreams and fag ends.
“Stan … what in heaven’s name … ?” Moe muttered. Downes was easing himself upright, clutching a neatly folded betting slip. Without even speaking, he nodded towards the inverted stool. At first, Moe didn’t see what he was getting at. Downes narrowed his eyes and nodded more sharply at the stool, opening up the folded bit of paper as he did so.
“Put it back up,” the old man said quietly, “and as you do it, look closely at the underside of the cushion.” Moe did as he was told. And then he saw what he was meant to see. Downes was whistling softly.
“You were right, Arthur. Your sixth sense. We were just looking in the wrong places.” He chuckled with glee. ‘And so were they.” He pressed the opened slip into Moe’s hand. “It fell out right in front of me as that oaf was waving the stool – your dad’s old stool – under my nose. I knew he hadn’t noticed. He was too busy trying to stare me down … put the frighteners on.”
Moe sank on to his dad’s old stool, fingers curling around the edge of the cushion to touch the small hole that had held its secret so well. Maurice Moe hadn’t been a prisoner of war without learning a few tricks about hiding things from the enemy in extremis. Moe cast a quick glance at the piece of paper in his hand. It was his dad’s writing all right. Four names – horses no doubt – all with prices shown … BIG prices … and ALL ticked. Moe lifted his look at Downes. The old man was grinning hugely, tears of joy threatening.
“He cracked it, Arthur, the big one. That’s a four horse win accumulator. God knows what it must be worth.” He cackled explosively, in tears of laughter. “And under fatprat’s nose all the time!”
Swift, bewildered by this turn of events, was scratching his head.
Moe leapt up, pocketing the slip. “C’mon, let’s go.” The three of them headed for the door. Moe gave the unhappy girl a big smile just as Legge appeared again. The smile got broader.
“Catch you later,” Moe called.
“You were reading my mind, Arthur,” Swift said as they went.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“HOW much?!”
Marie Mee spluttered into her spritzer, her emerging mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ of shock to match the orbs of her eyes-to-die-for.
“You heard.” Moe met her saucer stare with as much nonchalance as he could muster and pushed the betting slip towards her. “It’s on there … if you can decipher my scrawl.”
Marie abandoned her drink and grabbed the scrap of paper with unladylike haste, staring at Moe’s calculations in fascination. Moe was enjoying playing Gable to her Lombard. “That’s what we – Stan and I – reckon. Of course, any bookmaker has a ceiling – a limit on the amount paid out – but I think that my old man must have died knowing he’d landed Caesar Legge, hook, line and sinker.”
“That’s a small fortune,” Marie whispered reverently, passing the slip back to Moe. Pocketing it out of sight, Moe lowered his voice and peered out at the sprinkle of other customers from the alcove seats that he and Marie occupied in The Pig and Truffle.
“If my guess is right and Legge is having financial problems, that little pay-out would be a stake in his heart.” He grimaced. “If he has one. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke.”
“I feel faint. Can I have a drink?”
“You already have one.”
“Oh, so I have,” Marie giggled, “I must be in shock.”
“Stan told me that on the day he died, dad had insisted on getting to the bookies for the first race. Stan left him to it, as he had to go and sort out his electricity bill. But the horse that won that first race was the final bet of dad’s four timer – and ALL four won at BIG odds. And you will see that £5 goes a very long way using big numbers.”
Marie murmured into her glass. “He would have known then … when it happened … what he had done.”
Moe nodded sadly. “Yes. But he would have relished going out on the big one.”
“Arthur, you don’t think … that maybe the excitement …?”
“Brought it on?” Moe shrugged. “Unlikely. He loved a flutter but he was pretty laid-back about the whole thing. Treated triumph and disaster just the same.” Besides, he’d had plenty of time to adjust to the possibility of his last selection winning – or, more likely, falling over – before it happened. No, it was just his turn, I guess.”
“I would liked to have met him, Arthur.”
“I think the sentiment would have been mutual.”
“Fancy Stan finding it like that. As if it was meant to be. There, waiting for him.”
Moe considered this, not above believing in a little bit of divine intervention. After all, it had been Legge who had shaken that stool.
“There was no way dad was going to let Legge get hold of it, steal it, even when he knew he was so very ill. And he must have realised that he’d be at his mercy without Stan there at his side. And he was right too, if that key of his – the one found in his front door – was in his pocket that day. And I bet it was.”
“It’s so awful … so callous. Like grave robbers.”
“I’d like to think that dad tried to tell Stan somehow, but all he could do was hold his hand and squeeze it goodbye.” Moe’s eyes watered and Marie laid one hand over his. Moe looked up. “I’m OK.” Then he smiled grimly. “He managed to stuff it away in that stool knowing full well that Legge would do his best to get hold of it if he still had it with him. Dad knew his enemies! And there was a neat revenge in knowing too that it would drive Legge mad NOT finding it.”
“Serve him right. Revolting man!”
