Gently Go Man (7 page)

‘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 dug 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.

‘Hullo, Dicky,’ Gently said. ‘I had to quieten them before you got here.’

D
EEMING WASN’T LOOKING
pleased. His eyes went frostily to Bixley. There was a sudden silence in the café. Nobody seemed inclined to break it. Jack Salmon was still on the floor and he remained where he was. Jeff Cook was picking up a chair. He let the chair stop in his hand. The rest went similarly still. Only Tony was hugging and wringing himself. The sound of a passing car came precisely. One could also hear Bixley’s heavy breathing.

‘I thought,’ Deeming said tightly, ‘I told you to keep it down with the screws. Like flipping the lid was square action. Like jeebies ought to be above it.’

Nobody said anything. Bixley dribbled a spittle of blood on the floor. Deeming came slowly out of the doorway, took a stand before Bixley.

‘So what’s it about, Sid?’ he said. ‘You seem to have been in amongst it. How come you got that poke in the mouth and like there’s been a landslide in the
neighbourhood
?’

‘He was needling me again,’ Bixley jerked. ‘Like I can’t stand that screw needling me.’

‘Yuh, he was needling him,’ Hallman said. ‘That’s how it was, ain’t it, blokes?’

‘Yuh, he was needling him,’ several of them repeated. ‘That’s how it was. He was needling Sid.’

‘So then all you cool cats flip your lids?’

‘Like I couldn’t help it,’ Bixley said. ‘He jabbed me rotten. He was being smart. Like he was trying to make me poke him.’

‘And like he succeeded,’ said Deeming scathingly, ‘if the blood you’re spitting is anything to go by. I thought I could depend on you, Sid. I thought I’d talked some cool sense into you.’

‘Yuh, but there’s a limit,’ Bixley said.

‘A limit like yours,’ said Deeming, ‘is dangerous.’

‘I tell you I wasn’t going to poke him,’ Bixley said. ‘Just lean on him some. I was trying to lean on him.’

‘And like he leaned back.’

‘Yuh,’ Bixley snarled. ‘Like he did. And I took a poke.’

‘Did you think he was a pushover?’ Deeming said. ‘Did you think you could lean on him and he wouldn’t lean back?’ He swung round from Bixley, turned to Gently. ‘So what’s the score, screw?’ he said. ‘Are you hanging Sid up on the grounds he’s taken a poke at you?’

Gently shook his head slowly. ‘It wouldn’t be worth it, would it?’ he said.

‘You dig him?’ Bixley snapped out. ‘It’s all needle, needle, needle.’

‘Like,’ Deeming said sharply, ‘you’ll let me handle this, Sid. This screw isn’t so square as a lot of screws you’ll meet.’

‘Thank you, Dicky,’ Gently said.

‘I could pan him,’ Bixley said.

‘But what you will do,’ Deeming said, ‘is to pick up Tony’s chairs and table.’

There was a scramble to pick them up. Bixley didn’t join in it. He grabbed a chair, flopped on it heavily, sat licking at his lip and eyeing Gently. Deeming singled out Hallman to collect the broken plates and glasses. He gave the pile a casual scrutiny, laid a pound note on the counter.

‘Will this cover it, Tony?’ he asked.

Tony nodded, screwing his face up.

‘Sorry,’ Deeming said, ‘about the dust-up. It won’t happen again, Tony. You’ve got my word for it.’

‘I don’t lika the trouble, Mister Deeming,’ Tony said.

‘Me neither,’ said Deeming. ‘It’s screwball. And like I’ve talked to these guys some more I’ll put some hip into them yet. I’m not a jee for trouble, Tony.’

‘No, Mister Deeming,’ Tony said.

‘That’s not the way to be real,’ Deeming said. ‘That’s just the square action coming out.’

He came back to Gently.

‘I saw your car,’ he said. ‘Like I was just going out for a spin. I wondered if you’d care to ride along.’

‘With you, pillion?’ Gently asked.

‘Sure, pillion,’ Deeming said. ‘Have you ridden a Bonneville before? Man, they’re cool, they’re
refrigerative
.’

Gently hesitated. All of them were watching him. He dropped a couple of reflective puffs.

‘I’ve come along this far,’ he said. ‘I might as well go the whole distance.’

‘Crazy, you’ll go for it,’ Deeming said. ‘Jack, lend the screw your helmet and goggles. Man, I can guarantee this will send you. I dig your style. This’ll put you way out.’

His slate eyes glinted a smile at Gently. Bixley spat some more blood on the floor.

