by R. W. Hughes
‘Here’s the list, Geoffrey,’ he said, leaning over to pass the paper to him allowing his fingers to rub over the top of Geoff’s in the process.
‘Thank you, Mr. Goodier, I’ll take it to Mrs. Grant straightaway. Sergeant Robinson asked her to fax it to him as soon as she received it.’
Geoff was off his chair, walking quickly to the door. He could sense Daniel Goodier watching him. When he reached the door he turned to face the director, who was still smiling, showing a row of yellow, tobacco stained teeth.
‘By the way, Mr. Goodier, I’m not that way inclined, I’m afraid you’ve been wasting your time!’ He laughed aloud at the man opposite who was now looking at him in surprise. Geoff left the cabin with abroad grin on his face.
‘That wiped the smile off your face. You Bastard!’ he said aloud to himself as he started walking the long way around the estate to the show house, not wanting to come in contact with Dave Higgins and his cousin again. He had been lucky the first time, no one had been about to hear their calls and insults, the second time he might not be so fortunate.
He also needed time to think. Hopefully, Daniel Goodier would come up with some excuse to fire him, which would suit him fine. The job had been completed so it would look better him being fired rather than suddenly giving in his notice. The sooner he left the site, the better, he did not want to bump into his two, old adversaries again.
He entered the rear door of the show house as Mrs. Grant was showing a middle-aged couple, who had been viewing the property, out through the front door.
‘What took you so long, Geoffrey? I had to manage those people on my own.’ He thought she seemed very agitated as he handed over the sheet of paper into her out-stretched hand.
‘I’m sorry Mrs. Grant but Mr. Goodier hadn’t quite finished the list when I got there. I had to wait.’ She nodded absent-mindedly as she read the list.
‘I see they’ve started to repair the damaged drain in the road,’ he continued.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said, still looking at the list. ‘Mr. Goodier contacted the council and they agreed to send a gang of their men to do the repairs.’ Geoff was relieved. They’d be gone in a couple of days and it was unlikely they would mix with the rest of the workmen on the site. But there was still the problem with that director, Daniel Goodier. He had been coming on a bit strong of late and that probably explained why he had got this job in the first place ahead of more suitable applicants, that dirty bastard had fancied him! He was getting bored with the dull routine anyway. Still, with a bit of luck, in a couple of days it would be all over bar the shouting.
It was several days later, while at the show house, that Geoff received an envelope that had been delivered by hand and left on the kitchen work tops. Upon opening the letter, he was not surprised to read that ‘Due to the low volume of property sales his services were no longer required at the building site sales office’.
When alone in the show house later that day he used the phone to contact Jock at his shop. He was told in a very blunt and business-like manner that everything was in order.
‘Thank ye for ye call. My associate will meet ye, so be in the café, on ye own, at six on Friday neet.’
The silly old fool! thought Geoff, he thinks I’m taping the conversation. He’s giving nothing away; I suppose that’s why he’s lasted so long as a fence without being nicked. All the petty thieves in the area had used Jock at one time or another in their career in crime.
Two days later, he was in the café on the Friday evening as requested. He’d picked up his last week’s wages earlier that day, saying his goodbyes to Mrs. Grant at the same time. Her tearful farewell had surprised him. He couldn’t understand why she was so emotional and kept bursting into tears. Geoff was embarrassed; no one had ever shown any real feelings for him like that before.
He’d been in the café for two hours. There were no other customers left and the proprietor was cleaning the empty tables, obviously eager for him to leave, so he could close for the night. Feeling very frustrated, Geoff finally left, the contact had not materialised. It slowly dawned on him, as he walked despondently down the road, that there was the distinct possibility he’d been taken for a mug, double-crossed big time.
He was wondering what action he could take next.
What would he say to the lads? What was all that effort and planning for? He was so deep in his own thoughts that he was startled when a figure suddenly joined him as he walked along the dimly lit pavement.
‘Mr. Larkin,’ said a quiet voice.
‘Yes, that’s me!’ said Geoff with a start, stopping in the centre of the pavement.
‘Just keep walking, Mr. Larkin,’ said the quiet voice. ‘A mutual friend of ours asked me to give you this,’ passing Geoff a small tightly wrapped parcel.
‘Goodbye, Mr. Larkin, good to do business with you,’ said the quite voice in the dark overcoat as he proceeded to walk across the road then in the opposite direction to which Geoff was going.
A quick glance over his shoulder showed Geoff the faint outline of a figure which quickly faded into the shadows.
Chapter Nine
That Saturday night Geoff had made arrangements for the lads to meet at the ‘Nag’s Head’, this was a local public house, they had been there several times before.
Saturday night was entertainment night with a singer and a karaoke; it was usually a full house and on the previous occasions the lads had a good laugh, as various locals gave their best interpretation of the latest songs at the top of the charts. He and Sooty were the first to arrive, managing to claim a table away from the speakers, as sometimes they tended to blast the music out too loud, and he had a lot to discuss with the group. The Bolton boys arrived a few minutes after them and they all quickly settled down with their drinks.
