Prized Possessions (14 page)

‘Dennis, Dennis, Dennis.' Jackie gave the side of his brother's head a gentle slap. ‘Use your loaf.'

‘How?'

‘On the back of a lorry, of course.'

*   *   *

‘Then what are you gonna do with it, for Christ's sake?' said Patsy Walsh. ‘Park it in the close? Hide it under the bed?'

‘I thought we could stash it in the yard,' said Jackie.

‘How do you propose gettin' it to the yard,' said Patsy, ‘an' from the yard to the river again?'

‘On a lorry.'

‘On a lorry? Right. Where do we get a lorry?'

‘Borrow one from Georgie, like we usually do when we need a lorry.'

‘Georgie Newton?'

‘That's the man,' said Jackie.

‘The same Georgie Newton who operates the Belville Garage an' services the Manones' motorcars?'

‘Yeah. He's … Oh, aye, I see what you mean,' said Jackie.

Patsy sighed. ‘Look, I know where there's a boat. It's tied up by the steps at the back end of Hunter's Dock. Been there for years. Nobody ever uses it, far as I can make out. It's kept in case somebody falls into the dock, or somethin'. Regulations, I expect. I've been down, had a squint at it. It's big enough. What we do is, on the night in question, we climb into the dock, untie the boat an' take it downriver. I don't suppose you thought to check the tide tables?'

‘What tide tables?'

‘God, you must be the only guy on the Clyde who doesn't know what a tide table is.' Patsy's patience was wearing thin. Gritting his teeth, he went on, ‘We need to catch the ebb, Jackie, otherwise it'll take us half the night to haul the boat downriver. High tide's at ten twenty-two. If we leave the dock at eleven that'll be about right. Close as I can calculate, it'll take us about a quarter of an hour to get down to the warehouse. We'll need rope, lots of it…'

‘Thought o' that,' said Jackie. ‘Rope.'

‘How about a grappling hook?' Patsy said. ‘You think of that too?'

‘A what?'

‘A grappling hook,' said Patsy, ‘for holdin' the boat steady while we're inside the warehouse.'

‘No, I…'

‘There's one on the dockside, racked next to the boat.'

‘Oh,' said Jackie, ‘good.'

‘There's a wee bit of bank just under the warehouse wall. It's steep and narrow but there should be just enough room to put one of you ashore to hold the bow rope.'

‘Dennis can do that.'

‘Fine,' said Patsy. ‘Thank God, Tommy knows how to row.'

‘So Tommy will be there, will he?'

‘Sure an' he will,' said Patsy. ‘It's his show.'

‘What else do you need?'

‘A lot,' said Patsy. ‘I need the girl…'

‘Babs?'

‘Yeah, Polly's sister. I need her to find out exactly where the safe is an' what kind of safe it is.'

‘The name of the safe,' said Jackie. ‘Right.'

‘We also need to be sure, absolutely, definitely sure that the big money's gonna be in the safe that night.'

‘Tommy says—'

‘Tommy says a lot o' things,' said Patsy. ‘I don't want to get inside that warehouse, then inside that safe an' discover there's nothin' there but two mutton pies an' a tin o' condensed milk.'

‘Okay, okay. We'll get Babs to keep her eyes peeled an' tell us when the money's arrived safe an' sound in the warehouse.'

‘I'll talk to her,' Patsy said.

‘I'll do it,' said Jackie. ‘She's my doll. She'll do what I tell her.'

‘Talk to her soon,' said Patsy. ‘We've only got six days.'

‘Definitely gonna be Wednesday then?' said Jackie.

‘Yeah,' Patsy said.

‘I'll talk to her tonight.'

*   *   *

‘Oh, it's you, is it?' Babs said. ‘What're you doin' here? You can't come in.'

‘Your mammy's out. I saw her leavin'.'

‘Yeah, but my sisters are still here.'

‘Come out for a minute, just a minute then.'

‘It's freezin' out there.'

‘Gotta talk to you, Babs. It's important.'

‘All right then – but just for a minute.'

She stepped quickly out of the house and followed Jackie down three flights of stairs into the back close.