They rode back into town, down the High Street, past the Sun. The cloud had thinned now to a light haze and the light was golden and the air warm. Gently’s helmet was rather small for him, felt like a crown perched on his head. He felt a little ridiculous straddling the pillion and holding Deeming by his waist. The slipstream plucked at his light trousers though they were tucked into his socks. Where only the socks protected his ankles were two bands of chilled flesh. He had a sensation of insecurity. His seat on the bike seemed precarious. He was naked and unfenced from the streets and buildings that flickered by him.

Beyond the Sun they crossed the bridge and headed, as he knew they would, in the direction of Castlebridge. On the short run through the town Deeming had shown himself a talented rider. He rode steadily, at an even pace, seeming to adjust the traffic to suit himself. Now, as they passed the delimit, he twisted the throttle open with a smooth precision. The machine seemed to be soaring away from Gently, as though it were climbing and he was sliding off. He clung tighter, crouched over Deeming. The slipstream punched him like icy dough. The road, a streaky grey death, unreamed a few inches below his feet. The note of the engine was a pummelling throb and the
heat from it was roasting the insides of his shins. Traffic exploded on their right. Sometimes it howled past Gently’s elbow. A monstrous truck rose up ahead, slanted to the left, went by in madness. They were into the trees in under two minutes. The trees were ghosts. They didn’t seem to belong.

Deeming’s back pushed hard at Gently and the road came wheeling up from the right.

‘Roll!’ Deeming bawled over his shoulder. ‘Christ, roll with me, or you’ll have us off!’

The road sank back. They were on a straight again. The machine was soaring in its climb to speed. They knifed through traffic that notched both sides of them, the trees sprang open in an insane geometry. Gently had stopped now trying to resist, to brace himself for the violence of disaster. A half-real mirage was all that contained them. It kept falling away from their inevitable onset. Nothing was real except the machine and the two of them. They were out of the world. They were alone, unreachable.

‘Roll!’ Deeming bawled, pressing backwards.

This time Gently relaxed, leaning with him. The grass verge reeled in a crescendo at their shoulders, stayed with them, slid away into its streaming level.

‘You’ve got it!’ Deeming roared. ‘Just let yourself go with me. And man, hang on tight. This is where we hit the ton.’

They had come to Five Mile Drove. Its vacuum of straightness was sucking them into it. Like the glorious path of an arrow it split upwards towards the sky. And on the path of that arrow they hung poised in an
immaculate balance, the world falling away from them, faded away in divine speed. He felt a curious sense of freedom, a calm almost. He seemed released into a peacefulness, a huge detachment from the diminished physical. In a sort of wonderment he noticed the tree expanding like some black, spiritual flower, at first slowly, then urgently, then rushing into the sky. At the same moment an invisible hand crushed him back from the peace he experienced. The vision, the sensation, was dragged away from him. He was painfully returned to the dull moment.

Deeming slid over on to the level ground that surrounded the tree, bucked joltingly up to it, dropped his feet, cut the engine. Gently’s ears were still buzzing, the air felt suddenly hot and thin. His legs were aching. He was aware of pain from the chilled bands around his ankles. Deeming raised his goggles, twisted his head round. His eyes rested on Gently smilingly.

‘You get it now, screw,’ he asked, ‘like the way it was with Lister?’

Gently raised his goggles also. His face was burning and stiff.

‘The ton and nineteen,’ Deeming said. ‘That was cooling it some, screw. That was touching it good and hard. That was way out, way out. And you were getting the kick, screw. Like that’s a kick you can’t miss. You were on the borders, you know? You were on the borders way out.’

‘You’re a good rider,’ Gently said.

‘Yeah,’ Deeming said. ‘Sid taught me.’

‘He’s another good rider,’ Gently said.

‘Sure,’ Deeming said. ‘That makes two of us.’

‘Two good riders,’ Gently said.

Deeming gave him a broad grin. ‘I like you, screw,’ he said. ‘You’re subtle. You’re cool, too, in your Squaresville way.’

He raised his hand, made a gesture of fiddling.

‘Like that was just the allegro movement,’ he said. ‘But that’s not all. I’ve got an adagio for you. Like you’re through with the interval I’ll make with the baton.’

He pulled his goggles back down, lifted the bike and kicked the starter. They bumped back on the road, pointed towards town again. Deeming rode at a fluent sixty but sixty now seemed a crawl: it took them all of five minutes to put the tree back on the horizon. They approached the scene of Lister’s crash, neared the lane that cut in just before it. Deeming slowed and took the lane. Its surface was soft and littered with pine needles. The boughs of the pine trees met above it and the air was moist and resin-scented. The lane went straight for some distance, then slanted left, and again right. They passed an enamelled fire-warning notice with beneath it a stock of beating brooms.