Before the entertainment got underway, Geoff told them the figure he’d received from the fence.
‘There was about £10,000 worth of equipment that you managed to load in the van.’
The group were all hunched forward over the table so as not to miss a word Geoff was saying, especially as he was speaking so quietly it was difficult to hear him above the general noisy conversation around them.
‘Gosh, that much!’ exclaimed a surprised Sooty.
‘Wow! That’s great,’ shouted John.
‘Keep it quiet our kid,’ said Derek, nudging his younger brother into silence, before nervously looking around to see if his brother’s excited shout had attracted any attention.
Geoff waited until he had their attention again. ‘Yes!’ he replied. ‘But we only received £1000.’
‘£1000! That’s just 10%!’ said Derek Bolton, gasping in amazement.
‘What’s 10%?’ asked Sooty.
‘That’s just one tenth of its value,’ explained Derek.
‘The bastards,’ voiced John Bolton.
‘The bastards,’ repeated Sooty, imitating his friend’s expression.
‘Quiet!’ hissed Derek, as several people on nearby tables glanced in the direction of the raised voices.
All the lads looked at Geoff.
‘That’s the way it goes lads. They’ve all the contacts and we get paid cash with no come backs. At the moment, they hold all the aces; we’ve only just got started, so we have to look on the bright side. And! The bright side is we’ve loads of cash in the kitty. So, get the drinks in again, Sooty!’ As he passed a £20 note across the table to the beaming smiles of the other three around the table.
*
Geoff attended several interviews during the following weeks without any success and then on the Tuesday of the third week he had an appointment at a large storage and delivery depot on an industrial estate.
The vacancy was listed as office and general manager’s assistant. In actual fact, it was really a casual labourer in a large storage warehouse. The job would only be temporary over the Christmas period but his social worker had indicated that it could be more permanent if he showed willing, kept good
time, was not cheeky, did not answer back, did exactly as he was told but, most importantly, he didn’t help himself to any of the merchandise, that was a definite no no!
He had heard this so many times before. He looked at the social worker thinking, the list is endless, you need permission to breath in this workhouse; they want an angel not a labourer. As the social worker went on and on and on.
It was several days later, Geoff made his way through the warehouse to the manager’s office in good time for the arranged interview. His brain was working overtime. All these commodities stacked up to the ceiling, there must be an outlet and where there is an outlet there is a profit to be made.
‘Hi, you!’ a shout from the doorway of the warehouse directed in his direction stopped him from going further into the building. ‘What are you doing here? This is a restricted area,’ continued the voice from the doorway.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Geoff replied meekly, turning to face the dark shadow of a tall man wearing a fluorescent, plastic, yellow waistcoat that couldn’t be fastened at the front because of his enormous belly.
‘I’ve a letter for an interview with Mr. Parker the warehouse manager.’
The man seemed to swell in size at the mention of his name and the fact he’d been given his proper title. All the other workers just called him Bob but he also knew that they made insulting remarks behind his back about being overweight he also did not like the nickname they had given him of ‘Nosey Parker’.
‘You should have gone to the offices at the front of the building, the details should be in your letter,’ he continued gruffly. Geoff had seen the sign at the entrance to the building pointing to the offices but had purposely ignored the directions; he wanted to see what was in these large storage sheds.
‘Well, at least you’re punctual, that’s more than can be said for some of the other applicants. You’d better follow me.’ Geoff followed the slow moving manager through the warehouse, noting as he went, the stacker trucks taking great wooden pallets of boxes to be loaded into the waiting vans. He noticed also that all the large vans were different. They varied in colour, shape and size; they were all sub-contractors’ transport.
The interview with Bob Parker went quite well, Geoff thought. When asked if he had done any invoicing, Geoff said he had at the school library, careful not to mention the library was in a detention centre. He also said that he had been in charge of booking appointments for prospective clients while working for the sales side at the construction firm, making notes for any alterations that the clients may need in order to complete a sale, even though he had not! He showed the reference on the building firm’s notepaper that he had persuaded Mrs. Grant to give him.
When asked, he also confirmed that he was prepared to work overtime, nights and weekends, if and when required. Geoff also said he could drive, which he could, having taken lessons with the eldest Bolton brother. But he failed to inform Bob Parker that he did not hold a driving licence. Bob Parker was about to ask if Geoff’s licence was clean of penalty points when the interview was interrupted by the appearance in the office doorway of another of the workmen.
He too was wearing a yellow, fluorescent waistcoat. Ignoring Geoff, he spoke directly to the depot manager.
‘We’re going to The Swan for our lunch if you fancy coming, Bob.’
‘Yes! I’ve nearly finished here, I’ll be right with you,’ replied the manager. He needed to be there at the beginning because today was Friday. Friday was share out day from the proceeds of goods that had been distributed to several of the staff. These, in turn, sold them privately on the Q.T. The manager then booked them down as damaged in transit, he was rarely asked to return the damaged goods. Geoff added that he was available to start at short notice, within a few days if required, which he could.
‘Leave your details with my secretary,’ Bob Parker said importantly, turning to Geoff and indicating a young woman in the adjacent office with a sweep of his arm.
