Chapter 4
Johnny got in touch with him. He was still at Dora's place and still enjoying her company. The job, he was told, was for the next night and Johnny would pick him up and take him to the "hideout."
He felt a certain apprehension at his first venture into crime. But it seemed such an ordinary sort of crime that, apart from its degree, he tried to look on it as simply smuggling a bit of drink through the Customs the way every respectable tourist did. Morally he was not very concerned. A man who's spent some of the best years of his life with it in his hands, likely to die at any moment, bombing thousands, shooting down fellow human beings, isn't going to worry too much about passing on a little whiskey at an under-retail price.
At the hideout everybody was waiting. Only Gracie wasn't there.
"OK," Francie said. "Johnny and Jim can take the van, just in case there's more than we'd bargained for. The rest of us in the lorry."
It was just after midnight that they started through the dark streets, taking different routes. In the back of the lorry were a few items of furniture as a blind.
Hartnell drove easily, following Francie's directions. Lucky followed their progress through the little window separating the cab from the back.
"All right. Just on that corner'll do," Francie said after they'd been driving for about half an hour.
He pulled up just beyond the corner, away from the street lamp which yellowed the sooty wall of the last of a row of houses. They sat still and waited. Hartnell didn't ask what for. He was content to let things take their course.
In a few minutes the van skidded round a corner at the opposite end of the street, saw them and turned in the road, going up on the narrow pavement at one side to complete the operation.
"All right," Francie snapped. "Follow 'em."
Hartnell slipped into gear and the lorry sped off down the dim street and turned the corner after the van. They crossed a broader road one after the other and he saw the big black gates of a dock area, with high wire mesh stretching into the distance.
"How about the man at the gate?" he asked.
"That's okay," Francie said, with grim humor. "He's a friend of ours."
They swept through the gate and Hartnell glanced at the little sentry box of the guard. There was no guard.
He followed the van, feeling suddenly on edge. They dodged among a number of long, heavy wooden buildings and then along a concrete runway. He pulled into the shadow of one of the buildings just behind the van. Francie opened the door of the lorry and climbed down.
"Just hang on a moment," he said quietly. "We'll just see if the way is clear."
He disappeared round the building with Jim and Bill. The others remained in their respective vehicles.
Hartnell found his fingers were tapping nervously on the steering wheel and he was surprised at the difference in his nerve between now and when he felt he had right and approval on his side. He stared around at the little window to the back and Lucky grinned at him.
After several minutes, Francie reappeared and beckoned them as he climbed into the van beside Johnny.
Hartnell followed the van once again, round the building and past three more. The broad doors of the fourth were open and Jim and Bill were hauling crates to the concrete outside. The others jumped out and began loading them onto the lorry.
"Hurry up," Francie said, standing beside the cab. "The narks are at the other end now, but they'll be down this way before long." He looked inside at Hartnell.
"When we're ready to go," he said quietly, "just turn round this warehouse and go back the way we came."
"OK," he said. He felt some admiration for Francie's cool and organizational manner - a matter of habit, he supposed.
They worked rapidly for about fifteen minutes. By that time the lorry, with its blind of furniture, was full and a few extra crates were loaded into the van.
Hartnell was surprised that there wasn't a night watchman, or somebody like that, in the warehouse, but he didn't know anything about this sort of thing. Obviously Francie had it all planned.
The loading was finished, Jim was pushing the last crate straight and the rest were moving back to the lorry when Francie saw the two figures in the distance, up the long concrete lane, between the warehouses.
"Christ," he snapped. "Get out quick. The narks!"
As he spoke the van shot forward and disappeared round the building. Hartnell felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead and his palms. Now was the time to be cool, he told himself. He slipped into gear, drove towards the two figures which had now broken into a run and were flashing powerful torches down the lane - and then he, too, had turned round the building, accelerated and skidded back in the direction they'd come. There was the noise of an explosion in his ears and he was certain someone had fired a shot at them.
"Speed it up," snapped Francie, "or they'll get us at the gate."
He put his foot right down, swerving dangerously round the building, missing their corners by no more than a couple of inches. At the gate he had actually caught the van and they screeched through the narrow opening.
"Nice going," Francie said.
Behind them, somewhere, they heard a police siren and then they were racing at breakneck speed through the deserted streets. There was no trouble and they slowed down as they neared the hideout and drove at a respectable pace down the narrow road, turned into the narrower one, swerved into the garage and the doors closed behind them.
Francie chuckled as they sat sipping their second glass of whiskey.
"A nice clean job," he said. "It was the driving that did it. We were almost in a spot when those narks appeared."
"Enough stuff here to last for quite a while," Smiler said, appreciatively.
"Yep, we're in the money."
Hartnell was relieved it was over. Now he felt more involved with the gang than he expected to be. It seemed to be the result of the police chasing them. He felt, now, that he was marked down amongst the criminal class.
"We'd better stay here until morning," Francie said. "Then I'll start to get rid of the stuff. Quite a few classy people are going to be pleased." He chuckled wickedly.
He awoke in the morning, surprised that he had slept and wondering what time it was. They were still all there and Gracie was with them now.
Francie looked at him as he struggled up from the narrow bed.
"Just going to wake you up," he said. "It's time we were off."
Hartnell stretched and looked at Gracie. She was quite lovely, he thought. He wondered what her view on all this was.
Lucky and Smiler were chatting on the other bed and Francie got up to put something in the whiskey cupboard.
