Dark Side of the Street (1967)

by Jack - Simon Vaughn 01 Higgins

  "Almost fouled things up for us didn't he, old man?" he said to Youngblood as they stood over the two prison officers breathing heavily.

  "A remarkable recovery, Harry," Chavasse said. "I must say you put in quite a performance back there in the machine shop."

  He was standing three or four yards away, one hand behind his back as Youngblood turned to face him. "That was genuine enough, thanks to a drug called Mabofine. All the symptoms, but none of the after-effects."

  "It must have taken quite some planning."

  "A fascinating exchange," Mackenzie interrupted, "but I'm sure you won't mind if we postpone it and get to hell out of here."

  "That suits me just fine," Chavasse said.

  Mackenzie smiled patiently. "I'm afraid you'll have to sit this one out, old man. We've only catered for one."

  "That's right, Drum," Youngblood said. "Fare paying passengers only this trip."

  Chavasse took his hand from behind his back and held up Mackenzie's automatic. "This tells a different tale. It says we all go or nobody does."

  Mackenzie's habitual slight smile disappeared and he slid one foot forward tentatively. "I wouldn't," Youngblood said heavily. "He means it."

  Mackenzie shrugged. "The Baron isn't going to like this."

  "To hell with the Baron. He can put it on the bill, can't he? Now how do we get out of here?"

  "Suit yourself." Mackenzie opened the door and pulled in a wheelchair which had been standing outside. "A nice authentic touch just in case we meet anyone. We take the service elevator at the end of the corridor to the basement and go out through the staff entrance. There's no one about at this time of night. I've got transport waiting and clothes for one." He turned to Chavasse. "I don't know how far you think you'll get in hospital pyjamas and a dressing gown."

  "No problem there." Chavasse gestured towards Carter. "He's about my size. Get him stripped. I'll manage just fine with his trousers and shirt and that pullover he's wearing under his uniform jacket."

  They didn't argue and a few moments later, Youngblood tossed the clothes across, Chavasse withdrew to the end of the ward, placed the gun within easy reach and dressed quickly.

  "It isn't that I don't trust you, Harry," he explained. "It's just that I know you'd cut my throat if you thought there was even a remote possibility that I might spoil your chances."

  Youngblood chuckled and shook his head in frank admiration. "A pity we didn't meet up years ago, Drum. We could have taken them all on."

  He sat in the wheelchair, arranging a blanket over his legs and Mackenzie took off his white coat and threw it at Chavasse. "You wear that and push the wheelchair--I'll swing the stethoscope in one hand."

  "Aren't we gong to tie these two up?"

  "Not worth it. The real Mackenzie could turn up at any time. Now let's get moving. We've got a tight schedule."

  It was quiet in the corridor and when Mackenzie pressed the button, the lift rose to meet them at once. When the doors opened in the basement he walked out without hesitation and Chavasse followed him pushing the wheelchair.

  The basement was deserted except for two ambulances parked by a loading bay and they kept on going through the staff door at the end and out into the night.

  Rain drifted in a fine spray through the light over the porch. An old Commer van was parked at the bottom of the steps and Mackenzie peered out cautiously. Two nurses, uniform caps swinging from their shoulders against the rain, were walking down towards the main gates, but otherwise the drive was deserted.

  Mackenzie went down the steps, opened the rear door of the van, turned and nodded. Chavasse and Youngblood went after him. The door slammed, a key turned and they were driven rapidly away.

  A few moments after starting, an interior light came on and Youngblood discovered a pile of clothing in one corner. There was everything he needed from shoes to a raincoat, all obviously carefully chosen for size.

  The van was not being driven at any particular speed and he had little difficulty in changing. He had barely finished when they braked to a halt. The engine was switched off, Mackenzie jumped out, came round to the rear and unlocked the door.

  "Let's be having you."

  They were in a large town-centre car park and buildings lifted into the night on either side. "Where are we?" Youngblood demanded. "Manningham?"

