A Prospect of Vengeance

back, an' Abdul tells me you've got company — company I don't care to meet just yet. So I did a bit more walking an' window-shoppin', till Dr Mitchell removed himself — ' He stopped suddenly. 'How did you know it was me?'

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''It's the way you walk.' She shook her head irritably. 'But he's gone, Mr Buller — Reg — ' She scowled at him in the drizzle, the first strands of hair already dampened against her face. '

— for God's sake, Reg!'

'As 'e? Or is 'e just waitin' for you to run?' Buller was role-playing again. 'Though o' course, the blokes down at each end of the street now, parked in their cars on the double-yeller lines, bold as brass — they may not be 'is blokes, I grant you. They could be local villains waitin' to do a job? Or villains at one end, an' plain-clothes lads at the other, waitin'

to nab 'em? An' you want me to go an' arsk 'em, do you?

'Cause, I tell you, I ain't goin' to — ' He pointed into the darkness, clinking the bottles in the bag in his other hand as he did so ' — 'cause I'm goin' over the wall, is where I'm goin'.' He swung round, clinking again. 'We won't be needing your ladder — just that box'll do, my lad!' He nodded at the wooden box which had been conveniently positioned below the sacking.

'Oh no! Ladder damn necessary!' Mr Malik skipped past them to the wall and on to the box, and addressed the darkness on the other side in his own language.

'What — ?' Reg Buller strode forward and peered over.

'Bloody hell!'

'Walls have two sides, see?' Mr Malik addressed Ian this time. 'This side — little wall. Other side — damn great wall.

All the same wall, but you break your neck jumping it, if not careful. Ladder damn necessary!'

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'Right then!' Buller drew back and gestured towards Ian.

'Over you go. There's a little bloke down there holding the ladder, so don't drop on him, eh?'

Going over the wall was uncomfortable and awkward, even with only one bag. But the other side was purgatory, one-handed on the slimy-wet rungs, brushed by sodden branches

— the 'bushes' he had observed from above were in fact the tops of fair-sized trees — in almost total darkness ... or, almost total darkness twice frighteningly broken by the passage of trains, each of which turned the dark into a nightmare of noise and light through the foilage. And the bloody ladder seemed to go on for ever: if anything, the little man had understated the size of his great wall.

But then, to make him feel feeble and effete, Jenny came down after him like a cat, in half his time. And even Reg Buller made light of his descent, only worried for the safety of his beer.

'Well, that's blown away the cobwebs!' Buller puffed slightly as he turned to the attendant waiter, whose white coat belied the darkness. 'You do this often, do you?'

'Please — ?' The single word sounded curiously unlndian: second generation London-Indian, different not so much because of its pronunciation as for its simple politeness . . .

'Never mind, lad. We got down. Now, how do we get out? Are those lights I can see up there the ones on the bridge?'

A sniff came from Jenny's direction. 'Now you ask!'

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'Don't fret, Lady. I've been alongside more railway lines than you've 'ad 'ot dinners — as a nipper and as a copper, chasin'

nippers. There's always ways in, an' there's always ways out.'

Buller drew in a breath. 'Well, lad.'

'Oh yes, sir. Those are the bridge lights, sure. You just follow the wall — you take my little torch, okay? People throw junk

— very dirty people — and you maybe trip, see? But no difficulty . . . just the rubbish.'

'And then we scale the wall again?' Jenny's voice was admirably calm.

'No, Miss. The bank comes up by the bridge. The wall is very little there — very easily, you go up. Just the broken bottles of the dirty people, you got to watch for them. Then only little walls, like I say. No difficulty, Miss.'

'Well . . . thank you.' She prodded Ian inaccurately in the almost-darkness. 'In your wallet, darling — for services rendered?' She hissed the command.

'Oh no, Miss.' The young waiter moved towards the ladder like a ghost. 'Service charges all included in the bill, my father says. I must go now — we've got to pull up the ladder damn-quick now, he says — okay?'

'Okay. Up you go, lad,' agreed Buller. 'And hide the bloody thing too, just in case — if you can — ?'

'Don't you worry, sir — ' The voice already came from above them, through the branches ' — we padlock this fire-escape ladder back in the passage. Then my father loses the key, I dummy2

think . . . Good night, sir — Miss — ' The voice faded.

'Artful little monkey!' murmured Buller admiringly.

'But well-brought up,' said Jenny.

'Ah . . . well, they still bring 'em up, don't they! Model bloody citizens they'd be, if it wasn't for their religions, makin' 'em all hate each other — ' Buller stopped abruptly. 'But we didn't ought to stand gabbin' sweet nothing's — '