Hartnell picked up the first edition of the evening paper which Gracie must have bought. That meant it was after eight. He glanced at the headlines, aware that Gracie was following his movement. Usual sort of stuff he thought - and then his eyes caught the stop press and he gave a mental double take. Just a couple of paragraphs of tiny, black wording:
"Gang broke into section London Docks last night. Overpowered gate guard and watchman. Stole large quantity dangerous drugs. Chased by dock patrol. Escaped in lorry and van. Value drugs believed several thousand pounds."
He read it three times and then looked slowly up from the paper. The first eyes he met were the hazel ones of Gracie. They were looking at him with the first sign of interest he'd seen on her face. She was waiting for his reaction. Lucky and Smiler had stopped talking and were looking at him strangely. Francie had turned from the cupboard, seen him and was coming towards the table with a grin on his face.
"That's right," Francie replied almost gaily. "We weren't quite sure how to take you so we had to invent the whiskey business until we got to know you better."
Hartnell looked round at the others and then looked down at the newspaper again. Dangerous drugs! That wasn't what he'd bargained for. He didn't know what the penalty was but it could certainly be a nice long stretch and in any case he didn't approve of drugs being used for an unlawful purpose. They were just too dangerous.
"What sort of drugs?" he rasped.
Francie put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a little glass vial. He handed it to Hartnell, who looked at it and saw the white powder inside.
"Heroin!" he exclaimed.
"That's right," Francie agreed cheerfully. "It was going to the hospitals but they can get plenty more easily. Now it's going to some of our clients who like it so much they'll give and do anything to get it."
"It's swinish!" Hartnell exclaimed.
"Not at all," Francie said, unruffled. "We didn't give these people the taste for it. We're just doing them the favor of keeping up the supply."
"But it's a very serious offense."
"Anything that's worth money is a very serious offense."
"Well it's not my line," Hartnell said, finally. "That's the end of our little business together."
He looked at the others, as if to see if anyone else agreed with him, but he was met with blank stares.
"Oh, I wouldn't be so hurried about your decision, Roger, my dear chap," Francie mocked. "You're in this now, you know. You drove the lorry. You were chased by the police. Not too good for an old Cambridge Blue, eh? Look nice in the stop press, that would. And there'd be a great spread in the later editions."
He looked at Gracie and chucked her under the chin.
"He's like you," he said. "He doesn't know what's good for him." Gracie turned her face away.
"Why don't you let him get out while he can," she said softly.
"Ah, but that's the trouble," Francie's voice had the hint of snarl in it again. "He can't. He's already in too deep. And it's astonishing the way the narks have of finding out about people who try to get out."
Hartnell stared at Francie's long, sensual face and it seemed the hardest face he'd ever seen. Nothing would stop this man getting anything he wanted. He tried to clear things up in his mind, but for the moment he couldn't concentrate. He saw Gracie's face swing back to him. Her eyes were sympathetic - and hopeless.
"What do you think you can do if I just clear out?" he snapped.
"Oh, my dear chap, the police 'ave a way of finding anyone they want once they've had a few tip-offs - and we've found out a lot about you."
"Anyway, what good am I to you?" Hartnell pursued. "You couldn't trust me, now."
"Oh, I know my old school tie," Francie purred. "The only time when there is honor among thieves. And you are useful to us. You shouldn't feel unwanted. I told you how hard it is to find a good driver. And we need a cool, classy brain on our side. Always room for new, pedigree blood." He chuckled.
"For God's sake, Francie, let him go!"
It was the first time he'd seen Gracie at all animated. Her eyes were staring at Francie with hatred.
Francie stepped quickly across to her. His hard eyes were blazing, his mouth had twisted. This was the snarl in the tone, the subjugated violence. His hand slashed across her face and she swayed on the chair, almost sliding from it. He hit her again across the small, well-shaped bugles of her breasts, which strained against the woolen dress.
Hartnell stepped towards him.
"Leave her . . ." he began, but then he was held, not brutally but firmly by Jim and Bill who had been watching him for just such a reaction.
"You mind your bloody business," Francie almost screamed as he slapped her across the other cheek. She fell off the chair and the collapse seemed to calm him. He slashed her twice more across the buttocks as she lay on the floor and then he straightened and brushed back his long, blond hair from his face.
Gracie got to her feet and she, too, threw back her long blonde hair. A solitary tear trickled from an eye. Her face was flaming from the blows. She moved away and sat on a bed, fingers clenched, looking at the ceiling as if the fixity of her stare could alone keep back the tears.
Francie glared at her for a moment longer. His mouth and eyes were savage. When he turned around he seemed to become aware of the other little tableau for the first time.
He tucked his tie back into his coat staring at Hartnell with hard, shrewd eyes.
"All right. Let the gentleman go," he said to the others. "You shouldn't treat class that way."
They let go of his arms and he stood wanting to sock Francie, but feeling that the moment had passed and no good could come of it.
"You and me can be friends yet," Francie said to him. "Anyway we'll be seeing more of you 'cos you 'aven't got much option."
He went to the cupboard and opened a drawer at its foot. He took out a thick wad of notes and threw them on the table in front of Hartnell.
"That's just another little advance," he said. "There's a few hundred more when we've got rid of the stuff. And for the next job we'll have a business arrangement with you."
Hartnell looked at the money - all that money just for the taking, for a job he'd done, be it unwittingly. He was in this now, he supposed. Anyway he'd need to think when he got away from them. He reached forward and picked up the notes.
"Attaboy," Francie said, and everyone seemed to relax.
He turned to leave and his eyes met Gracie's. She was looking at him again, still trying to stop the tears. She looked brave and hurt - but she wasn't his business.
As he went to the door, Francie's voice followed him.
"Johnny'll be getting in touch with you in a few days."