Read Online Spend Game by Jonathan Gash - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan Gash
Tags: Suspense
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Leckie told us, hardly out of breath. ‘Let’s wait a bit and see what happens. Fag?’ He offered them round, and we stretched out on the ridge, watching.
It was an hour later that the bridge wobbled and tottered finally into the gorge. It hit the bottom with hardly a sound. I went quietly off into the undergrowth and was spectacularly sick at the senseless risk I’d taken, running back over the bridge just to get Leckie like that. Sometimes I think I’m off my stupid head.
It was on the trek back that Leckie reminded me. ‘One thing, Lovejoy,’ he said casually over his shoulder. ‘Got that envelope?’
‘Eh? Oh, here.’ I found it and passed it forward. We were moving in single file.
‘Good of you, Lovejoy. Coming back like that, I mean.’ He gave me a grin, turning on the narrow track. I can see him now, doing it, as I write. ‘Always good to meet a chap who’ll keep faith.’
I mumbled something. We got to our base about eight o’clock one morning four days after, only Leckiealways called time something hundred hours. And Leckie never mentioned the tunnel or the envelope again. That was the last real soldiering I did, and if I have any say at all it’s the last I’ll ever do. The reason I’ve told you all this is that, as I’d passed Leckie his envelope back, I’d noticed the two words scribbled on the front of it. They were
In Case,
same as on the scribble Helen had given me.
I didn’t need to be told in case of what.
‘Lovejoy.’ Tinker Dill was sitting opposite me, already halfway through a revolting mound of egg and chips. ‘Why you saying nuffink?’
‘Eh? Oh, wotcher, Tinker.’ I put the note away. ‘Sorry. Miles away.’
‘Sauce.’
I passed him the sauce. He cascaded it over his grub. It’s not a lovely sight. I wish he’d take his filthy mittens off while he eats. I’d wish the same about his tatty greatcoat and his greasy cap, but God knows what sights lurk underneath. He tore a chunk off a bread roll, one of Woody’s special cobbles, and slopped it through his tea. A bit never made it. It plopped into the sauce, but Tinker just scooped it up with his stained fingers and rammed it into his mouth.
‘I found out where Leckie’s stuff is, Lovejoy,’ he said.
‘So have I.’
You can see the door of the King George from Woody’s. I watched idly through the window. Fergus, the blonde and their thin pal were emerging, chatting and obviously in a festive mood, He must have done a good deal. I guessed Cain Cooper’s paintings.
‘Here, Tinker. That thin bloke.’
‘Him? Jake Pelman. Clacton. Silver and Continental porcelain.’ He ate noisily on. ‘Just gone partners with Nodge, word is.’
I’d not heard that before.
‘Any reason?’
Tinker shrugged. ‘Why not?’ I realized that Pelman was the bloke I’d seen chatting to Margaret in the White Hart the night before.
A sudden thought struck me. ‘One thing. How did you know Leckie left his stuff at his cousin Moll’s?’ I hadn’t even known he’d got a cousin living locally.
He grinned, all brown crags and gaps. ‘I didn’t because it’s not there.’ He cackled away, nodding at this fresh evidence of my dependence on his ferreting skills. ‘It’s still at Medham.’
‘Eh?
’ But Val said it was at this cousin’s. What the hell?
‘Medham.’ He wiped his stubbly chin on his sleeve and belched. ‘He never took it. Left at the sally. Virgil’s.’
‘But . . .’
Tinker eyed me pityingly. ‘You’re losing your touch, Lovejoy. Leckie got an old three-ply post-war piece. Gave that whizzer Wilkinson a quid for it, all of a sudden, and dashed off with it on his car. But the stuff he’d bid for in the auction’s still there.’
I gaped. A decoy. Leckie knew they were waiting outside for him to leave. So he’d done the best his gentlemanly soul would allow – message to me via Helen, a decoy piece of grotty furniture strapped to his car to his cousin Moll’s, and then coming to find me.
It was an hour later that the bridge wobbled and tottered finally into the gorge. It hit the bottom with hardly a sound. I went quietly off into the undergrowth and was spectacularly sick at the senseless risk I’d taken, running back over the bridge just to get Leckie like that. Sometimes I think I’m off my stupid head.
It was on the trek back that Leckie reminded me. ‘One thing, Lovejoy,’ he said casually over his shoulder. ‘Got that envelope?’
‘Eh? Oh, here.’ I found it and passed it forward. We were moving in single file.
‘Good of you, Lovejoy. Coming back like that, I mean.’ He gave me a grin, turning on the narrow track. I can see him now, doing it, as I write. ‘Always good to meet a chap who’ll keep faith.’
I mumbled something. We got to our base about eight o’clock one morning four days after, only Leckiealways called time something hundred hours. And Leckie never mentioned the tunnel or the envelope again. That was the last real soldiering I did, and if I have any say at all it’s the last I’ll ever do. The reason I’ve told you all this is that, as I’d passed Leckie his envelope back, I’d noticed the two words scribbled on the front of it. They were
In Case,
same as on the scribble Helen had given me.
I didn’t need to be told in case of what.
‘Lovejoy.’ Tinker Dill was sitting opposite me, already halfway through a revolting mound of egg and chips. ‘Why you saying nuffink?’
‘Eh? Oh, wotcher, Tinker.’ I put the note away. ‘Sorry. Miles away.’
‘Sauce.’
I passed him the sauce. He cascaded it over his grub. It’s not a lovely sight. I wish he’d take his filthy mittens off while he eats. I’d wish the same about his tatty greatcoat and his greasy cap, but God knows what sights lurk underneath. He tore a chunk off a bread roll, one of Woody’s special cobbles, and slopped it through his tea. A bit never made it. It plopped into the sauce, but Tinker just scooped it up with his stained fingers and rammed it into his mouth.
‘I found out where Leckie’s stuff is, Lovejoy,’ he said.
‘So have I.’
You can see the door of the King George from Woody’s. I watched idly through the window. Fergus, the blonde and their thin pal were emerging, chatting and obviously in a festive mood, He must have done a good deal. I guessed Cain Cooper’s paintings.
‘Here, Tinker. That thin bloke.’
‘Him? Jake Pelman. Clacton. Silver and Continental porcelain.’ He ate noisily on. ‘Just gone partners with Nodge, word is.’
I’d not heard that before.
‘Any reason?’
Tinker shrugged. ‘Why not?’ I realized that Pelman was the bloke I’d seen chatting to Margaret in the White Hart the night before.
A sudden thought struck me. ‘One thing. How did you know Leckie left his stuff at his cousin Moll’s?’ I hadn’t even known he’d got a cousin living locally.
He grinned, all brown crags and gaps. ‘I didn’t because it’s not there.’ He cackled away, nodding at this fresh evidence of my dependence on his ferreting skills. ‘It’s still at Medham.’
‘Eh?
’ But Val said it was at this cousin’s. What the hell?
‘Medham.’ He wiped his stubbly chin on his sleeve and belched. ‘He never took it. Left at the sally. Virgil’s.’
‘But . . .’
Tinker eyed me pityingly. ‘You’re losing your touch, Lovejoy. Leckie got an old three-ply post-war piece. Gave that whizzer Wilkinson a quid for it, all of a sudden, and dashed off with it on his car. But the stuff he’d bid for in the auction’s still there.’
I gaped. A decoy. Leckie knew they were waiting outside for him to leave. So he’d done the best his gentlemanly soul would allow – message to me via Helen, a decoy piece of grotty furniture strapped to his car to his cousin Moll’s, and then coming to find me.
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