***
Next morning it was raining. The chirpy weather forecaster had promised sun and light winds. ‘All those clever buggers and God knows how much it costs, and they can’t even tell us when it’s going to bloody well rain’, he muttered as he waited. He sat in his office and listened to the rain spilling out of the rusted gutters that he had decided weren’t worth fixing.
A pigeon had decided to make its home in the rafters, and Joe had been thinking how he could get the bugger down. There were droppings on the cars he worked on and getting the stuff off before the customers came to collect their prize possession had become a pain. He had slept badly. Even finishing off the half bottle of whisky had not helped. He wanted to get on with his work, but he was too anxious to tackle fitting the new exhaust system on the Bentley. He liked to start and finish a job without interruption.
He jumped when he saw an old woman wearing a headscarf and a faded raincoat peer through the small wooden door at the end of the garage. She pointed to a cloth shopping bag that she held out with her other hand. This was no prank. He picked up the envelope containing the 500 pounds and took it over to the door. She averted her face as he dropped it into the bag that she held open. She was gone before he could say a word.
He walked back to his office and sat down. After a few minutes he leapt back up and raced to the door. He thought that if he followed her, he could find out where she lived. Then he could go back and get his money later that night and sort the buggers out once and for all. But when he looked up and down the rain drenched street, all he could see was the twice daily bus that ran between Lynmouth and Barnstaple. As it swept past he thought he caught a glimpse of the old lady through the steamed up windows but it was going too fast to be certain. There was no one else in sight.
Joe went back inside and checked the safe. He had put the envelope containing the 1500 pounds in with the gold and silver and now he had to wait till Saturday night before he could tackle the blackmailers. The more he thought about it the angrier he became. There was no way he was going to be pushed around. Whoever they were had better watch out, he muttered to himself. He climbed down into the inspection pit and took out his frustration on the rusty exhaust pipe. The clangs of the hammer on metal made him feel better. That bugger’d better get used to a taste of this bloody hammer, he growled.
***
Time is a great healer. By the time Saturday night rolled around, Joe felt calm and relaxed. He had a plan. He sipped his beer as he sat in a side-booth in The Bell. The locals were in full swing and a darts match added to the noise level. Couples laughed and joked and guffaws of laughter followed when a big red-faced farmer boasted about how he had towed some stupid holiday makers’ Volkswagen camper bus out of a muddy field.
Joe looked around to see if there was anyone watching him. One or two women looked over and said something to their husbands and laughed. The last time Joe had been in the pub was with Bruce on the day that they had made their life-changing discovery. He was convinced that his blackmailer was there. The voice on the phone had sounded like a farm worker, or he could have put on an accent to hide his true identity. My God, he thought, what if it was just that old woman acting alone? She had recognised him immediately. He and Bruce had had their pictures splattered all over the local papers when they found the gold. Everyone knew them by sight. While he pondered the question, an old man sat down across from him and leant across. He smelt of stale beer and pipe tobacco.
“Joe Minen. Got the money ‘ave you? Best ‘ave. Saw you and your mate a’ the Ford.”
He recognized the man. Now it all made sense. It was the couple that had been at The Rising Sun when he and Bruce had had their farewell drink. Seth and Megan, Bruce had said their names were; a brother and sister. Joe smiled. This would be easier than he had thought.
“I did as you said. The money’s in the envelope. It’s all there.”
The old man’s eyes lit up as he grabbed the envelope and stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket. Without another word he got up and made his way to the gents’ toilet at the end of the room. Joe watched until the old man came out and went to the bar.
“Drinks’re on me, maties. Backed me a winner a’ the races.” He waved a handful of what Joe saw as his hard earned money in the direction of a bunch of young farmers. Everyone cheered and the nearest young man clapped the old man on the back. Joe sipped his beer slowly. Seth must have been the figure that he had seen in the mist up at Sherracombe Ford when they found the gold, he mused. ‘We should have gone back and killed him then. But it’s not too late; nobody had better try to screw with Joe Minton’, he muttered to himself. Let them have their fun and then it’s my turn, he mused. He felt the gun under his jacket. It was ready, and he was prepared to use it if his first plan failed.
“Drinking up time ladies
