by Jack Higgins
Mac was unpacking his case and he looked up and smiled as Marlowe entered the room. 'Man, it was my lucky day today.'
Marlowe grinned. 'I thought you'd fit in here all right.' He lit a cigarette and went on, 'I'm going out with that load of stuff again. I'll try the retail shops and see what I can get rid of, but I don't feel too happy about it. O'Connor must know what's going on by now.'
Mac frowned and shook his head. 'He didn't exactly take me into his confidence. I hadn't even heard of Mr Magellan until I met you this morning.'
Marlowe nodded slowly. 'You're going to do the coal delivery run for the rest of the day. It shouldn't be too difficult. I'll be back by lunchtime and you can let me know how you're making out.'
Mac smiled and half saluted. 'Okay, boss,' he said. Marlowe grinned and left him to finish his unpacking.
As he drove back towards Barford it disturbed him to realize that in some inexorable way he seemed to be taking control of everything. He was beginning to get involved and he hadn't intended that to happen at all. For a little while he considered the point and then he pushed it firmly out of his mind and concentrated on the job in hand.
Maria had given him a list of the shops Bill Johnson had done business with on the previous day. The first one was on a new housing estate on the very edge of Barford and Marlowe made straight for it.
The shop was a greengrocer's, a fine, red-brick, double-fronted building on the end of a large parade. When he went inside the place was deserted. He stood at the counter as the jangling of the door bell faded away and waited. After a moment or two, a man emerged from a rear door wiping his mouth with a napkin. He smiled cheerfully. 'Sorry to keep you. We have a late breakfast, you know. We're just finishing.'
Marlowe nodded. 'That's all right,' he said. 'I'm from Magellan's, of Litton. Our other man was round here yesterday. I thought you might be interested in some more stuff today.'
The grocer looked puzzled. 'I don't understand,' he said, 'your man's been round already this morning.'
Marlowe answered him automatically. 'I must have got the lists mixed up. He's working one part of the town and I'm supposed to be covering the other. We've probably got you down twice.'
The grocer smiled and said amiably, 'Never mind, young man. At the prices you're quoting this morning you won't have any difficulty in selling everything you've got.'
Marlowe forced a smile to his lips. 'I hope so. We need big sales to make it profitable.' He moved towards the door. 'Anyway, thanks a lot. I'll sort the mistake out with my friend when I see him.'
He got back into the cab of the truck and sat with his hands resting lightly on the wheel and stared out through the windscreen. He was seething with rage. When he looked down he saw that his hands were trembling and he gripped the wheel and swore violently. As the black, killing rage swept through him he hung on to the wheel and closed his eyes.
After a few minutes he felt a little better. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in the seat to consider the position. So Bill Johnson had played Judas? O'Connor must have discovered what was going on during the previous day. That was the real reason why Blacky Monaghan and his thugs had waylaid Johnson at the roadside cafe. They must have slapped him around a little until he had agreed to play things their way.
Marlowe leaned forward and pulled the starter. As the engine coughed into life he reflected that it wouldn't have taken a great deal of persuasion to make a rat like Johnson agree to do as he was told. All men had their price. That was the first great lesson and it was the knowing of it that made men like O'Connor so successful. The one thing that rankled above everything else was the fact that all this had been planned. O'Connor must have been laughing up his sleeve during their meeting in Tom Granby's office.
After making another half-dozen calls he turned the truck back towards Litton. Everywhere he went it was the same story. Johnson had already called and his prices were heavily reduced. For the moment O'Connor had beaten them.
As he passed the roadside cafe on the outskirts of Barford he glanced idly across to the car park and saw Bill Johnson come out and walk towards a truck painted in a familiar yellow. Marlowe pulled into the side of the road and jumped down to the ground.
Johnson was reaching up to open the door of his cab when Marlowe grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round. Abject fear showed on his face and he opened his mouth to scream. Marlowe hit him with all his force in the pit of the stomach. 'You rat,' he said bitterly. 'You dirty little rat.'
Johnson doubled over and sank to the ground. Marlowe lifted his foot back to deliver a final blow when there was a shout from behind him. He swung round and saw Monaghan and his two friends emerging from the cafe.
