Prized Possessions (18 page)

He placed his hand on her breast outside her coat.

He could feel the swelling but not the shape. He kept his hand still, a tender gesture, not intrinsically sexual, no more so than the weight of her thighs on his lap. He had never held her like this before and when he kissed her it seemed different, inexplicably different from kissing at the close-mouth or in the lane behind the Calcutta. It was like kissing after making love, after passion had been expended and only love remained.

‘When will I see you again?' Polly whispered.

‘On Saturday,' he told her. ‘On Saturday, at the dance.'

‘And it'll all be over?'

‘Bar the shoutin',' Patsy said.

*   *   *

Wee Billy Hallop eventually opened the door in response to her tentative knocking. He wore a ragged blue jumper over school shorts and his feet and legs were bare and dirty. He looked, Babs thought, like a ragamuffin but this, she knew, was due more to carelessness than neglect. He glowered at her, his flat, spoon-shaped face buckling in on itself until it seemed to be nothing but a brow and an underlip, both bulging with indignation.

‘Is your brother in?' Babs said. ‘Your brother Jackie.'

‘Gimme a ciggie then.'

‘I haven't got a ciggie.'

‘G'an, gimme a ciggie.'

‘I'll give you a cuff on the flamin' ear in a minute,' Babs said, then, raising her voice, called out,
‘Jackie, are y' there?'

He appeared out of the bedroom, lifted his brother in a casual bear-hug and slung him away out of sight into the kitchen.

‘Come in,' Jackie said.

‘Nah, I gotta get upstairs. I've a message.'

‘What message?'

‘The money arrived.'

‘You saw it?'

‘Aye. It was just luck. I was in the lav – the toilet about half past three o'clock an' I thought I'd open the window on the off-chance. I saw them bringin' it into the warehouse from a van.'

‘Who?'

‘Three o' them. Mr MacDermott, Andy Ross an' Mr Manone.'

‘Which Mr Manone?'

‘The old one, the uncle.'

‘Right,' said Jackie. ‘You're sure it was the cash?'

‘Five canvas bags. Mr MacDermott an' Andy Ross carried two each an' the old man carried one.'

‘Definitely the money?'

‘Five bags. Definitely.'

‘They didn't see you, did they?'

‘How could they? I was inside the lav – the toilet on the first floor.'

‘Good girl.'

He peered at her for a moment and she could tell that he was tempted to kiss her but that his nerves wouldn't let him.

‘Good girl,' he said again, then, empty of conversation, closed the door.

*   *   *

Polly was already at home. Tucked back into the alcove, she was seated on top of the bed, cross-legged. She had removed her coat, hat and shoes but still wore the prim jade green twin-set and black pleated skirt that her position as a clerk in the burgh office demanded. An ashtray was balanced in her lap and she was smoking, not languidly but in a manner suggestive of last meals and firing squads. When Babs came into the room she looked up, frowning.

Rosie occupied the bedroom's only easy chair. She was reading a newspaper by the light of the lamp. She appeared quite unconcerned about anything and oblivious to her sisters' conversation.

Babs said, very quietly, ‘It came, the money.'

‘You saw it?' said Polly, sitting forward.

‘Saw them bringin' in the bags.'

‘Did you tell Jackie?'

‘Yep.'

‘So it's on,' said Polly.

‘Yep.'

‘Oh, God!'

‘What's on?' said Rosie, lowering the newspaper.

‘None o' your business,' said Babs.

Rosie smiled over the top edge of the
Citizen
and proceeded to observe her sisters with unabashed interest. ‘Is something interesting happening?'

Babs removed her coat and cap and placed herself directly before the armchair, blocking off Rosie's view.

Speaking quietly, Polly said, ‘Is it still raining?'

‘Nope,' Babs said. ‘It's stopped.'

‘That's always something, I suppose,' Polly said.

‘You worried?' Babs said.

‘Worried sick,' Polly admitted. ‘Aren't you?'

‘Nah. They know what they're doin', the boys,' Babs said.

‘Do they?' said Polly. ‘I wonder.'

‘If they do what?' said Rosie, who had slipped out of the easy chair to lip-read her sisters' conversation from a more convenient angle. ‘If who do what?'

