by Steven Clark
There were two portacabins in the yard, one on top of the other. The lower one served as the driver’s rest room and canteen and was simply fitted out with a few chairs and tables. A stainless steel sink that seemed to have more stains than J.J.’s rags stood in one corner complete with an old kitchen worktop that had been thrown out by one of the other drivers when he’d had a new kitchen installed at home. It was well chipped and cracked but served its purpose of housing the kettle, microwave and small table top fridge. A second hand two ring electric grill finished off the sparse fixtures and fittings except for an old colour TV on a small corner unit on the far side of the cabin. Home sweet Home!
The top cabin was Frank’s office and was reached by a set of metal steps at the side. As Terry walked up the fire escape type steps and holding onto the handrail, he continued to casually look around to see if any one was paying more attention than normal to his ‘cargo’. Frank was also scanning the yard from his lofty position and was still looking out of the window when Terry entered.
,Any problems?’ he said as Terry closed the door behind him and continued to cast his eye over the scene below without looking at him, hands casually in his trouser pockets. He knew that this was Frank’s way of letting him know that regardless of the fuck up with the paperwork, he was still the boss.
‘Wanker,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘What’s that Terry?’ said Frank as, having carried out his little display of management power, he turned to speak further.
‘Thanks Boss,’ he said, ‘no problems with traffic or anything on the way up. Good run. I’m just about ready for that bacon butty eh?’
‘Yeah, I had a little think about that while you were on the way back; don’t think it would be a good idea if the other lads saw you and me having a cup of tea and a butty together, might make them suspicious don’t you think. After all, I wouldn’t do that with any of the other drivers’ would I?’
Terry had expected something like this as he knew that it was just another of Frank’s little ways of asserting his authority over the ‘minions’. He had to remember his place in the order of things. He was after all, just another fucking driver, plenty of them about, as he remembered a heated conversation they’d had a few months ago when Frank had only paid him half of a promised bonus. Terry had retreated gracefully from his stance on that occasion as he knew that the boss was right. He would sack him soon as look at him. ‘Always plenty of lads looking for a start eh, Terry?’ He weighed up the odds of coming off better and decided this was not the time for another argument. Frank was already looking for a fight as he knew full well the seriousness of the cock up he had made and now that he had covered his arse by getting the wagon back before any one from the Bank of England staff were aware, he was looking for someone to blame.
‘Aye, you might be right boss, how about my little bonus and the bottle of scotch then? No one needs to know about that; the lads won’t need to see you giving me a bottle now will they?’
‘End of the month eh Terry, cash flow’s a bit tight at the moment. Sort you out then. You know the score eh?’
He knew the score alright, whistle fuckin Dixie and kiss the fifty quid goodbye.
Frank knew that he was treading on thin ice to some extent as, apart from him, Terry was the only other person in the company who was aware of the secret transportation and he softened his stance somewhat.
‘Tell you what Terry, after you’ve had your dinner, take this box up to Preston,’ as he gave him a large manila envelope with the details of another container for delivery. ‘When you get back tonight, you will be the last man back in the yard. I’ll still be here, but nobody else will be. I’ll give you your bottle of scotch and we can have a chat. I’ve maybe got a little proposition for you. It would be better if there’s no on else about.’
Terry wanted to press him on the matter but decided better of it at that time. ‘Sounds interesting Frank, I’ll see you later.’
He made his way down the stairs and across the yard. He manoeuvred the box with the money to the corner of the yard; uncoupled his tractor unit and drove back across the compound to where the box destined for Preston was sat on another trailer. After checking the air brakes and lights, he double checked the numbers, after his last little excursion, he made absolutely sure everything tallied.
He got stuck in traffic on the M6 Motorway and was further delayed at the factory in Preston where he was making his delivery, normally it wouldn’t bother him too much; waiting was part of the job as a lorry driver. You were always waiting somewhere; either on the roads or at the factory, no point in getting too hung up about it.
Maybe it was the proposition that awaited him back at the yard, or maybe he was just tired, but he was more irritable than usual as he headed back down the Motorway and his thoughts drifted back to his twat of a boss. ‘I’ll make that bastard pay somewhere along the line’ he thought as he pulled into the transport yard.
It was dark by now and usually the heavy galvanised steel gates would be chained and locked but Frank had told J.J. to leave them open as he had some paperwork to finish up. He would ensure the gates were properly locked when he left.
‘You took your time’ said Frank as Terry walked into the office and glanced at the clock above the filing cabinet, ‘7 o’clock and I haven’t had my fucking tea yet.’
‘Not my fault Frank, the M6 was fucking murder. You’re not the only one who’s had fuck all to eat y’know. Me stomach thinks me throats been cut.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. Pull that chair up and let’s have a drink and a chat.
Terry had in fact eaten on the way back from his last job. The traffic hadn’t been too bad at all. He stopped off at the Little Chef on the A59. Fuck you and your bacon butty, thought Terry as he settled back and tucked into a full English with extra toast. It wouldn’t do the gaffer any harm to wait around for him for a change.
Terry pulled the chair over and they sat across the desk looking at each other as Frank slid the drawer open and pulled out two bottles of scotch.