For a moment he wanted to stay and then discretion moved him to turn and run back across the road to his truck. As the engine drowned the cries of rage in the background, he reflected grimly that there would be other times. As he moved into top gear a grin of satisfaction appeared on his face. One thing was certain. Bill Johnson wouldn't forget him in a hurry.
As he pulled up outside the farmhouse door Papa Magellan appeared and stood on the top step waiting for him. Marlowe jumped down from the cab and as he approached, shook his head. 'No good, Papa,' he said. 'O'Connor hasn't wasted any time.'
The old man nodded and said heavily, 'You'd better come inside and tell me all about it.'
As they went into the living-room Maria appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. There was hope on her face and it died rapidly as she looked at her father. 'What is it, Papa?' she asked. 'What happened?'
The old man waved her to silence. 'Go on, son,' he told Marlowe.
Marlowe told them everything that had occurred. When he had finished Maria exploded with rage. 'Wait till I see Bill Johnson again,' she cried. 'I'll give him something to remember me by.'
Papa Magellan looked puzzled and there was pain on his face. 'Bill Johnson was a good boy,' he said. 'I don't understand. What can have happened to him?'
Marlowe shook his head impatiently. He held up his hand and rubbed his thumb across his index finger. 'Money, Papa. The only thing that really counts. With it, you're somebody. Without it, you're just nothing.'
'No!' Maria cried. 'I won't accept that. It isn't true.'
'For God's sake grow up,' Marlowe told her. 'Money means power. With it you can do anything. Money and fear. They have the greatest effect on men. Bill Johnson was weak and he was afraid. They threatened him and they offered him money. Of course he accepted.'
The old man sighed deeply and there was an air of hopelessness about him. 'What do we do now?' he asked. 'If we can't find a market we're finished.'
'You won't find one round here,' Marlowe told him forcibly. 'O'Connor only has to undercut your prices and he can afford to do that until you're broke.'
The old man managed a wry smile. 'And that won't take long, boy.'
There was a silence for a space before Maria said slowly, 'What about Birmingham? Why can't we take the stuff there?'
Marlowe shook his head, 'O'Connor has too many contacts. He could follow every move we made, undercut us at every turn.'
The old man nodded emphatically. 'Hugh is right, Maria. Birmingham is no good.'
Marlowe frowned as an idea suddenly came to him. 'What about London?' he said. 'Covent Garden. O'Connor is strictly a provincial. He can't throw much weight around there.'
Papa Magellan shook his head, 'It's too far.' Marlowe started to protest and the old man held up a hand. 'No, listen to me, son. Most of our produce is perishable. We're dealing in soft fruit a lot at the moment. It's got to be delivered first thing in the morning, so they can get it out to the shops fresh and in good condition.'
'Where's the problem?' Marlowe demanded. 'We drive to London through the night. It fits in beautifully. O'Connor won't even know what we're up to.'
Maria looked dubious. 'I don't know, Hugh, it's a long drive. Probably two hundred miles. You'd be taking on quite a job.'
Marlowe sh
rugged. 'What's two hundred miles. The roads will be empty. It'll be as easy as falling off a log.'
He looked from Maria to her father. The old man still looked uncertain and Marlowe said impatiently, 'For God's sake, Papa, this is your only chance. At least give it a try.'
The old man slapped a hand against his knee and stood up. 'By God, you're right,' he cried, eyes flashing. 'At least we'll go down fighting.' He took his jacket down from behind the door and pulled it on. 'We'll give that pig a run for his money yet.'
'Now where do you think you're going, Papa?' Maria demanded.
He held up his hand and his voice was stern. 'Maria, don't try to interfere. I'm going out in the other truck. I've got to make the rounds of the market gardeners to let them know we have things under control. Another thing, we need more produce. If Hugh is going to drive all the way to London we must make it worth while.'
'But your meal is nearly ready, Papa,' she told him. 'You can't go now.'
'So I have the meal when I come back,' he replied. 'Is that such a hardship when our livelihood is at stake?'
