by Alan Hunter
He took his eyes off the mirror — very well, it was their funeral! — and kept the 75 very straight down the empty stretch ahead. He refused to look at the mirror. He knew instinctively when they were up with him. He was checking his breath, waiting for the crash, certain that a crash was going to occur. Then he heard a roar above the boom of his engine. The two bikes appeared. They’d come up one on each side of him. For a couple of seconds the inside bike was bucking the bald, worn, verge: then they were through, closing up, streaking away glove by glove. He stared intently at the diminishing machines, but their plates were shrouded in the drumming black plastic.
He found himself biting hard on his pipe. It was a pretty man?uvre, that one! If he’d chanced to swerve a couple of inches there’d have been a fresh body in Five Mile Drove. He dropped his speed down to the sixes, let them go right away from him, saw them dwindle into dots in the misty aisle of the Chase. But the dots did not quite dwindle. Instead, they separated in drunken curves. For a moment he was at a loss to interpret what it was they were doing. Then he realized: they had turned. They were coming back for another attempt.
It was too crazy for anything. He guessed directly what was intended. He glanced quickly at his mirror, then moved out towards the crown of the road. He would have to cooperate, there was no alternative. To try to avoid them would bring disaster. He had to play along, as crazy as they were, and pray to high heaven they could bring it off. He held the 75 poised, kept her steady at six and a half. He said his prayer to high heaven and braced himself for what was coming.
This time their combined speeds must have been well over a hundred and fifty. The two machines hurtled towards him like missiles fired from a gun. He fought the instinct to close his eyes, to jam at the brakes, to swerve away. For a moment it seemed to him physically impossible to go on driving straight at them. Then the moment passed and he felt an icy detachment. The break came, they flicked apart, scythed howling by his two wings. A spark of elation glowed in him. He hadn’t diverged by a hairsbreadth. Only, he noticed with some surprise, his foot was hard down on the accelerator.
They turned and caught him again before the end of the Drove, but the slow overtake from behind now seemed comparatively tame. They were weaving slightly after they passed him, a victory roll it might have been. He pulled the stops out, trying to hold them, but they surged effortlessly away from the 75. Was there any chance of intercepting them? He made a mental check of the road ahead. It passed no phone box, no houses, up to the outskirts of Latchford. All they needed in the meantime were a few seconds to strip off that sheeting. After that they were unidentifiable, merely another pair of motorcyclists…
He eased down to a more reasonable speed and drew resignedly at his cold pipe. They’d got away with it for the moment, there was no point in flogging along on their tails. Better to start thinking out what was the significance of that incident, which he was sure had been planned with a deal of thoroughness and knowledge. He drove thoughtfully back into Latchford. He passed the Sun and kept going. He turned right into the Norwich Road, parked at the First and Last cafe.
Outside the First and Last cafe were standing six motorcycles and each motorcycle of the six had black plastic sheeting laced over it. The sheeting was cut so that it covered the tank and made a triangle with the pillion and back axle, thus concealing, except to an expert, the brand make of the machine.
Gently got out and walked over to them. It was very quiet inside the cafe. He walked along the row of motorcycles, stooping to place a hand near each engine. They were cool though not cold. They hadn’t been run for some time. The plastic sheetings had no mud on them. The number plates were stark and legal. He dusted his hand, nodded his head, walked into the cafe.
The six owners of the bikes sat at a table near the door, in front of each a milkshake and a sandwich on a plate. They were all dressed in black leathers and wore silk scarves round their necks. Their black gauntlets and black helmets were placed by the side of their plates. They sat silently and without moving. Only their eyes turned to Gently. In the background, his cheek twitching, Tony was doing something with a teapot.
‘Tony,’ Gently said, ‘I’ll have a milkshake and a sandwich.’
Tony dropped the teapot noisily, grabbed a shaker and slopped milk into it.
‘Whata would you like?’ he gabbled.
‘Same as the chaps,’ Gently said.
‘They got banana,’ Tony said.
‘Make mine banana,’ said Gently.
