Chapter 11

Johnny was a little worried. He sat next to Hartnell in the lorry, staring stonily ahead along the road. He hadn't really understood what it was all about. Francie had referred to certain "reasons" which nobody had questioned.

So, now, they all had automatics in their pockets. All except Hartnell. He hadn't been there when they were doled out. He was to receive the bullets if anything went wrong and the knife failed. Francie had the knife and he knew how to use it. It should be quick and neat. But nonetheless Johnny did not like the idea of a killing. And apart from that he rather liked Hartnell. It was a long time since he'd imagined anyone standing up to Francie, thought himself to be a little tin god amongst them. He didn't really like Francie all that much. Francie was too hard and bossy and he could make people feel small with being able to answer back. So, on the whole Johnny had been rather pleased when Francie had had his - a knockdown blow, a crisp straight right from Hartnell. He'd been surprised that Francie had let it go the way he had. But that couldn't be the reason for the killing. There must be something else.

The lorry droned on into the night. In front was the van. It was pretty dark tonight except for the street lamps. Clouds were hiding the moon.

Johnny felt more and more jittery. At the wheel Hartnell was grimly silent. He wondered if he knew anything. He would have liked to have told him to stop the lorry, get out and clear off while he had the chance, but it was too late now.

"How d'you feel?" he asked suddenly.

Hartnell glanced at him sharply for a split second. He had been thinking of Canada.

"Fine. Why?"

"Nothing."

There was a silence.

"Something on your mind, Johnny?"

He was quick, too. Maybe if he hinted something Hartnell would clear off when they got to the docks. Anyone else could drive the lorry. It would give him a chance.

"What do you think of Francie?"

"Francie? Oh, he's all right."

Hartnell was very much on the alert now. There was something in Johnny's tone, some deeper significance behind these questions.

"Wouldn't say a word against him meself," Johnny said. "But I don't think's likes you - an' there's no moon. Maybe you'd sooner vamoose when we get there."

There was another silence. Hartnell's lips were pursed, his hands tight on the wheel.

"Like to be more explicit, Johnny?" he said, at last.

But Johnny was frightened, now, at the irretrievable step he'd taken. He wished he hadn't opened his mouth. He shook his head from side to side.

"Not necessary," he said.

The cab was suddenly oppressive. Johnny wished to hell they'd reach the end of their journey and that whatever was going to happen would happen quickly.

"Thanks, Johnny," Hartnell said quietly after a while.

The palms of Hartnell's hands were sweating when they reached the docks. He was remembering Gracie's apprehension the afternoon when he socked Francie. He wondered if Francie knew anything about them. If not what was the point of the warning Johnny had given him? Something was due to happen when they got there and it was Francie he had to watch. That could really mean only one thing. He was in a spot. Should he just turn off at the next corner, drive like hell and then hide out? But suppose Johnny was wrong or suppose he was exaggerating. He desperately needed the extra money from tonight's sally if he and Gracie were going to get away with comfort. Surely they couldn't be going to try and kill him. Why? He didn't think Francie could have discovered his liaison with Gracie. Johnny must be on the wrong track.

He was still uncertain about what he should do when he found himself driving into the docks. The same method as before had been successfully employed for entry. The guard now lay unconscious in the office near the entrance.

Francie must be well briefed by somebody in the know, he thought, as the little van weaved confidently between the warehouses, eventually pulling up in the shadow of one and dousing its lights.

He pulled up behind and did the same. It was difficult to see for a minute but then his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Francie appeared at the cab window.

"We're all going in this time," he said. "It's heavy work and we were nearly nabbed last time because we were too slow."

Hartnell climbed down. This was unusual. He was tense and uneasy and he decided to keep a very close watch on Francie.

Jake was manipulating a heavy lock on the double doors of the warehouse and after a few minutes they swung open, creaking.

"Right, inside, quick and let's get it out," Francie snapped. They moved into the warehouse and Francie's hand went into his pocket. Hartnell tensed, watching in the dim light from the corner of his eye.

With startling suddenness a powerful torchlight blazed around them.

"Stay where you are, all of you," a voice ordered.

Francie's hand came out of his pocket. There was a glint and then a gasp at the other end of the torch beam. Jake leapt forward, but the armed watchman who'd surprised them had already slumped to the floor with Francie's knife in his stomach on a level with where he'd been holding the torch.

Everything had happened so quickly that Hartnell hardly realized what had happened. The whole gang was shaken up a bit. And they dispersed into the shadows for fear of a night watchman's mate somewhere in the darkness.