He walked out of the room and the front door closed with a bang. Marlowe laughed. 'The old boy's still got plenty of starch left in him,' he observed.
Maria nodded. 'Papa can be pretty determined when he gets set on a thing. He's twice the man O'Connor will ever be.'
There was an awkward silence for a few moments and Maria played nervously with her apron. Rain had started to fall again and tapped on the window with ghostly fingers. She laughed self-consciously. 'It's rather a sad sound, isn't it?'
Marlowe remembered the many times he had lain on the cot in his cell listening to that same sound and longing to be free. 'It's just about the saddest sound in the world,' he said, with feeling.
For a brief moment they were very close. It was as if each had discovered in the other something they had not realized existed. A warm smile blossomed on Maria's face and she said, 'Come into the kitchen and I'll make you a cup of tea. You've had a hard morning.'
He followed her along the corridor and into the large, old-fashioned farm kitchen, warm with the smell of cooking. He sat on the edge of the table, swinging a leg and smoking a cigarette and felt at peace in a way that he hadn't experienced for a long time.
He watched her as she moved about the room, preparing the tea. Her limbs were softly rounded and as she bent down to pick up a cloth, her dress tightened showing the sweeping curve of her thigh and accentuating her large hips. Real childbearing hips, he mused to himself.
His thoughts drifted idly to Jenny O'Connor with her boyish slimness and he tried to compare the two women. He decided it was impossible. Jenny had a tremendous surface attractiveness, something completely animal that gripped a man by the bowels like a fever, lighting a fire that could only be extinguished by full and complete possession.
With Maria he knew it would be something very different. A sensuality that smouldered deep inside, ready to burst into a flame which could never be extinguished. She was a woman who would demand much, but who would give greatly in return.
She turned from the stove and handed him his tea. Her smile was like a lamp switching on inside her, illuminating her whole face. 'I think I owe you an apology, Hugh,' she said.
It was the second time within half an hour that she had used his Christian name. He frowned slightly. 'What are you talking about?'
She coloured and nervously played with her hands. 'I've been pretty unpleasant. You see, somehow I got the impression that you weren't really interested in our problems. I thought you were just using us because you needed a job.'
'And what makes you think I'm not?' he demanded.
That wonderful deep smile turned on again. 'Now, I know you're doing everything you can to help Papa. You've proved it.'
Marlowe sipped his tea and schooled his face to steadiness. Why did she have to put her own interpretation on everything he did? Couldn't she see that everything he had done so far had been done because he didn't like being pushed around? He was bitterly angry and he stood up and walked quickly to the window. He had to clench his teeth to keep himself from making an angry reply and yet, in his heart, he knew that it wasn't Maria he was annoyed with. It was himself. In some queer way he was sorry that he was not the kind of man that she believed him to be.
She moved beside him and placed a hand on his arm. 'What is it, Hugh?' she said. 'What's the matter?'
Her faint, womanly odour filled his nostrils and he was acutely aware of her physically. He turned abruptly, his hands reaching out and grasping her arms, and an answering flame flared in her eyes. At that moment the front door opened and Mac shouted, 'Hugh, are you in, boy? We got trouble.'
Marlowe released her and turned to the door as the Jamaican entered. There was excitement on his face and he pushed his cap back and brushed sweat from his brow. 'Man, am I glad you're here.'
'What's happened?' Marlowe demanded. 'Don't tell me O'Connor's started up in the coal business?'
Mac nodded. 'That's it, boy. That guy Kennedy who used to work here. He's delivering coal in the village. I've made several calls on farms and they've all told me the same story. Kennedy called today and told them Papa Magellan had given up the coal delivery side and that he'd taken over.'
'But he can't do that,' Maria cried. Her eyes filled with tears and she sank down into a chair. 'It isn't fair, Hugh. It isn't fair. This will be the finish of Papa.'
Marlowe gave her shoulder a hurried squeeze. 'Don't worry, angel,' he told her. 'I'll fix that rat Kennedy once and for all. He won't show his face round here again in a hurry when I get through with him.'