He took a leisurely survey of the premises. Two transport men were also sitting there. They looked bored. They weren’t eating and they didn’t catch Gently’s eye. At the silent table was a seventh chair and a vacant space on the table in front of it. Gently paid for his order, took it to the space, placed his trilby by it, and sat on the chair.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘as a matter of form, we’ll take the names and addresses first.’
He looked encouragingly round the table. No one answered him a word.
‘You,’ he said to a squash-nosed boy, ‘your name is Salmon, so I’m told.’
‘Like what’s it to you?’ Salmon said. ‘We haven’t been doing nothing, screw.’
‘We’ll come to that,’ Gently said. ‘You live in Barnham Road, don’t you?’
‘Tell him, Jack,’ said a thick-featured youngster. ‘We go for this screw knowing who we are.’
They gave him their names and addresses. Gently wrote them in his notebook. They were Jack Salmon, Jeff Cook, Pete Starling, Bill Hallman, Frankie Knights, and Tommy Grimstead, Hallman being the thick-featured one. Tony watched this going on with increasing agitation. The transport men seemed restive. One of them was heeling the leg of his chair.
‘Right,’ Gently said. ‘Now just for the book, how long have you been here?’
‘Like an hour and a half,’ Hallman said. ‘Ask anyone how long we’ve been here.’
‘Tony?’ Gently said.
‘It’s the truth what they say,’ Tony said. ‘They been here the hour and a half, mister. I don’t wanta no trouble around here.’
‘You won’t get it,’ Gently said. ‘Not if you keep your nose clean. What do these other two gentlemen say?’
The transport men were looking sheepish.
‘That’s about right,’ one of them muttered. ‘We’ve been here an hour, and they were here in front of us.’
‘You want to get away?’ Gently asked.
‘’Bout time we were going,’ the man said.
‘I should get away,’ Gently said. ‘You’ve nothing left to stop for now.’
The two men got to their feet hastily. One of them stumbled as he went through the door. Tony was clutching his arms anguishedly as though they were bothering him with cramp.
‘Good,’ Gently said, ‘that’s the inessentials. Now we can get down to business perhaps. What are the six of you sitting in here for — why aren’t you at work like other people?’
‘Like we work when we want to,’ Hallman said. ‘Is there a law against it, screw?’
‘Yuh,’ Salmon said, ‘what gives with you, screw? We can sit in here as long as we like.’
‘So you weren’t told off for it?’ Gently said.
‘We weren’t told nothing,’ Hallman said.
‘You weren’t told to tie those sheets on your bikes.’
‘Not nothing we was told about,’ Hallman said.
‘Then you just tied them on, did you?’ Gently said. ‘You just got the same idea. All six of you.’
‘Yuh, that’s about it,’ Hallman said. ‘Like we just got the same idea about that.’
‘And about meeting in here?’
‘Yuh,’ Hallman said.
‘And bribing a couple of transport drivers to witness your alibi for you.’
Hallman stirred, his eyes rolled a little as he tried to keep them fixed on Gently’s. ‘Like whose saying we bribed them, you tell me screw,’ he said.
‘It’s true anyway,’ Salmon put in. ‘We du
g you feeling round our engines. We’ve been sitting here since after lunch, and you know it, screw.’
‘So they were only paid to tell the truth,’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Salmon said. ‘That’s why we paid them. Like you’d come in here trying to hang us up somehow, and wouldn’t go much on what Tony told you.’
‘And why should I come in here doing that?’
‘Screws,’ Salmon said, ‘we know them.’
‘You knew I was going to come in here?’
‘Yuh,’ Salmon said. ‘No.’
‘Which way do you want it?’ Gently asked.
‘Like it’s none of your business,’ Salmon said. ‘We can sit here if we want to. And we can pay money if we want to.’
‘For an alibi for nothing?’
‘Like never mind!’ Hallman said.
‘I don’t mind,’ Gently said. ‘I’m just interested, that’s all.’
He sucked some of the milkshake through his straws and took a bite from the sandwich. None of the others was eating or drinking. They sat still. They looked unhappy. When some traffic went by they would all glance out of the window. Tony was also watching the traffic, he was leaning nervously on his elbows.
