Read Online The Man Who Couldn't Lose by Roger Silverwood - Free Book Online

Then he pressed the switch by the door, and a bright light suspended from the ceiling illuminated the room.
    At first sight, Angel thought it was a storeroom. It was dark and smelled of wet clothes that had been dried. Parts of damaged snooker tables leaned against the wall. Packs of snooker cues were piled against boxes of chalk. A wheelchair stood significantly in the corner. There was a large square sink with a draining board. Next to it was a long table covered with a linen sheet draped over the items on it like a contoured model of the Alps not succeeding to conceal a makeshift bar. In the centre of the room was a large circular table with six chairs round it.
    He held his hand out grandly towards it.
    â€˜OK?’
    Angel nodded and pulled out the chair facing the door.
    Makepiece sat opposite him.
    â€˜We call this the back office. To tell the trute, we ain’t got no front office.’
    Angel pulled out an envelope from his inside pocket and clicked his pen.
    â€˜Now, you’re Horace Makepiece?’ He didn’t mention that he knew his nickname was ‘Harelip’.
    Makepiece pushed the trilby to the back of his bony head, put his hands on the table and said: ‘It’ll be about the boss. Isn’t it? It’s scary, very scary. I know I should’ve stayed wid him, but I didn’t know anything bad was going to happen, did I? And he kept telling me to leave him and go home. And he don’t like being argued wid, especially in front of people, you know. He’d get all het up and nasty. So I said, “OK, if you’re sure.” He swore at me, so I got in the car and brought it back and that’s all I knew, until I went to the house in the morning. He’d said to pick him up at nine o’clock. But he wasn’t there. Hadn’t been home. Ingrid … Mrs Gumme was chewing the rag and getting onto me. I told her. She didn’t want to know. She kept onto me. It wasn’t my fault! I kept telling her. She’s afraid too, you see, Inspector. They might be back. To tell the trute, Inspector, I ain’t feeling so brave myself.’
    Angel sighed.
    â€˜Better start at the beginning, Mr Makepiece. Who might be back?’
    â€˜Yeah. Sure. Well, this was Tuesday, about eight o’clock. I was doing some printing in the print shop next door. It’s chiefly for all the stuff we use in the hall, games match lists and stuff. This was some menus for the Chinese restaurant opposite. I also do letterheads by direct mail. Advertise in magazines. Anyway, the boss phones and says I’ve to take him to The Feathers straight away. So I switched everything off, locked up, told Bozo, on the way through, that I had to go out for a few minutes.’
    Angel was listening and making notes on the back of the envelope in very small writing. Names, he liked to print out.
    â€˜Who is Bozo and how do you spell it?’ he said craftily.
    â€˜Bozo Johnson. I don’t know. I don’t go for spellin’ much. Everybody knows Bozo. That big chap. I was talking to him when you came in. He was just going to do the latrines. He’s my number one. Looks after the place when I’m not here. Yes. Mmm. I expect I’ll have to make him manager now that …’
    He raised his eyebrows, rubbed non-existent dust off the top of the table with the palms of his hands and shook his head. He sighed and looked across the table at Angel.
    â€˜You know, I never thought we’d lose the boss, Inspector. Not like that.’
    â€˜No,’ Angel said quietly.
    There was a moment’s quiet.
    Angel waited.
    â€˜You’ll be looking it up, so I may as well tell you,’ Makepiece said. ‘Bozo Johnson has served time in Durham for manslaughter. Bozo is short for Benjamin, he was named after some guy that wrote a book what made him famous, but that was years ago. Now Bozo has a bit of bad luck. He gets into an argument with a punter, who reckons