Read Online Dark Side of the Street - Simon Vaughn 01 (v5) by Jack Higgins - Free Book Online
Authors: Jack Higgins
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shop."
Youngblood shook his head as he glanced at Chavasse. "Now that was careless of him, wasn't it?"
Chavasse said nothing and moved forward with the others. Brady was groaning in agony and kept it up till the first aid men arrived and one of them gave him an injection. He lay there writhing, his great, ugly face soaked in sweat as they got him on to a stretcher. He moaned again and lost consciousness as they lifted him up, but it was difficult to feel any sort of compassion for him. He had broken the code of the society in which he lived and had received in return justice of a sort.
More screws had arrived, Atkinson among them and he rapped his staff on a bench. "Get back to work, all of you." He turned to Meadows. "I'll want a report on my desk in an hour, Mr. Meadows. I'll send someone to relieve you." He walked to the door and paused. "You can bring Drummond with you when you come--his sister's here to see him."
The last Thursday in every month was a general visiting day and when the Duty Officer took Chavasse into the main hall, it was already pretty full. A row of cubicles stretched from one wall to the other, and in each one prisoner and visitor faced each other through a sheet of armoured glass and spoke through microphones.
They sat Chavasse in a cubicle and he waited impatiently, the voices on either side a meaningless blur and then the door opposite opened and Jean Frazer came in. She was wearing a white nylon blouse and a neat two piece suit in Donegal tweed with a pleated skirt. Strange, but he had never realised before just how attractive she really was.
Her ready smile faded as she sank down into the chair opposite. "Paul, what have they done to you?
Her voice sounded slightly distorted over the amplifier and he smiled. "Do I look that bad?"
"I wouldn't have believed it possible."
He cracked suddenly, a savage, cutting edge to his voice. "For God's sake, Jean, what do you think it's like in here? I'm not Paul Chavasse playing a part and going home nights. I'm Paul Drummond doing six years for armed robbery. I've been inside four months now. I think like a con, I act like one. Most important of all, I'm treated like one--tell Graham Mallory to stuff that in his blasted pipe."
There was real pain in her eyes and she reached out to touch him, forgetting about the glass. "I feel so damned inadequate."
He grinned. "A good thing there's glass between us. You look good enough to eat, never mind the other thing."
She managed to smile. "Do I?"
"Now don't go making any rash promises. They'd only get you into trouble. After all, I do anticipate getting out of here sometime. How is Mallory, by the way?"
"His usual charming self. He told me to tell you to get a move on. Apparently he could use you elsewhere and thinks this business has gone on long enough."
"The answer I'd like to send him is completely unprintable," Chavasse said. "But never mind. We'd better get down to business. We're only allowed ten minutes."
"How are you and Youngblood getting on?"
"Fine--in fact I managed to stop someone sticking a sharp implement into him this morning."
"I thought they put people in prison to prevent them doing that sort of thing?"
"That's the theory--worked out by people who don't know what they're talking about as usual."
"Have you found anything out about the Baron?"
He shook his head. "I've heard his name mentioned in general gossip amongst the other prisoners, but he's as much a question mark to them as he is to me. I tried to talk about him with Youngblood--told him I'd heard the Baron had got Saxton and Hoffa out. He seemed to think the whole idea was fairy tales for the kiddies."
"So you've really wasted your time?"
"Not on your life. Youngblood's on his way out of here. I've never been so certain of anything in my life. He hasn't said so in so many words, but everything about him confirms it. His general manner, the remarks he makes and so on."
"You've no idea how or when?"
He shook his head. "Not
Youngblood shook his head as he glanced at Chavasse. "Now that was careless of him, wasn't it?"
Chavasse said nothing and moved forward with the others. Brady was groaning in agony and kept it up till the first aid men arrived and one of them gave him an injection. He lay there writhing, his great, ugly face soaked in sweat as they got him on to a stretcher. He moaned again and lost consciousness as they lifted him up, but it was difficult to feel any sort of compassion for him. He had broken the code of the society in which he lived and had received in return justice of a sort.
More screws had arrived, Atkinson among them and he rapped his staff on a bench. "Get back to work, all of you." He turned to Meadows. "I'll want a report on my desk in an hour, Mr. Meadows. I'll send someone to relieve you." He walked to the door and paused. "You can bring Drummond with you when you come--his sister's here to see him."
The last Thursday in every month was a general visiting day and when the Duty Officer took Chavasse into the main hall, it was already pretty full. A row of cubicles stretched from one wall to the other, and in each one prisoner and visitor faced each other through a sheet of armoured glass and spoke through microphones.
They sat Chavasse in a cubicle and he waited impatiently, the voices on either side a meaningless blur and then the door opposite opened and Jean Frazer came in. She was wearing a white nylon blouse and a neat two piece suit in Donegal tweed with a pleated skirt. Strange, but he had never realised before just how attractive she really was.
Her ready smile faded as she sank down into the chair opposite. "Paul, what have they done to you?
Her voice sounded slightly distorted over the amplifier and he smiled. "Do I look that bad?"
"I wouldn't have believed it possible."
He cracked suddenly, a savage, cutting edge to his voice. "For God's sake, Jean, what do you think it's like in here? I'm not Paul Chavasse playing a part and going home nights. I'm Paul Drummond doing six years for armed robbery. I've been inside four months now. I think like a con, I act like one. Most important of all, I'm treated like one--tell Graham Mallory to stuff that in his blasted pipe."
There was real pain in her eyes and she reached out to touch him, forgetting about the glass. "I feel so damned inadequate."
He grinned. "A good thing there's glass between us. You look good enough to eat, never mind the other thing."
She managed to smile. "Do I?"
"Now don't go making any rash promises. They'd only get you into trouble. After all, I do anticipate getting out of here sometime. How is Mallory, by the way?"
"His usual charming self. He told me to tell you to get a move on. Apparently he could use you elsewhere and thinks this business has gone on long enough."
"The answer I'd like to send him is completely unprintable," Chavasse said. "But never mind. We'd better get down to business. We're only allowed ten minutes."
"How are you and Youngblood getting on?"
"Fine--in fact I managed to stop someone sticking a sharp implement into him this morning."
"I thought they put people in prison to prevent them doing that sort of thing?"
"That's the theory--worked out by people who don't know what they're talking about as usual."
"Have you found anything out about the Baron?"
He shook his head. "I've heard his name mentioned in general gossip amongst the other prisoners, but he's as much a question mark to them as he is to me. I tried to talk about him with Youngblood--told him I'd heard the Baron had got Saxton and Hoffa out. He seemed to think the whole idea was fairy tales for the kiddies."
"So you've really wasted your time?"
"Not on your life. Youngblood's on his way out of here. I've never been so certain of anything in my life. He hasn't said so in so many words, but everything about him confirms it. His general manner, the remarks he makes and so on."
"You've no idea how or when?"
He shook his head. "Not
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