“Obsessively greedy, perhaps even desperate. Even poor Stan wasn’t to be left alone. He got a visit, he reckons, from your warden Miller, no doubt on Legge’s say-so … just in case he’d got it somehow.”
“It’s so eerie. To think I worked with him … thought I knew him. It just goes to show.” Marie shivered involuntarily. “But why was this all so personal? There must be hundreds of bets passing crossing the counter every week.”
“I don’t think Legge laid the bet himself. But he began to sweat when the first one or two won … looked closer and put two and two together as it were – sum total: my dad. And there was never any love lost in that direction, as we know. Besides, this was an exceptional winning total and would have got the bells ringing in Legge’s head soon enough.”
Marie took a tissue from her handbag and blew her nose. “It’s so unfair. For him to have triumphed like that, only to lose … everything.”
“Take it from me. Being right would have been reward enough.”
Moe was treated to an “are you kidding?” arch of Marie’s eyebrows.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he countered, “the cash would have been very welcome. But above all, dad loved the idea of beating the system, foiling the greedy money-grubbers who look upon the whole shebang like some perpetual private bank by right. And for dad, that included men like Caesar Legge. That was his real kick and I understood that.”
Marie had a funny look on her face; a wondrous incredulity. “Are you for real? Moe isn’t short for Moses, by any chance?” She tucked the tissue into her cleavage and delivered the full wattage of both lamps. “I might have had to marry your father instead.”
A warm rush circulated with Moe’s circulation.
“Instead of what?”
At that moment, the loudspeaker on the wall above their heads burst into life.
“Ladies and gentlemen, once again for your entertainment … please welcome the dynamic Miss Rachel Harmony!”
There was a whirlwind of movement beside them and Swift sat down with a bang, shaking his head and splattering them with rain.
“Phew, in the nick of time … to coin a phrase.” He grinned and spun around to face the small stage, to be repaid with a flash of perfect ivory teeth and a meaningful rendition of ‘Love Walked In’.
The applause was fading reluctantly as Rachel joined them.
“How’s my favourite porker?” She leaned against Swift, consoling herself with a lingering peck on his cheek as he moved to protect his thigh.
“You’d have been nearer the mark with ‘Stormy Weather’. Look at me!” Swift brushed back wet straggly hair with one hand, the other being occupied elsewhere. Rachel rumpled his hair again.
“Hark at him! You’d think he’d just blown in from the Roaring Forties.”
“Isn’t that where you get your songs?” Swift was up for it. Rachel’s teeth flashed and she made a grab for his leg. But for one so large, Swift was surprisingly agile and he swung out of harm’s way, grabbing her hand and kissing it.
“I thought the roaring forties was a time of life,” Moe chuckled to no one in particular.
“Speak for yourself, buster!” Marie shot back. Moe held up both hands. “I do, I do.”
Swift indicated the rain streaming down the nearest window.
“They said it would get lively and for once they were right.”
“No-one with better things to do would want to be out tonight,” Swift remarked, “present company excepted.” Rachel looked at Moe and Marie.
“Talking of being out, where is that lovely man who was with you last time? Stan, wasn’t it?”
Moe answered for both of them. “He’s at home watching an old film. Some sand and sandals epic called ‘Land of the Far-Offs’, I think.”
Marie rolled her eyes at Rachel. “It was ‘Land of the Pharaohs’ and well he knows it. Men!”
Rachel signalled her complete understanding. “Remember me to that man,” she said, clearly meaning it. Moe said he would.
“Oops, time for my next number. Don’t go away.” Rachel was gone in a cloud of scent, blowing kisses back at them as she went. Swift leaned over to Moe.
“To mundane things like money for a moment. I wouldn’t leave it too long if I were you. The DCI was making noises about getting Legge in for an interview based on what you told me. That, and finding his car for forensic examination.”
“Better late than never,” Moe replied drily.
“All I’m saying is, if you want to get any sight of your dad’s winnings, you should get on to it ASAP. Assuming, of course, that you think he’ll pay up.”
Marie butted in, pink with indignation. “And why not? A bet’s a bet.”
Swift was entirely sympathetic but Moe saw what he was driving at. “He’s got a point. Legge isn’t the sort to part with that sort of money gracefully. He’d rather pull out his own teeth with pliers.”
“Then I’ll go with you. Let me be the one to collect. I’d like to see how he tries to wriggle out of paying a poor defenceless girl.”
Swift lit up, slapping his hands together like a pudgy seal.
“That’s IT, Arthur! She’d be perfect. What chance would Legge have? AND he couldn’t complain about being leant on by the forces of law and order. We just lurk in the background and let Marie do her stuff.” The CID man grinned hugely at Marie. “And I for one am looking forward to seeing the show.”
Moe looked at Marie, still unsure that he wanted to subject her to this. But she was nodding happily back at him. “All right”, he agreed. “I can always photo-copy dad’s betting slip – just in case. That way, we can prove the existence of the original if we have to. And you are my witnesses.”
“He’s hardly likely to have any amount of money on the premises. Would you trust his cheque?” Swift rubbed his nose. “Know what I mean?”