She shivered in the night air. Her breath hung cloudy in the freezing dankness. She hated the courts at the back of the tenement at the best of times. Only when absolutely unavoidable would she take her turn at carrying ashes out to the midden or blankets to the wash-house. There were rats lurking out there amid the litter, cats that would claw your leg off if you so much as looked at them, and furtive little gangs of boys and young girls playing the sort of games that even she'd never been tempted to play when she was that age.

‘I'm freezin',' she said again.

‘Here, I'll warm you up.'

Jackie reached for her but she sidled away.

‘What's eatin' you, sweetheart?' Jackie said.

‘I'm not in the mood, that's all.'

‘I've been waitin' for you to show up at the yard,' Jackie said. ‘I thought you'd have been up to see us before now.'

‘For what?'

‘For – you know.'

Babs wrapped her arms over her breasts and squeezed with her elbows, not out of fear – not really – but to hold in what little warmth remained in her body. She wore only a skirt, blouse and cardigan, and couldn't understand why Jackie, in shirt-sleeves, showed no sign of feeling the cold. She half wished that he would insist on putting his arms about her, on kissing her against her will, would give her a sign that she meant more to him than a mere helper in whatever game he and Patsy and Tommy Bonnar were playing.

She said, ‘I'm not sure I want to get involved after all.'

‘
What
?' Jackie snapped and pinned her to the cold, sweating wall, fists against her shoulders. ‘Jee-zus, Babs, you can't back out now. We're dependin' on you. I mean, you gave Tommy your word, you promised.'

‘I did nothin' of the kind.'

‘What's
wrong
with you? All you've gotta do—'

‘I know what I've gotta do,' said Babs.

She pushed against him, thought of raising her knee and letting him have it where it would hurt most. But she wouldn't do that, not to Jackie. She knew that he was right and she was wrong. If she hadn't become so excited by the hundred pounds that Tommy Bonnar had offered, if she'd been thinking more clearly … it was too late to back out now. She
had
given her word, sort of, and had been avoiding Jackie only to make him come to her.

‘Yeah, an' you know what Tommy Bonnar'll do if you let us down.'

‘Carve me,' Babs said.

‘Or Polly,' Jackie said. ‘Or the other one, the deaf one.'

He let her go, put his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders and executed a few – not jolly – little steps before he spoke again.

‘You didn't
have
to say yes, you know,' he reminded her.

‘Well, with you in, an' Patsy – I didn't wanna let you all down.'

‘So you'll do it?' Jackie said.

She could see his face in the flicker of the gas lamp that shed a broken and reluctant light into the recesses of the close. He stepped nervously in and out of the shadows, not dancing now but shuffling. He was as cold as she was, she realised, and just as apprehensive. She had expected him to do exactly what he had done, watch for Mammy leaving for Gran McKerlie's then come creeping upstairs. He hadn't been able to leave her alone after all.

She smiled, showing her teeth.

‘Stop wettin' yourself, Jackie,' she said. ‘I've done it.'

‘Done what?'

‘What you wanted me to do. Got all the stuff Patsy needs.'

He stopped moving, stared at her. ‘You're kiddin'.'

‘I'm not,' she said.

He leaned into the light, staring at her, still too uncertain to show relief.

‘The safe's on the second floor, right at the back. It's in the fifth office along from the end of the corridor. Five windows along from the end of the buildin'. You listenin', Jackie?'

‘I'm listenin'.'

‘It wasn't easy gettin' myself in there.'

‘How'd you do it?'

‘Pretended I'd lost an invoice,' Babs said. ‘I got Mrs Anderson to take me into Mr MacDermott's office to look for it. I knew we wouldn't find it 'cause I'd torn it up already an' flushed it down the toilet.'

‘Clever girl,' said Jackie.

‘The safe's against the left wall, lookin' in from the door to the window. The window's hardly ever open 'cause of the cold weather.'

‘Can you open the window from the inside next Wednesday afternoon?'

‘No. No chance. Just can't be done.'

‘Okay. What about the safe?'

‘Looks new. It's big, up to my chest. It's got a sort of medallion thing, like a shield, where the keys go on.'

‘Who keeps the keys?'

‘Don't know. Probably Mr MacDermott.'

‘Maker's name?' said Jackie. ‘For the safe, I mean.'

‘Hobbs an' Company.'

‘You sure?'

