Scrap CH THREE part 34

Scrap CH THREE part 34
Frank arrives at the factory and backs the trailer up to the loading bay where his pal is waiting for his load of instant mash. ‘You look rough,’ observes Frank, ‘has Robbie been giving you an earbashing again?’ The boy is sitting in the cab eating the remains of the pack-up Dawn provided for the trip. ‘He won’t shut up about this Mbele bloke,’ moans his pal, he has it all worked out in his head that if we give him a job at the haulage company then he will move to the Island and Precious won’t have to go and live in Brixton with her father. I try over and over to explain that we haven’t even started yet, that we don’t need another driver, that it isn’t up to me anyway but he still persists.’ Frank has opened the rear of the trailer and watches as the pallets of mash are loaded, making a mental note of how many he will need to keep for his own purposes. ‘He’s a boy is your Robbie, once he gets an idea in his head you’ve had it. What makes him think the man wants to work for us anyway?’ Scotty shrugs and turns away to sign the delivery ticket. ‘See you later,’ he says wearily as Frank waves him off. Kids: who’d have them?
Vernon Hall has jumped at the chance of buying some boxes of the instant mash. He reckons that it saves time and money and the drivers don’t know any different once it’s smothered in sauce or gravy so he is happy to take as many boxes as Frank can get. After handing the forklift truck driver a folded ten pound note he finds an extra pallet and swiftly drops them on the trailer. Frank closes the doors and is on his way, whistling as he drives towards Hertfordshire to deliver (most) of the merchandise. Happy days, but will they continue once the poacher turns gamekeeper? He’s going to make the most of his chances while he can.
It is getting on for 4am when Frank pulls up outside the back door of the café where Vernon is waiting. ‘How many did you manage to get for me?’ He asks without bothering to say hello. He rubs his hands together as he is told a whole pallet load and helps open one of the curtain sides. ‘Hold on a minute,’ says Frank, ‘you still owe me for the onions, remember?’ Vernon reluctantly hands over the cash and after further prompting the amount agreed for the mash. He gets up onto the trailer and starts handing the large boxes down to his accomplice.
They have almost finished unloading, with the boxes piling up in the tiny store room when Scotty wanders over for a nosey. ‘Hello hello, need a hand lads?’ He asks, taking one of the boxes off the stack on the floor. His arrival creates the distraction Frank needs for the next stage. Whilst the man is otherwise engaged, Frank goes to the cab and takes out the box which he emptied earlier, puts a quieting finger to his mouth and nips back into the café. Scotty continues helping Vernon as his pal slips out with the now full mash box which he heaves up into the cab and covers with his sleeping bag. The bags of mash which it had originally contained are stuffed up on the bed behind the curtain where nobody can see them. Ducking his head round the store-room door he calls out that he is going to drive over and get in the queue. Scotty dumps the last of the boxes in the doorway and does likewise, leaving Vernon to stack up his mash and mentally count his cash.
The two pals arrive at the yard and Scotty offers to help carry the spare box of instant mash. Before Frank can argue he reaches in to pick up the box and grimaces. ‘What the fuck have you got in here?’ The light bulb goes on in his head and he stifles a laugh, aware that the mechanic has seen them drive in. Frank carries the box, hidden by the sleeping bag and places it carefully in the boot of his car, shutting the lid down to stop prying eyes, then returns to the cab with two bags, stuffs the packs of mash into them and hands them over to Scotty. ‘Here you are mate, present for your Dawn.’ Jim is happy with his share of the booty, knowing that it will please the old girl. She thinks it is marvellous stuff, so quick and easy to make up with just boiling water and a knob of margarine. She is the only member of the family to be thus enthused but if you’re hungry you will eat what’s on the plate so nobody dares complain. To Dawn it’s almost as welcome as a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates.
Ivy was not too pleased when she arrived for work to find the store room packed out with boxes of instant mashed potato and a scribbled note from her employer saying he will see her when he gets back from his 2 weeks holiday in Marbella, but she is relieved that he has taken away the hated microwave oven. It made the pies hot sure enough but they came out all soggy and nobody wanted to eat them. Everything else she tried to cook in it had been a disaster and she had given up after a few days. Even Rita had gone off the thing after burning her hands getting an earthenware bowl out and spilling the contents all over her front. No, she much prefers the old methods of cooking; you know where you are with your oven and hobs.
Frank is luxuriating in the bath with the little transistor radio blaring out on the windowsill when the doorbell goes. He ignores it but then there is a hammering on the glass panel in the front door which grows so loud he is fearful it will break. Cursing, he hauls himself out of the suds, wraps a towel around his waist, which fits where it touches, and yanks open the door. ‘Alright, alright, what’s the panic?’ He stands there dripping, squinting into the sunlight as DS Staples pushes past him closely followed by DC Long and two uniformed officers who barge through, peering in each of the rooms and even checking the attic.
‘Nothing here,’ calls one of the uniformed men, ‘nor here,’ says the other as he drops down from the loft. ‘Would someone mind telling me what or who you are looking for?’ Asks Frank as the back door is unlocked and a search made of the garden and shed. The men all troop back into the kitchen, trailing mud on the tiles and finding nothing. ‘We are acting on information received,’ DC Long tells him, ‘we have to check these reports when they are of a serious nature.’ They will not elaborate further, which leads Frank to draw his own conclusions as he sees them off the premises. He has a few ideas but is none the wiser, anyway they didn’t seem to notice any of the dodgy gear he does have about the place so he shrugs his shoulders, dries the last of the suds from his body, drapes the towel over a chair and gets into bed. If anyone else knocks on the door they can shove off.
Beanpole Brett watches from a safe distance as the raiding party departs then cruises casually past Frank’s abode, smirking as he imagines the chaos he has caused. It wouldn’t be convenient for the Law to show up at his place, seeing as he has just brought in a large consignment of illegal drugs. He guessed that he had been seen as he trans-shipped the load from the small cabin cruiser and is always surprised at how easy it is to dangle a red herring and get a nibble.