‘Damn it, Rosie!' Babs shouted. ‘I thought I told you to mind your own bloody business.'

Rosie pursed her lips and widened her eyes into the expression of mock innocence that Mr Feldman so detested.

‘Oooooow!' She tapped her forefinger to her mouth. ‘It is all right, ladies,' she said. ‘My lips are sealed.'

‘They'd better be,' said Polly.

*   *   *

‘Here, this ain't gonna be so easy, is it?' Dennis Hallop said.

‘I never said it would be easy,' Patsy told him. ‘If you'd been listenin' in the first place, you'd have sussed that out for yourself.'

‘Where's Tommy? Isn't Tommy supposed to be here?'

‘Tommy's gone to the dock to check on the boat. We'll meet him there.'

‘What's all that stuff you got there, Patsy?' Dennis asked.

A battered canvas-sided suitcase fastened with rope stood on the floor of the shed. Draped across the long bench were four lengths of manila rope which Patsy had checked inch by inch to make sure they were sound. He put his hand on top of the case.

‘Bolt cutters,' he said. ‘The safe's on the second floor so it isn't likely to be cemented but it might be bolted down. Also, some solid iron bars and a jack.'

‘A jack?' said Dennis.

‘How else do you think I'm gonna get the safe up to window height? I'm gonna slide it across the floor, jack it on to a desk, slide the desk to the window an' lower the safe down to the boat in a cargo net.'

‘Where's the cargo net?'

‘Tommy has it.'

‘Where'd he get a cargo net?' said Jackie.

‘I gave it to him,' Patsy went on. ‘Will you stop askin' so many idiotic questions, please? I know what I'm doin'. I've done it before.'

‘Talk us through it one more time, but,' said Jackie.

‘Right, one more time. I climb up with the ropes. I remove the right window an' gain access to the office where the safe is. I fix a rope. Jackie climbs up it to join me, leavin' you, Dennis, an' Tommy in the boat. Assumin' I can't open the safe where it stands, which isn't very probable, then we'll load the safe into the net an' lower it through the window down into the boat.'

‘What do one o' them Hobbs' safes weigh?' said Jackie.

‘A hell of a lot,' said Patsy.

‘I hope we can shift it,' said Jackie.

‘If Babs has the model right,' Patsy said, ‘we should be able to manage.'

‘Once you're clear o' the buildin' an' back in the boat, we row downriver to the swing park at the end of Shotten Street,' Dennis said. ‘I remember that bit.'

‘I'm glad you remember somethin',' Jackie said.

‘We manhandle the safe on to the stone ramp under the railin's,' Patsy went on, ‘where I blow it open with a strong charge o' powder.'

‘You done that before too?' said Dennis.

‘Often,' said Patsy. ‘Often enough anyway. It's deserted down at the end of Shotten Street that time of night so nobody's gonna bother us. We take the bags out an' sling them over the railin' into the play park. We push the empty safe down into the deep water an' we let the boat float off on the tide. God knows where it'll be washed up. It doesn't matter. We climb over the railin's, empty the bags into four tool-bags that Tommy's also got stowed in the boat. Then we split, one at a time, an' catch separate late-night trams back into the Gorbals. If things go right, we should all be back here by one. Jackie'll leave the gate unlocked. No lights, remember. Got that, Dennis?'

‘Got it,' said Dennis.

‘We'll count an' divvy up the cash an' be on our merry way,' Patsy said. ‘Unless we make a hash of it the Manones won't even know they've been robbed until the cleaners arrive in the mornin', by which time we'll have the dibbens hid away safe an' be tucked up in our little beds, sleepin' like babies.'

‘Who pays Babs?' said Jackie.

‘It comes out of the first cut.'

‘I'll give it to her,' said Jackie.

‘I'll bet you will,' said Dennis.

‘Now,' Patsy said, ‘any questions?'

‘Nah,' said Dennis, airily. ‘I reckon it's gonna be easy meat.'

‘You think so?' Patsy said.

‘Sure,' said Dennis. ‘Piece o' cake.'

‘What happens afterwards, Patsy?' Jackie asked.

‘I'll tell you what happens afterwards,' Patsy said. ‘Afterwards the Manones go ravin' mad.'

‘An' what do we do?'