‘How much longer,’ Gently asked, ‘do you think I ought to wait here?’
They looked startled. Hallman glared, Salmon pouted and dropped his eyes.
‘I’ve other business,’ Gently said. ‘But I don’t want to spoil the fun. You’ve taken some pains to lay it on, and I wouldn’t like to disappoint you.’
‘Smart,’ Hallman said. ‘You’re being smart, screw, aren’t you?’
‘That’s a screw’s business,’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Hallman said. ‘A screw’s business.’
‘You can sling your hook,’ Salmon said. ‘We don’t care what you do.’
‘Tony,’ Gently said, ‘what do you say?’
‘I don’t wanta the trouble,’ Tony moaned.
‘Shut your trap, Tony,’ Hallman said. ‘Who says there’s going to be trouble?’
Tony wrung his arms again, tried to wind himself into the counter. Time crept by. Gently finished his sandwich, got only a bubbling from the bottom of his glass. The general unhappiness was increasing, nobody was looking at Gently now. Salmon was frowning in a ferocious way. The faces of some of the others were flushed. Only Gently, lighting his pipe, looked relaxed and mildly amused.
‘Set up a couple more shakes, Tony.’
Tony came out of the counter with a jerk.
‘You want I maka you two more shakes?’
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘Then we’ll have them ready.’
‘Smart,’ Hallman said bitterly.
‘Just not dumb,’ Gently said.
‘You don’t know nothing,’ Hallman said. ‘ Big-headed screws being smart.’
Tony made the shakes. The timing was good. He was pouring out the second one when the two motorcycles pulled in. Nobody looked out of the window, Gently was sitting with his back to it. They heard the engines being killed, the rests kicked down, footsteps. The footsteps stopped in the doorway. Gently jetted out some smoke.
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Don’t be shy. You’ve kept us waiting twenty minutes.’
‘Well, look who’s here,’ Bixley said, strutting in and making a posture. ‘Like our big-deal screw from the Smoke has come slumming again.’ He stood feet apart, arms on hips, staring mockingly at Gently. He was wearing a windcheater and jeans. A nervous, dark-eyed youngster accompanied him.
‘Yeah, slumming,’ Bixley grinned. ‘That’s the tag for what he’s doing. Waiting for you and me, Alfie, thinking up some jazz to put across us. Isn’t that nice of the screw, Alfie? Don’t he look a real square’s square? Slumming here along with some jees and thinking up jazz to put across us!’
‘Have I met you?’ Gently said to Alfie.
‘Meet the screw, Alfie,’ said Bixley. ‘Man, he’s got big eyes for you. Like keep it down or you’ll get slapped.’
‘What’s your surname?’ Gently asked.
‘Tell the screw,’ Bixley said.
‘Alfie Curtis,’ Alfie said. He looked worried, kept his eyes down.
‘Now he’ll ask you questions,’ Bixley said. ‘That’s what screws do, they ask questions, Alfie. Like where you’ve been since lunch, that sort of crap. You know?’
‘I know,’ Alfie said. It didn’t seem to make him happier.
‘You’ll love this screw,’ Bixley said. ‘He’s a real wild screw, man.’
He swung round on his heel, strode across to the counter. Tony pointed a trembling finger at the two milkshakes. Bixley pulled off his gloves and grabbed a shake off the counter. He jerked the straws on to the floor, swallowed down the shake at one draught. He burped. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘So ask your questions, screw,’ he said. ‘Something hanging you up, is there?’
Gently smiled, shook his head. ‘I know the answers,’ he said. ‘Screws don’t ask questions when they know the answers.’
‘He’s being smart,’ Hallman said. ‘He makes you sick, he’s so smart, Sid.’
‘Like that, is it?’ Bixley said. ‘He comes out here to be smart, does he?’
‘Yuh, smart,’ Hallman said.
‘He comes to the right place,’ Bixley said. ‘We’ve got a way with smart screws. They get to wondering how smart they are.’
He came back stiff-legged to the table, stood right beside Gently.
‘Let’s hear those answers, screw,’ he said. ‘Could be they don’t quite fit the questions.’
‘Are you worried about it?’ Gently asked.