  "A change of transport, that's all." Mackenzie handed Chavasse a Burberry trenchcoat and a silk scarf. "Much as I regret having to part with them you'd better have these. Do you think I could possibly have my gun back now?"

  "A fair exchange." Chavasse handed him the automatic and pulled on the raincoat.

  Mackenzie withdrew the magazine then snapped it back into place with an ominous click. "I'm awfully tempted, old man. I really am."

  "I'm sure you are," Chavasse said. "On the other hand it would make a hell of a dent in your plans to have me lying around in a ditch somewhere. Now that really would have every copper in the country straining at the leash."

  "Somehow that's what I thought you might say," Mackenzie said. "Another time perhaps. Shall we go?"

  The car waited in the shadows of the far side of the park, a Vauxhall brake, and Mackenzie drove away at once, taking a road which had them out of Manningham and into the countryside within ten minutes.

  He switched on the radio and as music drifted out, leaned back in the driving seat, his eyes on the road. "And now we can get down to business, Mr. Youngblood."

  "I was wondering when you'd get round to it."

  Mackenzie laughed gently. "Do you know something? That's exactly what Ben Hoffa said."

  Youngblood turned to look at him. "You handled Ben's break?"

  "But of course. The Baron always gives me the big ones."

  "Where is he now?"

  "Hoffa?" Mackenzie chuckled. "A long, long way away, Mr. Youngblood. I can assure you of that and they won't get him back. That's all part of our guaranteed service. But let's dispose of the sordid cash angle first. You know our terms--they were fully explained. We've kept our part of the bargain--we've got you out. You tell us where the cash is and that completes Phase One of the operation."

  "There is no cash," Youngblood said calmly.

  The car swerved and Mackenzie fought to regain control. "You're joking of course."

  "Not at all. I did a deal with some Dutch money changers in Amsterdam and converted my share into diamonds--two hundred and fifty thousand pounds' worth."

  "Not bad--not bad at all. Prices have risen a lot in five years. Where are they?"

  "A safe deposit in Jermyn Street in London in the name of Alfred Bonner. One of those places where the manager keeps one key and the customer the other. You need both to open the box."

  "And who has yours?"

  "My sister. She lives at 15 Wheeler Court, Bethnal Green. She'll hand it over with no trouble. I put her in the picture when she last visited me three months ago."

  "That all sounds perfectly straightforward," Mackenzie said. "I'll pass the information along to the right quarter."

  "And what happens to us?"

  "You'll be well taken care of. If everything goes according to plan, they'll start Phase Two when the Baron has his hands on those diamonds. I should point out, by the way, that Mr. Drummond here is very definitely going to come extra."

  "And when do we get to see the Baron?" Chavasse said.

  "When he's ready and not before. Under our system you're passed on from hand to hand as it were. We find that much safer for all concerned."

  "With the Baron waiting at the end with my money, I hope?" Youngblood said.

  "Plus a new identity, a new life, a passport to anywhere in the world. I should have thought that was quite a bargain, old man."

  Ahead was an intersection and he turned left into a quiet secondary road and braked to a halt about a mile further on. It had stopped raining and a full moon had appeared from behind a bank of heavy cloud so that they could see quite clearly a five barred gate and a ruined farmhouse beyond.<
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  "All out!" Mackenzie said. "This is where I leave you."

  Youngblood and Chavasse stepped on to the grass verge and looked around them. "What is this?" Youngblood demanded.

  Mackenzie slipped off his watch and gave it to him through the window. "It's now nine thirty-five. In approximately ten minutes someone will pick you up."

  "What's he driving?" Chavasse asked.

  "I've no idea. His opening words will be: Is there anywhere in particular you'd like me to take you? You must answer: Babylon. He'll tell you Babylon's too far for him, but will offer to take you part of the way. Have you got that?"

  Youngblood stared at him in amazement. "Are you crazy?"

  "If I am, then you've made a damned bad bargain, old man," Mackenzie said and he released the handbrake and drove rapidly away.

  They stood there, listening to the engine fade into the distance and when it had finally died Youngblood turned to Chavasse, face white in the moonlight.

