Give The Devil His Due (34 page)

       ‘And you Neil? Do you have any specific bevergerial requirements?’

       I wasn’t going to let him get away with that one. ‘Er, excuse me Phil, but “bevergerial” is not a word.’

       ‘Language evolves. Unfortunately as an ignoramus you will be blissfully unaware of the fact.’

       I looked at Vaughan, hoping that he would fire off an academic salvo in Phil's direction. He just smiled. ‘Neil will have two lumps of sugar if you please Philip.’ Neil nodded his approval of Vaughan’s answer.

       ‘What about you Frank … I mean Peach. Are you having a cup?’

       Peach stared at me daggers then said, ‘Yes I will.’

       I decided at that point to stop the
Frank and Betty
jokes, knowing Peach and the strain he was under.

       Soon the coffees were on the table and we were all sipping away. As another boat went by the saloon window I asked, ‘So what's the plan of attack then?’

       Peach looked at Vaughan. His eyes gave Peach a deputorial, carry-on-number-two kind of glance.

       ‘Well it doesn't look like it's on for tonight. The weather’s far too good. It may change, but we can’t be certain. Tomorrow night is a different kettle of fish altogether. So I suggest that for this evening, we move the boat a little closer towards the target and moor up somewhere away from any other vessels. We can use cover of darkness to get the rest of Vaughan’s gear on board and then go through a few bits and pieces. We’ve got plenty to do.’

       Peach, Vaughan and Phil had recce’d a spot for us to get the gear on – a small bridge about two miles away. There were a couple of houses on the opposite side but they weren't in line of sight and, as we weren't going to be cranking-up the lifting arm, no-one would be any the wiser to what was going on. Admittedly we’d have to carry the gear down a slight embankment, but that would be nothing too difficult. The mooring point they'd picked for the night was a little way back towards Rugeley, away from any roads, bridges and hopefully nosey-parkers.

       Coffee break over, Peach gave us our instructions. ‘OK, Vaughan and Phil you take Will to the bridge, stay this side of it and wait for us. I’ll go with Neil in the van, show him the gate and the lying-up point. After we’ve done that, we'll meet you and get the rest of the stuff aboard.’

       By ‘the gate’, Peachy meant the Estate gate where Neil was going to have to leave the decoy trolley after having cut the chain, making it look like our entry/escape point to Shoreborough.

       Neil and Peach hopped ashore and began walking along the towpath back to the van. Vaughan started
Betty’s
engine, we cast off. Although the light was starting to fade it was magical. We passed beautiful properties that had water frontage and little boathouses at the end of their gardens. There was a profusion of weeping willows, with branches draping down towards the water, shimmering gently in the breeze.

       We came to a severe right-hand bend in the canal leading to an aqueduct. Here, a flight of stairs descended down to the water’s edge, the
Bloody Steps
. During the 1830s, a young woman had been raped and murdered by a couple of boatmen while on her way to London. When the body was discovered and dragged out of the canal, up the flight to a local inn, the victim’s blood had cascaded down, seeping into the stonework – hence the grisly name.

       With dusk approaching, Vaughan flicked a switch and on came the navigation lights. There were very few boats moving about compared to earlier when we’d sat in the saloon drinking coffee.

       Vaughan pointed. ‘Do you see, Will? Most of the boats are moored.’

       ‘Why's that then?’ I asked.

       ‘Aside from the fact that many of the occupants will be rather hungry and feel it's time for a G’n’T before dinner, it’s down to economics and competence.’

       ‘Economics and competence?’ He had me baffled.

       ‘Yes dear boy, the two go hand-in-glove. Many of the craft on the waterways are for pleasure cruising. Folk that may have hired their boats for a week or so are capable of driving on the water by day, but come nightfall, not proficient enough to continue cruising up and down the canal. This is the
competence
part.’

       ‘And the economics?’

       ‘Well, as the proficiency isn’t there, neither is the insurance. These hire companies aren’t stupid. You will note tomorrow, during daylight, that most of the boats we will see do
not
have navigation lights. This lack of equipment is intentional, you see it’s down to expense. Amateurs at night means collisions, collisions mean payouts, payouts mean higher premiums. I’m sure you get the picture.’