‘Lie low, wee man, lie low.'

*   *   *

In spite of the soft hat and a trench coat that made him look more like an American G-man than a matelot, Tommy Bonnar turned out to be handy with a pair of oars. In fact, if the Ferryhead Rowing Club had not merely been a front for less athletic endeavours Tommy would surely have been its champion, for, many years ago, he had worked for the Harbour office and had learned how to navigate small craft in and out of the docks that lined the upper Clyde.

It had been a happy time for young Tommy; all too brief. Eventually he had fought with his immediate superior, a dour, tattooed, hard-drinking devil by the name of Slezack, and had carved him up one night on the wharf outside the Harbour offices. Charged and found guilty of assault, Tommy had lost his job, had served a spell in a borstal and had never looked back, at least not openly.

Jackie and Dennis had never been on the river before except on ferries. They were almost overwhelmed by the number of bulky cargo vessels and ocean liners that flanked the shores. Blunt, crouching tugs and fireboats, crenellated dredgers, the great, grey naked hulls of sloops and cruisers all seemed to be part of the fabric of the city, lying cheek by jowl with the tenements. As the longboat glided past docks and wharves and dead-end streets, the Hallops sat motionless, cowed not by what they were about to do but by the fact that they were out on the broad, dark river in a boat that seemed no bigger than a matchbox, a boat so small and puny that it was practically invisible.

Fortunately Tommy Bonnar knew where he was going. He sucked on the cigarette that clung to his lip and tried not to show how much he was enjoying himself. He hadn't expected to experience the arrogance of boyhood ever again, to feel the muscle of the river through the oars, to see the night sky snaking ahead and taste the strong brown metallic wind that slapped the waves against the bow. The river ran high with winter rain, though, and an ebbing tide drew the boat along faster than even Tommy had anticipated.

They reached the bridle path, the warehouse in a quarter of an hour. Feathering one oar Tommy steered the longboat into the steep banking. Patsy, poised and ready, scrambled ashore. Flinging himself down, he hauled on the bow rope so that the boat swung on her length, then, with Jackie grappling with the boat-hook, came into position under the warehouse wall and clung there, tenuously moored.

‘You got her, Tommy?'

‘I got her.'

‘Can you hold her?'

‘Aye, no bother.'

‘Jackie, gimme the case.'

However cool and rational Patsy might appear, however professional his approach to burglary, what drew him back wasn't just the promise of easy money but those moments of heightened awareness when every fibre of his being seemed to buzz with life and all the petty concerns that plagued him were burned away, reduced to a hot, hard little spot of concentration which was more intense, more satisfying than anything else in life, even the sexual act itself.

He had chosen this approach in the full knowledge of its hazards and difficulties. If he was going to shaft the Manones then he had to shaft them properly. Of course, he could have stormed in the front door of the warehouse with a gun in each hand and a mask over his face like a bloody cowboy. But he wanted to do it the hard way. He
needed
to do it the hard way, to make it too daring for an inside job.

He fished a pair of black rubber-soled pumps from the case, put them on, laced them tight. He slung one of the rope coils over his head and around his back then gripped the drainpipe that ascended the line of the wall. He tested it, leaning back, then glanced down.

Tommy and Dennis were bobbing up and down in the longboat. He paid them no heed whatsoever. The boat was Tommy's business. His business was to get up to and into the office forty feet or so above his head.

‘Okay?' he said.

Jackie nodded. ‘Okay.'

Patsy began the climb.

Chapter Eight

Soon after he stepped through the window into the manager's office, Patsy knew he was in trouble.

The climb itself had not been particularly strenuous. Heights didn't bother him and the drainpipe had provided secure holds for his hands and feet.

Straddling the narrow window sill forty feet above the river, he had used the coconut mat and bolt cutters as confidently as if he'd been standing on the ground. He had pressed the mat against the glass with his knees and, using the cutters one-handed, had tapped away until the glass beneath it cracked. Lifting the mat away, he'd tapped again. A crescent of glass had fallen inwards with an almost inaudible tinkle. He had listened intently for half a minute or so and then, with no clang of alarms inside the building, had reached down his gloved right hand, had found the aperture and the brass handle and had opened the window outward, letting it swing away.