He eased himself slowly out of the leather chair in which he had slumped; struggling at the same time to remove his fluorescent waistcoat, replacing it with a large, brown overcoat as he left the office.
Bob Parker, the depot manager, was a gambler. The lure of the horses had caused him serious problems and this was one way he was trying to pay off his gambling debts, he knew the damaged goods should be sent back to the sender.
From previous experience he knew that the big companies very rarely checked that the goods had been returned to them or followed it up if they hadn’t been; they only seemed interested in the appropriate paperwork.
Geoff followed the manager out of his office and watched as he waddled after the group of men, who were several yards in front of him, struggling desperately to catch them up as they made their way in the direction of the main road. He waited a few moments in front of the opaque glass fronted adjoining office door, before giving two sharp knocks.
‘Enter!’ the shrill reply came from the other side of the door. The young woman he saw at the desk was not much older than him. She was busy copying from what looked like paper invoices on to a computer that was much slimmer than the ones used in the school library. ‘Mr. Parker asked me to leave my details with you,’ he said as he glanced around the small office.
‘So, you’re one of the applicants applying for the vacancy!’ she said disdainfully as she looked up from her typing at the boy standing in front of her wearing a smart sports coat, grey flannels and highly polished, black shoes.
‘If you are fortunate enough to be accepted for this position you will take your instructions from me and Bob; that is Mr. Parker to you, do you understand?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ said Geoff respectfully but at the same time smiling to himself, thinking, you jumped up, silly, little cow.
On his way back to his digs Geoff called at the post office and obtained an application form for a provisional driving licence. At least I’ve made a first step, he thought to himself as he left the post office counter.
At the same time, Bob Parker’s secretary, following her boss’s instructions, was typing a letter to Geoff’s address informing him that he had been accepted for the vacant position, on the condition that he could he start at the beginning of the following week. He would be on a six months trial. Usually, Bob Parker would not have considered anyone so young and without any previous experience, but he’d been let down by a previous applicant who’d rung up, at short notice, saying he’d found a better paid position. With two workers already off claiming they had flu he was terribly short staffed during their busiest period of the year.
Bob Parker would employ this boy Larkin, he would be on the lowest basic rate but he would have time to familiarise himself with the system in time for the Christmas rush, he then had every intention of sacking the boy as unsuitable when the other two men returned from sick leave.
In the meantime it would help to keep the wage bill down a little and, hopefully, keep him in the good books of his employers, who had been very critical lately of his and his staff’s performance.
Geoff quite enjoyed working at the depot where he’d slipped into the work routine quite quickly, it was different from the boring position he had occupied at the estate agents on the building site.
If the warehouse wanted a lift he helped them, the rest of the time was spent working in the office with Bob Parker’s secretary. She seemed delighted that she now had someone below her to whom she could give instructions and Geoff was informed by her that he must address her as Miss. Alice. Geoff was only too glad to oblige. He was learning all the time how the office functioned, how the orders were made up, recording the various delivery vans that were loaded and the appropriate invoices sent out.
He also saw when the other workers were leaving for home at night and, out of sight of Miss. Alice’s office window, the many parcels placed in their car luggage boots. From the snippets of conversations he overheard amongst the staff in the warehouse, their cash share out was on Friday lunchtimes in ‘
The Swan’ public house.
During these meetings Geoff was in sole charge of the depot, apart from Miss. ‘Alice in Wonderland’, as Geoff called Bob Parker’s secretary, but she rarely left her office.
The main gates to the depot were always closed and locked by Bob Parker as part of the firm’s security, while he and his cronies were away for their liquid lunch.
On the occasional Friday lunchtime the odd van would arrive for loading if the parcels were to be delivered on Saturday. This was not very often as most of the vans had to be loaded and on their way in the mornings before twelve thirty; if they were not, they had to stay there until Bob Parker returned.
Geoff had started to load these vans using the stacker truck, usually completing the job by the time the rest of the staff had returned from their lunch break. He was never reproached for this action as it was less work for the rest of the men in the depot who spent Friday afternoons, which were usually very quiet, playing cards and drinking tea in the canteen and listening to the horse races on the radio until it was time to leave.
Geoff had volunteered to come in on a Saturday mornings to help Miss. Alice to keep her books up to date. He’d now familiarised himself with her system of book keeping as she recorded the input and delivery of all the merchandise that entered and left the depot. Most important of all, he also had access to the list of damaged goods that was given to her by Bob Parker. It had taken Geoff four weeks to gather all this information, familiarise himself with the system and then put together his plan.
That Saturday afternoon, he had decided to visit Jock the Fence but, on a sudden urge, he stayed on the train back to his old area of Offerton on the outskirts of Stockport.
Everything in the area seemed to look so much smaller than when he was last running around that neighbourhood as a small boy. The allotments had been removed and in their place were new starter homes being built for first time buyers. The corner shop, where he’d bought cigarettes and cheap booze for his mother, was empty and all boarded up as was the pie and cake shop, before the bulldozers moved in.