She raised her head at once, an expression of fear on her face. 'No, Hugh, please. No trouble. I'm scared what might happen.' He smiled once reassuringly and hurried out of the house, Mac at his heels.
It was raining quite heavily as they drove down into the village. They cruised through several streets without any luck and after ten minutes Marlowe was cursing steadily. 'Where the hell is he?' he demanded.
Mac shrugged. 'We can't be sure, Hugh. He may be calling on some of the outlying farms.'
At that moment a yellow truck turned out of a side street and passed them going in the opposite direction. Marlowe turned into a side street and reversed quickly. As they drove back along the main street he said to Mac, 'Did he spot us?'
Mac shook his head. 'Didn't even notice us. Too busy watching where he was going.'
The yellow truck slowed down and turned into a side street and Marlowe followed. A few yards past a public house there was a piece of waste land and Kennedy drove on to it and parked the truck. As they drove past, he climbed down and walked back to the public house.
'Gone for his lunchtime pint,' Marlowe said.
Mac nodded. 'What are you going to do?'
Marlowe had been examining the yellow truck closely with a slight frown. A smile appeared on his face and he started to laugh. 'I've just had a flash of genius,' he said. 'You wait here for me.'
He jumped down from the cab and walked back to the yellow truck. He paused for a moment and looked carefully about him to make sure that he wasn't observed. He jerked open the door of the cab, reached inside and pulled on a certain lever, and closed the door again. He turned and hurried back to Mac.
As he approached the truck, the Jamaican was leaning out, a delighted expression on his face. 'Man oh man, but that should fix him good.'
Marlowe turned and looked back. O'Connor's first venture into the coal business had obviously been hastily planned because the truck Kennedy was using was an hydraulic tipper. As Marlowe watched, the back slowly lifted into the air and sacks of coal started to topple. Inexorably, the back continued to rise until the last bag of coal had fallen to the road. At the very moment that happened, there was a cry of dismay from the public house and Kennedy emerged from the doorway.
Marlowe climbed up behind the wheel and started the engine. He reversed the truck and drove back towards the scene of the disaster. As they approac
hed he slowed down and leaned out of the window. 'Having trouble, Kennedy?' he inquired.
Kennedy turned and his expression of dismay changed to one of fury. 'You bastard,' he shouted. 'O'Connor will fix you for this.'
Marlowe ignored the threat. 'Just give him a message from me,' he said. 'Tell him he'd better not try this stunt again. I shan't play games next time.' He moved into gear and drove away before Kennedy could reply.
When the truck rolled to a halt inside the barn, Maria came running from the house, tremendous anxiety on her face. 'What happened?' she demanded. 'You didn't start any trouble, Hugh? Please say you didn't.'
Marlowe grinned. 'Everything went fine,' he said. 'I never even laid a finger on Kennedy. He had an accident as a matter of fact. All his coal got spilled on to the road. He was in a bit of a mess when we left.'
Relief showed on her face and something suspiciously like laughter sparkled in her eyes. 'You don't think he'll be back again?'
Marlowe shook his head gravely. 'No, somehow I don't think he will.'
She nodded. 'Thank goodness. Papa's back. I haven't told him anything yet. I didn't want to worry him.' She smiled brightly. 'Anyway, there's a meal ready. Hurry and get washed before it's spoiled.'
During the meal Mac told Papa Magellan and Maria in detail what had happened to Kennedy. He was a natural story-teller and had them both laughing heartily before he had finished. Afterwards, over coffee, they discussed the projected London trip. Mac was in full agreement with the idea. 'Seems to me it's the one way to putting one over on O'Connor,' he observed.
'I'm glad you agree,' Marlowe told him, 'because you're the one who'll have to make the trip.'
There was a momentary surprise in Mac's eyes that was immediately replaced by something like understanding. Maria said in puzzlement, 'But why shouldn't you go as well, Hugh? Wouldn't it be easier with two drivers?'
Papa Magellan cut in hastily. 'Hugh has his reasons, Maria. If he doesn't want to go to London that's his affair. Let it rest.'
Maria sat back in her chair, frowning and Marlowe said easily, 'What about the market gardeners, Papa? What have they got to say?'