       I did. We carried on and it wasn't long before we reached the bridge. As we arrived at the designated spot to get Vaughan's gear on board, Peach and Neil were already waiting.
Betty
was very soon at rest, tethered to dry land. The four of us got the stuff out of the van and down the embankment as quickly and as quietly as we could while Vaughan stayed on the boat, keeping a look-out. Within a few minutes we had the gear safely on the boat – including Vaughan’s specially adapted trolley for getting heavy loads up steps. As soon as this was done, Vaughan started her engine, and she was heading back in the other direction to her mooring for the night.

       Neil and I set off in the van with Peach riding shotgun. He directed us to the chosen parking spot. About half a mile away from the bridge there was an old disused petrol station. The pumps had gone but the forecourt and the little garage shop situated to the rear still remained. It had been boarded up and tastefully decorated with public information messages, one of which read:
Skinny and Monkey are Shaging Abby
. Could it be possible that Monkey was actually a real monkey? In which case was this some sort of homo-simian ménage à trois? And what about Skinny, how skinny was he? I certainly hoped for Abby’s sake that his shagging was better than his spelling, assuming he was the one responsible for the graffiti. As I sat there trying to envisage this unwholesome threesome, my thoughts were rudely interrupted by Peach barking orders at Neil. ‘Take it round the back.’

       Neil scowled, ‘What do you mean, take it round the back?’

       ‘Drive round the back of the building and keep it in tight. We can leave it here for the night. As long as you keep tight in, it can't be seen from the road.’

       As Neil drove the van around the building, he had to negotiate some pretty rough ground. It was hard-standing but it looked like somebody had started to break it up with a digger and had then had second thoughts.

       Neil moved the van, and kept it tight. So tight in fact, we couldn't open the passenger door. He had to back the van up and retry the manoeuvre. Peach and I got out, Neil switched the engine off.

       All three of us were now on the forecourt. ‘Right Will, walk over there until you come to that bend.’ He pointed to where the road changed course. ‘Check you can't see the van. Neil and I will go this way.’ I did as I was told.

       I checked; the van was hidden from view. I made my way back towards the others, catching them up just before reaching the bridge where we’d put Vaughan's gear aboard. Carefully, we edged down the embankment and seconds later found ourselves on the towpath. A ten-minute walk and we were at the boat. Another ten minutes, and we were enjoying a cuppa.

       Under Peach's direction, Vaughan had got dinner underway. There was a leg of lamb, infused with rosemary and garlic roasting in the oven. It smelled deee-lish. If all super criminals lived like this then a change of career was most definitely on the cards. As the lamb cooked, we started discussing the events that would take place the following evening. Vaughan had acquired black clothing for us. He apologised in advance if any of the stuff didn't fit. There was no need really though, the gear was pretty much OK. The trousers were joggers, and they were elasticated, so no problem there. The only minor slip-up was with Neil’s height; he came up an inch or two short, but other than that, it was more or less a case of
one size fits all
.

       Vaughan showed us the heavy bars he’d be taking. They were made out of super-strength steel and could be used as crowbars, and any thing else that required a bit of leverage. The radios had a three-mile range and, providing they were fully charged, would be more than adequate for Vaughan to give Neil the go-ahead for when to dump the trolley and cut the gate chain.

       The plan was to moor-up the following afternoon at the target. That’s when Phil would show me the grounds. We’d walk along the towpath and have a look at the property from the outskirts. Vaughan had already seen this and so would stay on board with Peach. His leg had been giving him some pain. Since he’d done more burglaries than we'd had hot dinners, for him a second recce before the operation wouldn’t be necessary.

       By the time we tucked into our roast dinner everyone was excited. I almost felt sorry for Neil because he was not going into the house itself; it kind of felt like he was being left out. But then again – it would be safer that way, and his contribution was vital in making sure that any subsequent investigation stayed well clear of the canal.