Moe considered this. “You could always keep him in custody until it clears.”
………………………………..
Moe wished he’d resisted the wind-up. He’d have to make more effort now. Women were different when it came to certain things and his joke about love being a form of ‘foetal attraction’ hadn’t gone down well with Marie. One minute, he was laughing at his own joke, the next he was out of the door and into the pouring rain, with her brusque but not altogether unforgiving goodbye in his ear.
“Ring me in the morning.”
Her door had slammed with forceful finality for the night, the indoor light going off almost immediately. Finito la musica, Moe mused miserably as he headed for his car.
Turning from the coast road into Badger’s Bay Holiday Park, Moe checked his watch by the street lamp’s lurid orange glow. One thirty. It had been an eventful – some might even say exciting – evening. Now all he wanted was sleep.
As was his habit now, Moe killed the engine and free-wheeled, silent and unlit, to his usual parking space. He cruised to a stop, the front wheels of the Astra nudging the lines that marked the perimeter of the parking bay.
The wind and rain snatched away the clunk of his driver’s door slotting home. Hastily, he locked up and headed up the steps towards his caravan. Its silhouette emerged from the squally blackness, swaying like a good drunk on a bad night. He scrambled home his key, opened the door and reached inside to flick on the light.
The rocking motion was like being on a small boat at sea. Moe stood in the doorway, feeling all at sea, and looked back out. The light over his shoulder bounced into the gloom beyond and as Moe blinked in amazement, a number of shadowy forms emerged from the undergrowth at the base of Badger’s Knoll and began to crawl towards him.
“Bloody hell!” Moe muttered to himself. A badger’s convention. He was backing into his caravan when one of the badgers rose up on its hind legs in the inky shadows and swore softly at him.
“Bloody ’ell, Arthur. Do you want to cock everything up?”
The distinctly un-badger-like admonishment succeeded in reducing Moe to dumb amazement as its utterer crawled past him into the caravan.
“Shut the damn door.” A raised balaclava revealed Harry Mee.
“Good God!” Moe whispered, “the brother.” Then anger took over. You scared the shit out of me.” He rounded on the younger man, aware through the closing door of the other shapes receding rapidly into the night – and presumably, back to their hiding places in the undergrowth. Harry Mee lay still, holding up a police warrant card.
“And how do you think we feel, you turning up so early? How were we to know it was you and not …” He cut off in mid-sentence.
Moe was doing his best to put his resisting mental faculties into some semblance of normality. Not unused to life’s surprises, he was determined to enter into whatever bizarre situation he had fallen into and at least get some fun from it.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to make inspired guesses as we go? This is still my home, you know.”
At that, his companion had the grace to look a little sheepish; contrite even. But he was still careful enough to keep his voice low.
“I guess we owe you that much. No doubt Mr Tighe will oblige in person. The boss is out in the bushes, playing Errol Flynn playing General Custer. Just carry on as you’d normally do,” he gave Moe a lopsided grin, “after coming back from a dalliance with my dear older sister.”
Moe was curious now, “That Mr Tighe you mentioned wouldn’t by chance be a detective inspector with Baytown CID, would he?” His question received an affirmative nod.
“They … we … have been sussing out your movements, checking on how late you get back. You’ve been giving them … us … some very late nights. You wer
e never this early. Anything wrong?”
Moe began to steam up again. “Well, pardon me all to hell. If I’d known, I’d have sent you my itinerary to ease your minds.”
“All right … all right, don’t lose your temper.”
“And don’t blame me. Tell them it was your sister!”
“As if I’d mention her name. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“And another thing. You never let on you were one of us ….them! It’s as if I’ve been deceived by one of my own family.”
Harry Mee chuckled and relaxed, leaning against the closed door.
“You two must be getting serious.” Then he too became serious. “I never told because you never asked. Anyway, it’s not as if I would have said anything about this. Hush-hush. And Marie was under orders to tell you what she considered least objectionable to her conscience.” Moe received another lopsided grin. “So you obviously never asked. That must have been some impression I made … I don’t think.”
There was a soft tap on the side of Moe’s caravan. Harry Mee opened the door a fraction and a brief sotto voce exchange between inside and outside took place before the door closed again and Harry Mee turned to Moe.
“Time for bed, Arthur.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Arthur, don’t you usually go right to bed? Be a pal and do the same as you always do, so it looks like business as usual. Do nothing that might concern anyone who could be waiting on you to go beddy-byes.”
Moe had the distinct impression that he was bait and it wasn’t fair.
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t get undressed before I switch off the light and let you out. I want to be IN on this … whatever this is.”
“Now, Arthur …”
“Now, Arthur – nothing! You owe me. We’re in the same job and I’ll be damned if I’m going to swan around playing Sleepy while you and the other dwarves out there are having a good time nicking people. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it … well?” Moe was pushing his luck but he felt comfortable with it. Harry Mee took a deep breath, then let it out and slowly nodded.
November Uniform or the Wagers of Sin Page 15