Scrap 31

SCRAP 31
Gasper Gerry is in the grip of a coughing fit. His one remaining lung does not cope well with the thick fog of cigarette smoke which hangs in the air. Despite being cured of tuberculosis many years ago and warned not to smoke, Gerry has never given up and is a 60 a day man. Ken takes pity on him and helps him outside to sit in the cold fresh air to recover.
Frank has been brewing an idea and knowing that Ginger is all ears, he says in a stage whisper to Scotty, ‘Of course the law wouldn’t find anything at Harry Tobin’s place: the whole consignment is stashed away in Ken’s workshop.’ Scotty is happy to expand on the subject. ‘Yeah,’ he chuckles, 150 new glider engines. He’ll make a killing out of those.’
It isn’t long before Ginger is seen slinking off to the gents, closely followed by DC Staples. ‘I think we have got ourselves a bite,’ grins Frank.
The drinking session continues until the barman rings the old ship’s bell and calls out for last orders, when there is a last minute crush at the bar. This gives the ideal opportunity for Frank and Scotty to slope off unseen. They are looking forward to hearing about the results of their latest little dramatic set-up.
Ken is woken at 6am the following morning by a beefy policeman banging his fist against the front door. He drags his half-asleep body to the window and looks out. Six police vehicles are parked in the yard outside and the place is swarming with cops. He opens the window and shouts down to DC Staples and his boss DS Roberts. ‘What the fuck’s going on? It’s Sunday morning for Christ’s sake.’
DS Roberts waves a sheet of paper above his head. ‘We have a warrant to search these premises,’ he shouts up at the bewildered haulier.
Ken scrambles into his clothes, stumbles downstairs and opens the door. Two uniformed PC’s push past him and disappear into the house. ‘We need to take a look inside your workshop Mr Chapman,’ says Roberts.
Ken grabs a bunch of keys from the hall table and marches across the yard in a fury. He opens the locks and slides the door open wide. ‘There,’ he says, ‘I don’t know what you’re looking for but you’ve made a mistake thinking you’ll find it here. I’m straight as a die, me.’
A swarm of police officers enter the building. There is not much to find; racks of tools, trolley jacks, oil drums, nothing you would not expect to find in a workshop. ‘Well,’ says Ken, ‘what are you looking for and why did you think I had it?’
DS Roberts saunters outside and casts his gaze about the yard. It is obvious to him that there is no contraband to be found at these premises. ‘We have to act on information received, Mr Chapman,’ he says, ‘and yes, I’m afraid we cannot divulge the source of our information. I apologise for any inconvenience caused and wish you a good day.’ With that, he calls off his men and they all troop back to their vehicles.
Ken is not happy with the explanation. ‘Come on,’ he insists, ‘what is it you’re looking for?’ He almost collapses with laughter as DC Staples tells him they are looking for 150 new glider engines. ‘Since when did gliders have engines?’ he asks. ‘Someone’s having you on mate.’