‘Like do as I say,’ Bixley said. ‘You’re a long way from the screw-shop, and nobody’s going to ring it for you.’
‘You’d better sit down,’ Gently said.
‘Like there isn’t a chair,’ Bixley said.
‘You can pull one up from the next table.’
‘Like there isn’t room,’ Bixley said.
Gently shrugged. ‘Well, what do you want to know?’
‘Just the answers,’ Bixley said. ‘Like where you think Alfie’s been since lunchtime, and where I’ve been. That’s all, screw.’
Gently puffed. ‘Alfie’s been out riding with you,’ he said. ‘You picked him up after lunch, said it was a nice day for a ride. Then you rode off towards Norwich or made a detour in that direction. And now you’ve just come back and you’ve dropped in here for a milkshake.’
‘Crazy, isn’t he?’ Bixley said. ‘I wonder how he knew all that?’
‘Have I got it right?’ Gently asked.
‘Yeah,’ Bixley said. ‘Somebody told you.’
‘Here’s some more,’ Gently said. ‘Alfie was thrilled to have you ask him. He hasn’t had a bike for long. He doesn’t ride as well as you, Sid.’
‘Didn’t I say he was wild?’ Bixley inquired. ‘This is the wildest screw ever. How long have you had that bike, Alfie?’
‘Like two and a half months,’ Alfie said.
‘And how do you ride it?’ Bixley asked.
‘I get along,’ Alfie said.
‘But not like me?’ Bixley said.
‘Not like you,’ Alfie admitted. ‘You’re the mostest on a bike, Sid. Don’t reckon I’ll ever ride like you.’
Bixley stooped, advanced his face towards Gently’s. ‘You notice how right you’re being, screw?’ he said. ‘You’ve got the answers, so like you’d better stay with them. Then you’ll really be smart. For a screw.’
‘I hadn’t finished,’ Gently said.
‘Don’t come it clever, screw,’ said Bixley.
‘There’s this morning, too,’ Gently said. ‘I could guess a little bit about that.’
‘I’m warning you, screw,’ Bixley said.
Gently puffed over his head. ‘You were out riding this morning, Sid,’ he said. ‘You’ve done a lot of riding today.’
Bixley came right close to him. ‘Keep going, screw,’ he said. ‘But just
remember how handsome you look when you’re healthy. Remember that.’
‘I’ll remember,’ Gently said, ‘and thanks for the compliment, Sid. You went out riding the heath roads this morning and I doubt whether you met a single soul.’
Bixley relaxed. ‘You’re the most,’ he said.
‘Right again?’ Gently asked.
‘You should be on TV, screw,’ Bixley said. ‘The way you know answers is real comic.’
‘I’ve heard so many,’ Gently said. ‘The trouble is they’re not true. Now Elton’s story sounded true. I wonder why there’s such a difference?’
He was on his feet and the chair kicked away from him before Bixley’s fist began to travel: the fist missed by six inches and Bixley was clubbed down with a right. Hallman swung a blow that connected but then somehow he dived into the floor. The others were struggling up from the table when the table heaved forward and sent them in a tangle. Alfie decided to keep out of things. Tony had vanished behind his counter.
‘Get that bastard!’ Bixley was shouting, spitting blood from a cut mouth. ‘Don’t let him get away. We’re going to do the bleeder now!’
He wobbled furiously to his feet, but he was obviously shaken by the blow he’d got. The others didn’t seem keen to second him. They were sorting themselves out from the furniture discretely. Gently stood calmly, back to the wall. His pipe was still between his teeth.
‘You think too slowly, Sid,’ he said.
‘You bastard, I’ll get you for this!’ Bixley spat.
‘Perhaps you’re short of chocolates,’ Gently said.
Bixley swore, but with little conviction.
Tony rose tremblingly from behind the counter. ‘P-please,’ he stuttered, ‘p-pleasa, p-pleasa!’
‘You’re all right, Tony,’ Gently said. ‘Give Sid some water to wash his mouth out.’
‘Like what’s going on here?’ inquired a voice from the door. Deeming stood there. He looked immense in his crash helmet.