  "What do you think? Are they just stringing us along?"

  "I shouldn't have thought so. They've too much to lose."

  "I suppose you're right. Better have a cigarette and hope for the best."

  It was Chavasse who heard the sound of the approaching vehicle first and he moved out into the road and looked down to the shadows at the bottom of the hill where headlights flared through the darkness.

  "Could this be it?" Youngblood demanded.

  Chavasse watched for a moment, eyes narrowed and then shook his head. "I shouldn't imagine so. It looks like a petrol tanker to me."

  6

  In a Lonely Place

  The man who had impersonated Mackenzie turned on to the Great North Road, pulled up at the first roadside cafe he came to and went into a phone box. He made two calls and the first took some getting as it was apparently routed through a manual exchange. It was at least five minutes before a blunt Yorkshire voice sounded on the other end of the line and he cut in at once.

  "That you, Mr. Crowther. Look, we've run into a little difficulty. That package you've been expecting--you'll actually be receiving two. Think you can handle them? We'll double your fee naturally."

  Crowther might have been discussing the price of cattle and his voice was completely matter-of-fact when he replied. "I don't see why not. It might take a bit longer, that's all. We'll have to go careful. Another thing, my wife died yesterday."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  "We're burying her in the morning and that won't help. Still, leave it with me. I'm sure we'll manage."

  "I'll be in touch."

  He replaced the receiver and found some more change. This time he dialled a London number. The receiver was lifted at once at the other end and a woman said, "World Wide Exports."

  "Hello, sweetie--Simon Vaughan speaking from dear old County Durham."

  "What happened? I've just been watching the news on television. It seems two birds have flown the coop, not one."

  "Couldn't be helped, I'm afraid. I'm not too happy about the additional package. Something about him seems wildly wrong to me. Still, it doesn't matter. Crowther's agreed to take on both of them--for twice his usual fee."

  "I'll pass the word along. What about the merchandise?"

  "It's in a safe deposit in Jermyn Street under the name of Alfred Bonner. Not what we expected, by the way, but something equally as good."

  "What about a key?"

  "The sister has it at 15, Wheeler Court, Bethnal Green. There shouldn't be any hitch there. She's expecting a caller."

  "Good--we'll pick it up right away. And Simon...."

  "Yes, sweetie?"

  "I'd check on Crowther tomorrow if I were you."

  "Exactly what I was thinking. I'll see you in church."

  As he walked back to his car, he whistled softly and there was a smile on his face.

  When Chavasse climbed out of the tanker's secret compartment it had stopped raining and he waited for Youngblood to join him, shivering slightly in the chill wind. The driver dropped the hatch back into place and looked down at them.

  "There's a track on the other side of the road. You'll be met. Good luck."

  He climbed back inside the cab, there was a hiss of air as he released the brakes and the tanker faded into the night.

  Chavasse watched the red tail lights dwindle away and turned to Youngblood. "What time is it?"

  "Just coming up to half one."

  "Which means we were inside that sardine can for almost four hours. I reckon we must have covered the best part of a hundred and fifty miles."

  "I know one thing," Youngblood said with feeling. "It was never intended to hold two."

  Somewhere in the distance a dog barked hollowly and then a bank of cloud rolled away from the moon and the countryside was bathed in a hard white light. The night sky was incredibly beautiful with stars strung away to the horizon and hills lifted uneasily into the darkness all round.

  "Where in the hell are we?" Youngblood demanded.

  On the other side of the road, a stone rattled and a young woman moved out of the shadows. "Is there anywhere in particular you'd like me to take you?"

  Chavasse recognised her accent at once and turned to Youngblood. "Some part of Yorkshire, that's certain."

  The girl wore a headscarf and an old raincoat and waited patiently, her face calm, touched with an impossible beauty by the hard white light of the moon.

  "Babylon," Youngblood said.

  "Too far for me, but I can take you part of the way," she said in her strange, dead voice.