Hartnell moved away, felt crates and kept back amongst them in the darkness. Now he realized what had happened. And the speed with which Francie had drawn and thrown the knife indicated that he'd already been feeling for it when he put his hand in his pocket. He shuddered. Had it been meant for him?

He put his hand in his pocket over the pistol. He was very thankful for it.

For several seconds - it seemed much longer - there was no sound. And then another torch flashed on and swept the crates. Hartnell ducked.

"All right boys," came Francie's voice. "There's nobody else. Let's get these things loaded quick."

Hartnell stood up. The gang had moved together and Francie was directing the torch at the crates. He moved out with them, still not sure where he stood, feeling he'd better play for time alone with them in this imprisoning building.

"Is 'e dead, Francie?" he heard Johnny ask.

"Never mind about that. Let's get out." Francie's voice was a rasp. His plans had gone awry. He'd have to deal with Hartnell outside.

They began to drag the crates to the door, Hartnell watching Francie all the time. Nobody bothered about the body on the ground beyond the pool of torchlight.

Suddenly Smiler held up his hand.

"What's that?" he hissed. His eyes were wide.

Francie snapped out the torchlight. There was the faint sound of a car engine back near the entrance.

With one accord they slipped, with an edge of panic, out of the warehouse and raced for the vehicles. It didn't matter who drove.

Francie leapt into the lorry, behind the wheel and as Hartnell sprang in beside him, the torches ripped through the night behind them and shots barked out.

"Narks, by Christ!" yelled Francie.

The lorry shot forward, careened round a corner. There were more torches. Francie bent low over the wheel and drew out his pistol.

"They're all around us." he snarled. "Somebody spilt."

Another corner with a screech of tires and the gates were there. The headlights outlined two uniformed men, directly in the path, waving their arms for the lorry to stop. Francie raced at them.

"You'll hit them," Hartnell shouted.

"You bet," Francie screamed.

The police held their ground; a searchlight swept from somewhere. There were more shots. Francie accelerated, the police jumped at the last minute, there was a thud, a cry and then the lorry was out in the road racing wildly through the streets.

"You hit one of them," Hartnell said. It was all too fantastic to be real.

"What did you expect?" Francie snarled. "Think I was going to stop and wait for them to move?"

Hartnell glanced through the window panel. Johnny, Smiler, Jake and Bill were in the back. The van was following their breakneck get away.

"We'll have to ditch the lorry. We'll never get back to the hideout with it. As soon as they've got that body out of the way they'll be after us."

"You may have killed that man," Hartnell said.

"So what," Francie rasped. "You got cold feet?"

They were swerving desperately through narrow streets split up by odd bombed sites with remains of houses and air raid shelters.

"Open the hatch," Francie said. "I want to say something to Jake."

Hartnell reached up and slid back the glass window.

Jake came to the opening at Francie's call.

"You got your rod handy?" Francie asked.

"Right here boss."

"Well just cover our friend here. I got an idea."

Hartnell felt the cold muzzle against his neck and cursed himself for unwittingly helping.

"What's all this?" he demanded.

"You know," Francie snapped. "Just remember that Gracie's still with us and if anything blows about us she'll get it."

"What . . .?" Hartnell began, but Francie's voice cut him short.

"Slug him, Jake."

He started to turn, his hand moving to his pocket, but then a splitting force smashed against his head and everything spun dizzily into darkness.

"Get ready to run for it, boys," Francie yelled back through the window. "I'm going to make a diversion."

The lorry careened madly on until the next bombed site loomed up. It was walled off. On the other side was a drop of a few feet and a crowd of ruins.

"Jump and run as soon as I slow," Francie yelled. "Lie low or get back to the hideout."

Abruptly he braked to a crawl, opened his door, and stepped down to the running board still guiding the wheel.

With one hand he pulled Hartnell over behind the wheel, his teeth gritting with strain, sweat on his forehead from the wild risk he was taking.

All in a second he twirled the wheel, slammed the door and jumped clear.

By the time the lorry had crashed up the pavement, pushed out a section of the low wall and rolled down into the site, Francie and the others were scrambling over the ruins to another road higher up. There was no sign of the much faster van. It had turned off somewhere.

By the time the police car screeched past, braked farther on and backed up to the site to discharge half a dozen armed officers, Francie and the rest were not in sight.

The upturned lorry was carefully surrounded.

A few minutes later a superintendent called out:

"The driver's here, unconscious. At least we've got the man who killed Johnson."