“Look, Joe, that’s alright for you, but it’s my neck what’s on the line. I get caught and it’s 20 years in jail for smuggling, or god knows what.”
Joe could see that one little slip-up and Bruce could ruin the plans that he had spent weeks perfecting. He had some talking to do. He went over again what they had agreed. He made sure that Bruce was clear about each step. Bruce sat there fidgeting with his beer glass while Joe continued to try to re-assure his friend.
“I know you thought we should have handed all of it over, Bruce. But that’s all water under the bridge now. We kept a fair chunk for ourselves. That’s only right; we found the bloody stuff. We’ve got plenty stashed away in that giant bloody safe at my garage. Your share of the money we got’s in the Bank.”
“But I still don’t see why we had to put my share in a joint account, Joe.”
“I explained all that. S’pose you need cash while you’re away? That way I can I take care of it from here. You don’t want a bank account in Australia as they could trace you if they got suspicious.”
“If you say so, Joe. I guess it sounds okay the way you explain it.”
“Look Bruce, no one suspects anything. The reward’s enough to keep our cash flow going and get the Toyota and the stuff to Australia. Everyone thinks that I’m as happy as a pig in clover runnin’ the garage. You’re going back to Australia to buy your dream farm and find yourself a girl to marry.”
“Joe, don’t joke around about getting married. You know how I feel ever since Joan died.”
“Sorry, mate, I was just messing about. I know how you feel.”
“Okay, but are you sure we’ve covered our tracks, Joe? I’ve got a feeling that something’ll go wrong. Some bugger’ll sniff around and find some little thing that we overlooked.”
“It’s a perfect story, Bruce. They even had that article in the local papers saying what good and sensible blokes we were.” They both laughed at the picture it conjured up.
“But the next bit’s where we get caught. I know it,” muttered Bruce, as he reached for his half empty glass. Joe leant forward as the noise from the bar area grew louder. “Someone’s obviously won that stupid contest,” he muttered.
“Look Bruce, we’ve got the gold and a few of those silver dishes in that big old safe in the garage. No one’ll ever find it and I can sell off bits through that friend of mine in Barnstable if we need more cash. He’s got a mate in London who knows this fella what has contacts with people who want that sort a stuff for their private collections; no questions asked.”
“That’s all well and good for you, but what about my bit. I don’t have a clue about all this money laundering stuff you keep going on about.”
“I keep telling you Bruce; just see yourself as the delivery man. Once you’re clear of Customs, you drive the truck up the coast to Brisbane. It’ll take about a day, at most. Then go to the bed and breakfast I already booked for you. It’s a quiet private little place, so no one will bother you. Ashbourne House, it’s called. You’re booked in as Barry Manlow. Just think of Manilow. They’ll know it’s not him ‘cause you can’t play the piano.” His attempt at getting Bruce to relax was wasted.
“But what am I supposed to do there?” Bruce asked.
“Just sit tight. This bloke I told you about’ll contact you. He’s the one who’s got a warehouse over at Eagle Street Pier. He’ll come over and collect the truck and dump the bloody furniture and get our stuff from the false floor.”
“But what about the truck?”
“I told you before. He’ll bring it back to you in Brisbane. Then all you have to do is just drive it back to Sydney, sell it or give it away to some stupid backpackers and get a ticket back home. You’ll be back in Devon before you know it. I’ll meet you at the airport. Alright?”
Bruce stood up and walked over to the bar. He returned with two more beers and some whisky chasers.
“You’d best go light on that whisky, Bruce. You don’t need a hangover.”
“Sod it. I’ll be alright. Just explain to me again how we get the money back to England and how can we trust someone won’t crook us?”
“It’s like I told you, Bruce, the bloke’s a friend of Lord Farleigh’s. He lost some money in a card game and I heard him ask this bloke to do some money laundering for him. I got hold of a letter the bloke wrote with the details of what they were doing. It gave everything; you know, names of banks and places they were using, all that sort of thing. Anyway, I made a copy. Good job I got on with old Farleigh’s secretary,” he grinned and smacked his lips. “I put the grip on this bloke when he came down one weekend to go shooting with Lord Farleigh and his cronies. He owed me a favour because I promised to keep quiet. So I called it in. That’s how it was easy to set it up.”
“But I still don’t understand how it works,” Bruce said.
Joe explained that the gold and silver would be shipped from Brisbane to Jakarta or even to Shanghai and then sold on to fences, dealers and antique collectors.
“There’s a regular market for that