  She moved back up the track and Youngblood turned to Chavasse in exasperation. "This whole bloody affair is getting more like something out of Alice in Wonderland every minute. We'll be meeting the White Rabbit next."

  "Or the Mad Hatter," Chavasse said with a grin and went after the girl quickly.

  Sam Crowther watched them coming along the track clear in the moonlight from the loft of his barn. "Here they are," he said softly.

  There was a stirring in the darkness at his side and Billy leaned forward excitedly, saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

  "Two nuts to crack this time, Billy," Crowther said. "But we'll manage, won't we? All in good time."

  He patted Billy on the shoulder and went down the ladder. As he emerged from the barn, the girl turned in through the gate, Chavasse and Youngblood followed her.

  "Good lass, Molly," Crowther said. "You go in and make 'em some ham and eggs."

  The girl moved off without a word and Crowther turned with a big smile, holding out his hand. "Mr. Youngblood and Mr. Drummond, I presume. There was so much about you two on the eleven o'clock news that I feel I've known you all my life. I'm Sam Crowther."

  Youngblood ignored the hand. "And what's that?" He nodded to Billy who had just shambled out of the shadows of the barn.

  "Only Billy, Mr. Youngblood. Only Billy." Crowther chuckled and tapped his forehead significantly. "He's not got all he needs upstairs, but he's as good as two ordinary men round the farm. But what are we standing round here for? You come on in and I'll show you your room. By the time you've washed up Molly will have a meal on the table, I've no doubt."

  "Your daughter?" Chavasse said as they went into the porch.

  "That's it, Mr. Drummond. A good girl, our Molly."

  "She doesn't seem to have much to say for herself."

  "Not so surprising," Crowther said piously. "And her mother barely twenty-four hours cold." There was a door to the left and he opened it to disclose a cheap deal coffin with gilt handles standing on a table. "We're putting her under at the village church at ten o'clock in the morning. It's eight miles away so that means the hearse will be here at nine. You gentlemen will have to lay low till it's gone."

  He closed the door and led the way up a flight of narrow wooden stairs covered in cheap linoleum worn smooth by the years. The landing was long and narrow and he opened the door at the far end and switched on the light.

  "I think you'll be comfortable en
ough here."

  There was an old double bed with a brass frame, a wardrobe and dressing table in Victorian mahogany and a marble washstand.

  Youngblood unbuttoned his raincoat and threw it on the bed. "And how long do we stay here?"

  "Until I get the right telephone call. Could be tomorrow. The day after at the latest. But don't worry. You're safe enough here. We're miles from anywhere."

  "And where exactly would that be?" Chavasse asked.

  Crowther gave him a sly grin. "That would be telling, now wouldn't it, Mr. Drummond? No, I couldn't do that. I've got myself to protect. You gents come down when you're ready. There'll be food on the table."

  The door closed behind him and Youngblood took off his jacket and draped it over a chair. "What do you think?"

  "I wouldn't trust him out of my sight for very long." Chavasse moved to the window and peered outside. "This place is like a bad film set for Wuthering Heights."

  Youngblood poured water from a large jug into a cracked basin and swilled his face and neck. "I know one thing," he said as he towelled himself briskly. "He only has to make one wrong move and I'll break his bloody neck."

  Chavasse took off his raincoat and moved across to the basin. "I've a feeling that might not be so easy where our boy Billy's concerned."

  "You've got a point there, but why cross bridges?" Youngblood grinned. "Right now I'm more interested in ham and eggs. I'll see you downstairs."

  The door closed softly behind him and Chavasse stood frowning into the cracked mirror above the washstand. There was something wrong here, he had never been more certain of anything in his life. It spoke aloud in the girl's silence, in the slyness in Crowther's eyes when he glanced sideways, in the great shambling imbecile that was his shadow. But if something sinister was intended, what could it be? Crowther was no fool, that was obvious and must realise that together, Chavasse and Youngblood presented a formidable combination. Separated on the other hand ... With a sudden exclamation, he hurled the towel from him, wrenched open the door and hurried downstairs.