‘I’ll drive you.’
As they left the station, the rank and file were in the corridor to watch them go, the sight of the bag causing huge merriment until Roberts shouted:
‘Get back to work.’
Traffic was heavy and Brant made some reckless moves to make time. After he’d cut up a taxi, Roberts pleaded:
‘Jeez, take it easy.’
‘No sweat, guv, I know what I’m doing.’
Roberts glanced at him, thought he looked positively demonic. To distract himself, he asked:
‘Is everything in place?’
Brant began to light a cig, taking both hands off the wheel to do so, then actually shrugged, said:
‘We have people watching the front and back, we’re setting up a camera, pulling records on the staff, and you know what? It’s all pissing in the wind.’
When they got to Waterloo, Brant pulled up in the no-parking zone just as his phone went.
He answered, said:
‘Uh, oh, mmmph, gotcha.’
And clicked off.
Roberts said:
‘You’re not giving much away?’
Brant smiled, said:
‘It’s a party and you and me, we’re going.’
‘When?’
‘After we dump the swag.’
Roberts thought that Brant truly was mad — not just wild, out and out barking. He shook his head but Brant went:
‘Listen to me, you’re not going to hang round the station. They need you, they’ve got your number. What you need is some R and R. When was the last time you got laid?’
‘What kind of party is it?’
‘The kind where you get laid.’
Then he was off, leaving the car in the no-parking zone. Roberts struggled to catch up, asked:
‘You’re not just leaving the car? They’ll tow it.’
‘Who cares, it’s a piece of shit.’
‘But what about the party? How will we get there?’
Brant looked back, delight on his face, said:
‘See, you do want to get laid. We’ll grab a cab, arrive in style; best if we don’t have transport in case we get shitfaced.’
The station was crowded and the left luggage place was right at the rear, attended by a middle-aged guy in uniform. Roberts hefted the bag on to the counter and, without looking up, the guy asked:
‘How long?’
When Roberts didn’t answer the guy finally raised his eyes and said:
‘You deaf?’
Roberts produced his warrant card, said:
‘No, I’m the heat, now give me a ticket.’
Slowly, the guy began to punch out the ticket and without handing it over, said:
‘Five pounds.’
Roberts snapped the ticket and said:
‘You don’t want to get in the way of a police operation.’
The guy was not impressed, said:
‘That’s corruption, that is.’
He took the bag and handed it back to Jimmy who was out the back, out of Roberts’ line of vision. Jimmy immediately began to fill his overcoat with wads of money. Angie had sewn pockets all down the sides and, thanks to Her Majesty’s Prison Service, her sewing was terrific. He also carried a nondescript shopping bag, which he jammed with more wedges of cash. Finally, he produced a Network Rail shoulder bag and rammed the last few packets into it. He was ready to roll. Waited until the cops had pushed off, then shouted:
‘Bob, I’m gonna go get us some coffees.’
And went out the back entrance.
He was just disappearing down the steps at the side of the station when he noticed a couple of cops watching the front of the left luggage. Angie had said they’d be there and that there’d be plenty of them.
Ray was waiting in a taxi and Jimmy tore off the coat, put it and the bags on the seat, said:
‘See you later.’
And he returned to work.
When he got back, Bob asked:
‘Where’s the coffee?’
‘They were closed.’
Bob said never no mind, they’d brew their own. This included adding a drop of creature comfort in the form of Highland Grouse. It improved the hell out of whatever you were drinking. The hot drinks went down so well they batched up another lot and omitted the coffee — you can have too much of a good thing. It was Friday evening and close to knocking-off time. Soon they’d wander down to the Railworkers’ Club and sink a few bitters. All in all, it was a pretty mellow way to launch the weekend. Bob was feeling very relaxed, said:
‘Jim, did you hear the fashion that bloody copper spoke to me?’
‘No, Bob, I missed that.’
‘Yeah, the fucker, he tried to run riot, shouting the odds about being in the Met and wouldn’t pay for the ticket.’
Jimmy didn’t care either way and said:
‘But you were able for him, I’d say.’
‘Too bloody right, I don’t take shit from no one. What’s the big deal with the bag, do you think?’
They looked at the bag, ‘Swag’ in white letters almost glowing. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and Bob asked:
‘Swag! What’s that about? Some kind of joke, do you think?’
‘Gee, I don’t know, Bob.’
The Highland Grouse was singing in old Bob and he stood, circled the bag, then bent down, said:
‘Let’s have a little peek; I mean, the bastards didn’t even pay so it’s not like they’re entitled to our full protection.’
He pulled the zipper back and stared in dismay then said:
‘It’s empty, I could have sworn it weighed a ton, did it seem heavy to you?’
Jimmy’s heart skipped a beat and he tried:
‘No, it was light as a feather.’
Bob eyed the bottle of Grouse, laughed, said:
‘I better ease up, eh?’
Jimmy felt relief flow over him, said:
‘Let’s have one for the road. What do you think, you being the senior man?’
Bob liked that tone a lot and felt they could certainly risk one more. As they closed up, the watching cops noted the time and that they weren’t carrying anything.
One said:
‘The only thing those guys are carrying is a feed of drink.’
A month before, Angie had rented Jimmy a small apartment in Kennington. She’d said:
‘They’ll check the employees and we can’t be living together. I’ll stay with a girlfriend so they can’t connect us up.’
Jimmy was very unhappy about being on his own but she persuaded him it was only for a short time. Once
