Scrap CH THREE part 15

Scrap CH THREE part 15
The Bay Club is busy as usual on this hot summer evening as Frank parks his car near the exit and strolls in to the bar where Scotty is waiting, in conversation with young Jason. ‘Hi Frank, what will you have?’ Asks the younger man, reaching into his pocket for a thick roll of notes which he is keen to flash. Frank says he will have his usual pint of bitter and his pal has another pint of lager. Jason treats himself to a whisky and they settle on the high stools in a corner furthest from the stage. One of the regular crooners is already latched to the microphone stand and giving his all to an old Presley number accompanied by the resident organist. Some of the audience are joining in, mostly with the wrong words and at the wrong time but no-one seems to care too much.
‘So how is life treating you these days?’ Scotty asks Jason, having not seen him since the christening of his nephew. ‘I’m doing well thanks, although I could do without my brother-in-law banging on about the IRA whenever I go round for Sunday dinner. He goes on and on about the inequalities of the Catholics in the North and the more he drinks the angrier he gets. I say why can’t folk just learn to get along but he reckons I have no idea how bad things are for the Catholics and I should care passionately like he does. He reckons the only way to make the Brits sit up and take notice is to take action and we know what he means by that.’
Frank is keen to change the subject and asks if Jason has had any more thoughts on the pallet business. ‘I have as it happens,’ Jay replies as he picks up his glass and swirls the contents before gulping them down, ‘I reckon we’ll give it a go. There are a few customers who are keen to buy from us if we can fix a low enough price so I don’t see how we can go wrong. Now, same again is it?’ He pulls out the wad of notes again and peels one off, makes his order and tells the pretty barmaid to have one for herself. She blushes slightly at the handsome young man as she hands him his change and fixes the drinks. Like most women she is on the lookout for a rich handsome young man to sweep her off her feet.
‘Who is that over there with PC Plod?’ Asks Scotty, nodding towards a smoke engulfed table by the stage. Frank squints into the murk and identifies the newcomer as DC Ward who he has already had a run-in with regard to some crates of mushrooms which allegedly went missing from a cold store in Faversham. ‘Funny how they always pick this as their watering hole,’ he observes, ‘but then I suppose they think they’re going to pick up some useful information from the locals. Ginger Jarvis was always sniffing around when Roberts was in charge, remember?’ The other two nod in agreement, remembering very well the man with the biggest gob in Sheppey, God rest his soul. ‘Do you reckon he really did himself in or was there something more sinister going on?’ Jason has heard stories about a certain Beanpole Brett who may or may not have been involved in the man’s demise but the others shrug and turn their attention to their drinks.
Ken Chapman wanders in with his now fiancée Lesley Sharp on his arm, clinging for dear life as she totters on four inch stack heels. Her tight red dress is cut almost to the waist to reveal a squashed cleavage and her wrinkly knees stick out from beneath the hem line; not a pleasant sight but Ken seems proud of her. He has always had a liking for bleach blondes who wear lots of make-up and spend hours every Saturday having their hair coiffed up and sealed with a can of sticky lacquer. Her strong musky perfume is enough to make a sensitive mortal faint and the boys decide to take their drinks into the rarely used beer garden.
The summer air is warm but damp with a breeze blowing in from the sea. The noise from the three piece pop band can still be heard but is much more bearable at this distance. Frank has bought another round and a dozen packets of crisps to help soak up the alcohol. He and Scotty have to be a bit careful knowing they have some work ahead but it looks odd if they don’t appear to be imbibing at their usual rate and they have no wish to attract the attention of the local Constabulary.
‘Harry tells me you’re bringing some plant in to the yard tonight,’ says Jason, a comment which raises eyebrows and tempers. ‘Does he now?’ Asks Frank as he tips the crushed crumbs of a pack of salt and vinegar into his mouth. ‘That’s not like him to tell other people his business.’ Jay squirms slightly, not wishing to get on the wrong side of a man he admires. ‘He only told me because he needs my help in dismantling them.’ Scotty frowns as he finishes the dregs of his pint and starts on the next. ‘All the same, I’d prefer if he kept these matters private. You never know who may be listening.’ Frank lights a Rothmans King Size and offers them to the others, who do likewise. ‘You know this is quite legit, don’t you? Well, almost; the only difference is that College sometimes tells the finance companies that the plant wasn’t on site and sells it direct, but he has all the paperwork in case there’s any query so there’s no come-back on us.’
A group of ear-bashed punters wander out to join them in the garden, scraping the battered benches across the gravelled path and positioning them near the back door. ‘Bit noisy in there for our liking,’ one calls over. ‘Smoky too,’ adds another as he lights up a fat cigar,’ can’t see your hand in front of your face.’
Frank looks at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time and declares it’s time they got going. ‘Don’t want to get hemmed in. They’ll be winding up soon and I’d like to slip away before the exodus.’ Jason looks pleadingly at his hero, hoping for an invitation to the party, but he is out of luck: the fewer men involved in this the better and there are already three with College bringing the lorry. They bid the young man goodnight and head off for the meeting place on the A2.
College has been waiting half an hour by the time the pals appear and is just having a quick leak behind the bushes as they pull up behind his D1000 tractor unit and 33ft low loader trailer. ‘I was beginning to think you’d bottled out,’ grins College as he looms from the undergrowth, ‘best be getting on our way.’ He pats his pockets searching for his keys, only to realise he has left them in the ignition and locked the door behind him. After a few choice words he looks around for something to force the lock. ‘I could have done without this,’ he seethes. Scotty puts a staying hand on the man’s arm. ‘Not so fast Batman, I can get in without any of that nonsense.’ He takes a coin from his pocket and uses it to unscrew an inspection plate on the front of the cab, then reaches in, threading his arm past the wiring and just far enough to release the door handle. ‘Well I’ll be blowed, I never knew you could do that,’ laughs College, ‘you learn something new every day.’
Frank and Scotty follow the lorry and trailer in the 4 litre R, which is more comfortable and reliable than the old banger Jim has been using. The site is in darkness as they cut their engines and coast along to where the first of the JCB machines has been parked up. They get out without shutting the doors and soon have the digger safely secured on the low loader. College has removed his shoes and put on a pair of slippers to tread noiselessly along the row of workmen’s caravans in search of the back hoe loader which is supposed to be somewhere on site. He turns and beckons the other two as he spots what he is looking for and they creep about getting into the cab. College whispers for Scotty to join him at the trailer as Frank is left to start the engine and make as quick a getaway as possible.
As soon as the engine roars into life Frank has it in gear and racing towards the trailer. Before the men can get it properly secured they hear the sound of voices shouting in the distance. The workmen have woken up and are sprinting, naked, towards them, throwing whatever comes to hand in an attempt to stop them taking the machines. Frank and Scotty almost throw College into the cab of the D1000 and he slams the throttle to the floor, escaping in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. The two pals run for their lives as the irate workmen close in on them, bundling into the car and driving off at speed, dodging missiles as they go.
They pull in to a lay-by a mile down the road and get out inspecting the damage. The JCB machines have just about hung on to the trailer and the car has several dents in the roof but apart from that they have got off lightly. They quickly secure the load and get going before anyone can follow. ‘That was a close call,’ puffs Frank, between bouts of coughing as he inhales deeply from the lighted Rothmans which Scotty has handed over. ‘I reckon I’ll stick with the second-hand pallets after this,’ sighs Scotty. ‘Still, it was good while it lasted.’