‘I
can
read, Jackie.'

‘This woman didn't see you examinin' the safe, did she?'

‘Nope. She didn't much like me bein' there at all, though. Doesn't like the girls from the first-floor countin' office. Thinks we're all tarts. She had me in an' out of her precious Mr MacDermott's office in no time flat. Snotty bitch.'

‘There's one more thing we need,' said Jackie.

‘I thought I'd done my bit.'

‘On Wednesday afternoon,' said Jackie, ‘somebody'll be sent to the bank to collect the packet of money.'

‘Mr MacDermott and Mr Grant usually do that. I mean, collect the wages. Mr Manone, the old one, takes them in his car sometimes.'

‘How do they get to the bank if old Guido ain't around?'

‘I'm not sure,' said Babs. ‘Maybe they go in one o' the vans.'

‘On Wednesday can you find out if the bonus money has arrived?'

Babs shook her head. ‘I can't guarantee to be at the window or anythin'. I've got work to do, Jackie. I mean, I'm kept hard at it, at the desk.'

‘Aye, right,' said Jackie, without scepticism. ‘If you do, though…'

‘I'll get word to you.'

‘Right.'

He kissed her, rather perfunctorily, and hurried back into his house, leaving Babs to find her own way upstairs.

*   *   *

Rosie knelt by the niche bed as if saying prayers. She had a book open before her and a paper bag filled with broken toffee. She read, chewed, and hummed a tuneless tune to herself, quite oblivious to what was going on in the room behind her. Polly sat in the armchair, her feet on the fender, toasting her calves and thighs. She was smoking a cigarette with considerable concentration. She blew a plume of smoke, made a little signal to Babs and got up and trailed her into the bedroom, leaving Rosie alone in the kitchen.

‘What did
he
want?' Polly whispered, urgently.

‘It's Wednesday. They're goin' after the bonus money.'

‘Did you tell him what he needed to know?'

‘Yeah. You don't mind, do you?'

‘Mind? Of course, I mind. I don't approve of theft,' Polly said. ‘On the other hand they're going to do it anyway so I suppose there's no harm in helping them do it properly. Especially if it's the Manones who'll suffer. To tell you the truth I wouldn't mind being there myself.'

‘What'll I do with all that lovely dough, Polly?'

‘Put it away for a long, long time,' Polly said. ‘That's what Patsy and the boys intend to do with it.'

‘Ah, come on. I wanna spend it.'

‘Hide it,' said Polly again. ‘Because if the Manones ever find out…'

‘How can they possibly find out? I mean, what did I do anyway? I won't be robbin' their bloody safe, will I?'

‘No,' Polly said. ‘But you'll know who did.'

‘So will you.'

‘That's true,' Polly conceded.

‘They'll be insured, the Manones,' said Babs.

‘I wouldn't count on it,' said Polly.

‘You mean they'll come huntin' for their money?'

‘For sure,' Polly said. ‘Oh, yes, for absolutely sure.'

‘In that case, I'll hide it. I'll hide it under our bed.'

‘Are you nuts?' said Polly. ‘What if Mammy finds it? You can't hide it anywhere in our house.'

‘We could bury it in the back green.'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Babs.'

‘Where then?' said Babs.

Polly seated herself on the end of the bed. She put the last inch of the Woodbine to her lips and sipped smoke, then, leaning away from her sister, stabbed the remains of the cigarette into a tin ashtray on the bedside table.

She rested on her elbows for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the wall, then, rolling over, said, ‘We could hide it in Gran McKerlie's. Nobody will ever go poking about in that dump.'

‘What if Gran finds it,' said Babs, ‘or Auntie Janet?'

‘Don't think there's much chance,' Polly said, ‘not if we hide it properly.'

‘Like where?'

‘Under the floorboards would probably be the best place.'

‘In the kitchen?'

‘In the hall cupboard,' said Polly. ‘I'll make a point of checking it out on Sunday mornin' when Aunt Janet's at church.'

‘Yeah,' Babs said. ‘Not a bad idea, not bad at all.'

*   *   *

‘Another sausage, Mr Peabody?' Lizzie was already standing at his elbow with the pan in her hand. ‘It'll only go to waste.'

‘What about yourself, Mrs Conway?'