‘This one’s yours,’ he said as he pushed the bottle across the desk. ‘We’ll crack this one eh?’
‘Thanks Frank, I think I need that after today.’ He watched as his boss poured the whisky into two cracked and tea stained mugs. He smiled as he saw that Frank’s mug had a fair bit more than his. Can’t help himself thought Terry, still, might come in handy. They ‘clinked’ mugs and said in unison, ‘cheers.’
‘I know you’ve had a rough ride today Terry, hauling that box back up here knowing what was in the back, it must have taken a lot of concentration, not to mention the risk to your licence if you’d have got stopped by the Ministry men or the Bill. Appreciate that, I really do.’
‘You wouldn’t have thought so; you sure let me know who was boss when I got back at dinner time. Fucked me off good style.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. He’re, this is for you.’ He pushed an envelope across the desk. It wasn’t sealed and Terry opened the flap.
‘A hundred quid,’ said Terry in utter disbelief. Frank must have found God or something; he never expected to see the fifty he was owed, never mind double that.
‘I realised I over reacted when you got back before, it was just such a relief to see you turn into the yard. You’ve got no idea what had been going through my mind when it dawned on me as to the fuck up I’d made. It was just about midnight last night when I realised you’d taken the money container and not the scrap metals box. When I couldn’t get hold of you either by phone or text message, my brain went into overdrive. I couldn’t tell any one what I’d done because of the secrecy clauses in the contract. I thought about driving down to Bristol in my car, but I’d had a few scoops here at the office while I was doing the papers and the state I was in, I would’ve definitely had a smash on the way.’
Frank took a large gulp of his whisky, loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves a bit. Terry saw him visibly relax as he slung his jacket over the back o
f his chair.
‘D’ya know where you were in my mind at half past six this morning Terry. Go on, have a guess. Bet you can’t. Bet you don’t get it.’
He watched as Frank took another large gulp of scotch and he could see that he had a bit of a drink problem as he seemed to be getting drunk far too quickly. There had been plenty of talk and rumours amongst the drivers for quite some time and now terry was looking at the reality in front of him. He rightly figured that Frank was just topping up. He had been drinking during the afternoon while Terry was driving back from Preston and with no food in his stomach to absorb the scotch; it was taking effect faster than usual.
‘Go on Frank; put me out of my misery.’ Said Terry as he could hear the slight slurring of words as his boss leaned over the desk towards him.
Frank half filled his mug again without offering any more to Terry. Normally, he would have been quite pissed off about this but now, he thought it would be much better to remain sober. Frank was getting well oiled and there was no way he was going to be able to drive himself home. Terry could sense that there may be a good opportunity to pump him for information about the loads. He knew that Frank would never remember what he’d said in the morning and would probably be back to his obnoxious self. He needed to make the most of his boss’s chattiness.
‘I’ll tell you Terry, but you won’t fucking believe me my old friend. You’ll think I’m taking the pisssh.’
My old friend! Thought Terry. Now he knew Frank was pissed.
‘The Tunnel mate.’
He was somewhat nonplussed by Franks statement.
‘The Tunnel? What the fuck are you on about Frank.’ He spoke in a jovial, light hearted way as he wanted to keep Frank on side. In fifteen years, he’d never seen him like this and despite the drink problem, or just maybe because of it, they’d never had much conversation before. Terry began to realise that Frank kept everybody at arms length, never let them in to his thoughts because of fear. Fear, that people would see the weakness in him. Fear that they would guess his alcoholic secret.
Frank thumped the desk in a friendly way.
‘The Channel fucking Tunnel mate; Spain.’
Terry just looked at Frank as he was grinning. The kind of silly grin that only someone slightly worse for wear can achieve.
‘I thought you’d done a runner mate. I thought you’d found out what was in the box, switched your phone off delib, delibbret, on purpose like, and pissshed off to Spain through the Tunnel.’ Frank began to stare into the distance and Terry could see his eyes becoming glassy. shit, he thought, I won’t get fuck all out of him tonight at this rate.
‘I cried Terry. What d’ya think of that eh, me, The fuckin hard arsed transport manager cryin’ like a fuckin baby.’
‘What d’ya mean Frank. When was this?
He looked down into his near empty mug. He was silent for a few moments as if pondering what to say next. He looked up at Terry across the desk as a single tear rolled down his cheek. It was as if the change of thought, or the realisation that he was actually speaking to some one about his feelings, something he had never done to any one, not his family, certainly not one of his employees before. He knew he was talking because of the drink but somehow, it didn’t seem to be an issue. It didn’t matter anymore who it was; some one was sitting in front of him, listening. They weren’t making any judgements, they weren’t having a go at him for his drinking, they were just listening. That was enough.
Terry saw the single tear; he watched it roll down from the corner of his eye, drop from his cheek and land on the desk top calendar. He was unsure what to say to Frank as he watched the tear drop spread out as it was absorbed by the paper. It was as if the moment had done something to sober him up somewhat and Frank began to speak in a clearer voice as he continued to look at Terry.