‘Like Canada,’ Deeming jerked over his shoulder. ‘I’ve seen it like this in Canada, screw.’

There was a deadness and hush among the
close-packed
trees that seemed to absorb the low throb of the engine.

It continued for above a mile, changing direction in straight slants, rising and falling over shallow ridges, and with occasional surfaces of loose gravel. Then the tall trees knifed away and gave place to a grove of saplings,
then the saplings stopped abruptly to reveal a nursery of bush trees. The nursery was fenced with small-mesh netting. It bore the fire-warning plates. The young trees had a bluish bloom and the wistful appearance of bold callowness. Deeming slowed right down through the nursery as though he wanted Gently to take it in. At the end it was protected by twin lines of birches and beyond the birches they were out on the brecks.

Deeming kept to his slow pace. The lane was a barely visible track. About it the brecks went sweeping and rolling in blackish and tawny valleys and ridges. There was nothing to see but these undulations. They moved from one horizon to the other. Their vegetation was bramble, heath, furze, and russet patches of bracken. They lacked landmark or direction. They had
apparently
no bird-life. They had a silence as of unbelievable age, or as though they were listening. Even their sky seemed lower and stiller and watching the dark stillness beneath.

‘Spooky, isn’t it?’ Deeming commented out of the corner of his mouth. ‘You know, I go for this, screw. Like it reminds me of the outback. You ever been down under, screw?’

‘No,’ Gently said. ‘Not yet.’

‘You get it just like this,’ Deeming said. ‘But like it’s hotter and the sky’s hollow. I had a spell at a station out a bit from Alice. Big drought country, screw, say it’s five hundred from Alice. I was herding on the trail, slept in places like this. Mulga trees. Abos. Spooky as hell, it was.’

‘On the borders?’ Gently asked.

‘Yeah, plumb on them,’ Deeming said. ‘Like I hadn’t thrown that jazz then, but I was getting the kick all the
same. And the kick you get here, maybe you get it a bit stronger. Because like your abos are ghosts, screw, though they’re still here, they haven’t moved out.’

‘It’s a theory,’ Gently said.

‘Too right it is,’ said Deeming.

They went on riding. At times the track seemed to disappear altogether. Its line was straight, it followed a depression or climbed a ridge indifferently. From the top of the ridges you could see some miles, but all those miles were more breck: there was only the black Chase far behind, perhaps a couple of firs far ahead. The sky was whitish without gradation. The sun was a brightness over to the left.

At last they did arrive at something that made an event in the sameness. It was a level depression of a few acres, grown with scanty, brownish grass. At either side it had hummocky ground and on one of the hummocks were the two firs they had seen. The track passed by the nearer hummocks and crossed the depression to a point near the fir trees. Deeming followed it there and stopped. He killed the engine, thrust up his goggles.

‘What do you make of this?’ he asked.

Gently climbed stiffly off the bike. He was getting tired of his pillion-riding, tired of the weight of the helmet.

‘It could have been camping ground,’ he said.

Deeming shook his head. ‘No water, cobber. The abos didn’t build camps away from water. Like you must give them a little sense.’

‘What do you say it is?’ Gently asked.

‘Well, it could be a holy place,’ Deeming said. He had
his eyes fixed hard on Gently. ‘You reckon it might be a holy place?’ he said.

Gently didn’t say anything. He felt for his pipe and filled it. After a moment Deeming propped the bike, fetched out a case, lit a cigarette.

‘Like these broken bits here could have been barrows,’ he said. ‘Maybe some squares bust them up, looking for loot and whatnot.’

‘Maybe,’ Gently said.

‘You think it’s likely?’ Deeming asked.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Gently said. ‘Better ask an archaeologist.’

‘Yeah, but I’m curious,’ Deeming said. ‘I get a wild kick out here. I stop here long and it sends me, I don’t know who or where I am. You ever get a kick like that?’

‘I’m too much of a square,’ Gently said.

‘I was out here this morning,’ Deeming said. ‘You know? It sent me, I was gone for hours.’

‘Which particular hours?’ Gently said.

‘Like you’ve beat me there,’ said Deeming. ‘But man, I touch it here so hard it’s a wonder I get back in again.’

‘Try eating chocolates,’ Gently said.