“Evening, sirs, how’s it going? You were down in the spring, if I’m not mistaken,” he said to Ralph. “I never forget a face. I’ve got a new bitter in you might want to try; second one’s free.”
“Maybe next time,” Ralph said. “I’m still getting over a bit of a cold, so I’ll just have a small whisky.”
“Better make mine a small white wine,” Bob said. “I’m driving and I probably should just stick with the one.”
The publican smiled as they also ordered the special of the day – Fresh Cod and Chips
“We’ll be over in there,” Bob said, and indicated a booth near the window.
“Gives us a clear view of the bar and we can see who leaves or if there are any exchanges taking place in the car park,” he whispered as they went to sit down with their drinks.
They had finished their meal and were thinking of having a second cup of coffee when they heard a commotion over by the door. There had been a lot of takers for the ‘second pint for free’ offer, and a group of what Ralph assumed were young farmers were ordering their third and fourth pints. Ralph recognized Fred Bishop. He saw him hand a small packet to one of the youths. The publican had obviously seen it as well.
“I told you before, Fred. I’ll put up with your drinking and causing the odd bit of trouble, but you know that sort of thing is not going to happen here. Get out. Now!”
For a second Ralph thought Bishop was going to strike the publican. Instead he grabbed what looked like a roll of notes from the youth who had stuffed the package in his pocket and swore at the room in general.
“It’s only Fred ‘avin a bit of fun. Give ‘im a pint. No ‘arm done,” said the youth as he remonstrated with the publican.
“Out! The pair of you. I don’t want any of that in ‘ere.”
Fred Bishop and the youth, with a few muttered profanities, reluctantly left.
When the publican came over with a refill for their coffees, he apologized for the row.
“Too much to drink?” Bob enquired. Ralph recognized the lead-in remark. His friend was at work.
“Just between us, Fred Bishop’s been known to sell weed to some of the lads. Not in my pub, a course, but in the area.” He looked around as though he was being watched. “Not good for business if people started to say it was goin’ on here. And besides that, my misses would skin me alive if she knew.” He laughed. He went back to serve his customers. The place had quietened down now that Bishop and the youth had left.
“Pretty much a wasted trip coming all this way, Ralph. I knew that Fred was a bit of a rogue. I covered an incident a while back when he took a shot at a couple of ramblers. But he doesn’t strike me as someone who makes his living by peddling drugs. What I want to find is the ‘Mister Big’ that’s behind it; if there is one,” he laughed.
Ralph noticed Ann Bishop walk in. He thought that he had seen her talking to her father just before the publican threw him out. Ralph saw her glance his way, but she pretended that she hadn’t seen him. She went over to the group of what looked like young farmers standing by the bar and was busily telling them something. Occasionally she turned to look in his direction. After a few minutes she left with the group. The place was now empty apart from a couple arguing at the far end of the room; it was time to go. Outside, the people who had been at the tables by the stream had left and a boy was clearing up the empty glasses and collecting the rubbish that was starting to get blown across the lawns.
It was a clear night. The moon shone down and bathed the hills in a ghostly light. The harvested fields stood out against the darker heather of the moor. The sign outside The Bell squeaked as the wind picked up. It reminded Ralph of a stage setting for a Sheridan play that he had helped put on when he was at Cambridge.
“Looks like a storm’s blowing up. We could use it to clear the air. At least people will get a good sleep tonight,” shouted Bob as he climbed into the Land Rover.
There were no tractors to contend with and Bob accelerated as he weaved through the narrow lanes that would bring them to the main road back to Bideford. It was pitch-black up ahead where the road led down into a valley by the river. Ralph leant back in his seat, glad, for once that he wasn’t driving.
Suddenly he was jerked forward. Only his seatbelt saved him from hitting the dashboard. He looked up at a sea of bright lights that covered the wind shield. He heard Bob curse as he struggled with the wheel. The Land Rover skidded to a halt as it slewed around sideways and stopped.
“Damn fools,” Bob shouted. “Christ what the bloody hell?”
There was a jerk on Bob’s side door and before either of them realised what was happening they were pulled out into the glare of the lights. Ralph managed to grab a large torch from the shelf just below the dashboard. He struck out at