‘After I finally reached you this morning and realised that all you had done was switch your phone off to get a decent kip; that there was nothing wrong, it was as if the relief became too much. You’re not daft Terry. You can see that I’ve got a problem.’ They both glanced toward the near empty bottle of whisky and then back to each other.
‘I’ve been making a few mistakes recently because of the bottle, but I’ve never done anything like this before. In my mind, as far as I was concerned, you were on your way to Spain with 24 million quid to spend and I was in prison because I had told you all about it and everyone thought that we had planned it all together, you were my accomplice. You and me were partners in crime. Except we weren’t. As far as I knew, you were about to live the high life and I was about to do twenty fuckin years. When I put the phone down after you agreeing to bring the box back, the flood gates opened Terry and I cried like a fuckin baby for I don’t know how long. I locked the door of the office, switched the computer off, took the phone off the hook and sat next to the filing cabinet and just cried.’
Terry had lost some of the animosity he felt for his boss as it began to be replaced with a certain amount of pity. He looked across the desk to see the usually confident, upright figure, now with shoulders slumped and looking weary and dishevelled.
Frank started to compose himself and wiped his eye with the back of his hand. He was still the boss and needed to recover his pride. Terry was not about to rub it in and said,
‘how about a cup of coffee eh boss, and you can fill me in on that little proposition of yours.’
‘Thanks Terry, I think I needed someone to talk to. Will you make the coffee while I sort myself out?’
‘No problem boss, sweet, black and hot, just the way you like your women eh?’ They both made eye contact and Terry winked at him. Frank smiled weakly through his embarrassment and nodded. He knew Terry was making it easy for him and he was grateful as he headed down the stairs to the toilet block and an opportunity to wash his face. When he returned, gone was the self pity. Gone also was the arrogance that Terry was used to. Frank needed an ally to confide in and the employer/employee relationship had just become a lot closer.
‘Right’ he said as he slid behind the desk, how about you being the permanent driver for these runs?’
‘Tell me a bit more Frank’ said Terry as he began to warm to his boss’s more friendly demeanour.
‘Well, it would be much better from my point of view if I had a driver who I could trust. Someone I could rely on to be discreet. And, there would be some extra money in it for you because of the extra risk you would be taking.’
‘Just as a matter of interest Frank, how many runs are we talking about here?’
‘Before I tell you anything, I need some sort of commitment from you that you will take it on; I’m not prepared to tell you too much at this stage because the information is very confidential. I can tell you that I had floated the idea to the Bank of England some time ago because I was concerned that driver’s were taking a big risk in the fact that they didn’t realise the value of the loads they were hauling. I put it to them that a driver would be able to sue the arse off them if someone got wind of the load they were carrying and the driver got injured in anyway as a consequence of the theft of the load, or worse, they were caught up in a hijack situation.’
‘It’s one thing being an ordinary driver, but it’s something else entirely with the knowledge of transporting your own bank on wheels. Like I said early this morning, people could get seriously injured if this information fell into the wrong hands. There’s always the possibility that the transport details could leak out in some way and the Bank are very conscious of bad publicity of any kind. You could almost see the headlines if it became common knowledge, ‘Bank of England risk the safety of drivers just to save money’. They’d have been slaughtered by the press.
They agreed in principle to me casting my net amongst the drivers with the express proviso that only one driver would be brought on board. He would become the sole transporter for the cash. What do you think?’
‘Two questions frank, how often and how much?’
‘Are you saying
you’ll do it? I can’t tell you any more without your agreement.’
‘It’s a bit of a catch 22 Frank, how can I say I’ll do it. The risks might be too much. Everybody’s got their price. I might say yes to you, and then you tell me it’s only worth a hundred quid or so. If that’s the case, I’m not prepared to risk my neck for a hundred quid.’
‘Fair comment Terry. You’re right. In your shoes, I’d want to know up front what it’s worth.’
Terry was gobsmacked, was this the new Frank? Actually saying that Terry was right. He saw a smile spread across his boss’s face.
‘OK, cards on the table. No more fucking about. What would you say to a grand each trip?’
‘Are you fucking jesting Frank, a thousand quid for one trip?’
‘I thought that might make you sit up. Yeah, when I pointed out the dangers and all that went with it, they said they would pay the driver one thousand pounds per journey, provided he was prepared to sign a confidentiality document, it also says you can’t sue them either, but I thought you’d go for that eh?’
‘One thousand fucking pounds’ said Terry as he sat back and interlocked his hands behind his head and gave a soft whistle. ‘Beam me up scotty, I think I’m in heaven. Where do I sign Frank, and when’s the next one?’
Frank jerked his thumb towards the yard,
‘the next one’s out there, I think you might know about that one,’ as he laughed. ‘Tomorrow morning. Think you can manage that??’
‘No problem, how many do they shift, one every six months or so?’
Frank was starting to enjoy himself now, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed. The fact that he was able to confide in someone seemed to lift a huge burden from his shoulders. He wasn’t acting in secret anymore; he could talk about things now. They both had something in common. There was a shared purpose in the secrecy and it excited him as much as Terry.
‘One or two mate. But not every six months, how about every month.’
Terry spat the last of his coffee out as he spluttered,