Chapter 27

It’d gone eleven when Neil and I ambled off down the towpath and back to the van for the night. As we sauntered along, I could hear an owl hooting in the distance. I wasn't looking forward to spending the night on the floor of the van, but then at least I had Neil for company. I just hoped no light-fingered opportunist stumbled across it and tried to break-in. With so many dishonest people about I was glad Peach had made us park so close to the back of the building.

       The night’s sleep wasn't half as bad as expected, surprisingly warm – apart from a couple of moments when Neil opened the back door to answer the call of nature and then again when he reopened it to come back in. I was saving all my calls up and intended to make one very long call in the morning, at a proper toilet.

       When morning eventually arrived, we made our way back to the boat for some breakfast. Neil and Peach had to take the van somewhere else (a location preselected by Peach). Here it would remain until the robbery took place. This meant that they had to walk well over a mile and a half to return to the boat. Neil would of course have to repeat the same distance again at night, once the operation was underway. While they busied themselves relocating the van, Phil, Vaughan and I set off with
Betty
, our next stop – Shoreborough.

       We passed little traffic on the way in comparison to that which we’d encountered around Rugeley – the weather taking a turn for the worse might have had something to do with it. If it was a choice between fewer people around and bad weather, or lots of spectators and good – the bad weather would win every time.

       We approached the spot Vaughan and Peach had chosen to tie up
Betty
. Phil jumped off and took care of the mooring procedure. We soon had the kettle on. Within forty minutes Neil and Peach were back with us. Everything was going according to plan at this point. Peach decided it was time Phil and I took a stroll, in order for me to familiarise myself with the surroundings.

      
Betty’s
mooring was just a short distance along from another boat. Untidy and old, with a substantial amount of rust that required attention, her name was
Glorious Charity
, but she looked anything but glorious. There were a couple of bikes on the roof and washing hanging from a makeshift line. The occupants were nowhere to be seen. This was good. We carried on, walking past and up to the edge of the estate grounds.

       Phil showed me where we would be entering the property. I had a good fifteen minutes look-around. He pointed to where we would take cover while he was dealing with the door. As I stared at the house. I was starting to get tingles, knowing that we would be going in after nightfall.

       I looked at Phil. ‘What do you think?’ I asked.

       ‘Honestly?’

       ‘Yes, honestly’

       He paused. ‘I'm shitting myself.’

       ‘Me too. Do you want to back out?’

       ‘Yes and no.’

       I knew what he meant. If we backed out now, we wouldn't go to jail but the chance would be gone, probably lost forever. And if we went through with it? It was mind blowing!

       Phil looked at me. ‘Come on, it'll be all right. There are risks with everything you do in life. Let's get back to the others.’

       As Phil and I walked back to the boat, heading towards us on the towpath was a very odd-looking bloke. If I had to compartmentalise him, he would be in the
New Age Traveller
section. He had his hair up in dreadlocks and looked pretty dirty. He was wearing sandals and holding a long thick string to which was attached an English bull terrier.

       As he came nearer, he greeted us, smiling, ‘Good afternoon to you.’ He sounded like he was from the west country. Phil and I grunted a good afternoon back, hoping that's where the exchange would end. It didn't.

       ‘I am Ezekiel, your neighbour.’

       His announcement demanded a response. I hadn't thought about false names so I just said the first name that came into my head. Unfortunately I came out with ‘I'm Marcel and this is ...’

       ‘... Austin.’ Before I’d had the chance to give Phil a new name, he’d beaten me to it. By his choice, he was having the same sort of mental block I was in concocting a believable name.

       Ezekiel didn't seem to bat an eyelid. ‘I am here with Miranda.’

       I realised he wasn't talking about the bull terrier when it turned round to look at something that had caught its attention, and in so doing displayed an overly-large pair of taut pink testicles.

       ‘What's the dog's name, Zeke?’ I asked.

       ‘Ezekiel is the name my good parents blessed me with, and Ezekiel is the form of address I prefer to be used, thank you. The dog's name is Ronald.’