Dark Side of the Street

5

When he opened his eyes the room was festooned with cobwebs-giant grey cobwebs that stretched from one wall to the other and undulated slowly. He closed his eyes, fighting the panic that rose inside him. When he opened them again the cobwebs had almost disappeared.

He was lying in a narrow hospital bed and his left arm felt strangely numb. When he looked down he saw that it was heavily bandaged and then he remembered and looked around him.

The ward was small-no more than half a dozen beds. Two of them were occupied. One by Brady who lay with a cage over his legs, the other by Youngblood. Both men seemed to be either sleeping or unconscious.

Two prison officers were sitting at a small table by the door playing cards. As Chavasse stirred, they glanced across and one of them got to his feet and walked over.

"How do you feel?"

"Terrible." Chavasse tried to moisten dry lips. "What happened?"

"They gave you an anaesthetic and stitched you up." He turned to his companion. "Better get the doctor. He said he wanted to know when he came round."

Chavasse closed his eyes as the other officer picked up the telephone. His mouth was bone dry and he felt curiously light-headed, but otherwise he was fine. He looked down at the arm. He could feel nothing except that curious numbness which indicated the use of painkilling shots and he wondered how bad it was.

He'd taken one hell of a chance back there at the machine shop. What if he'd severed a tendon, for instance? He closed his eyes, sweat springing to his forehead, and opened them again in time to see one of the prison officers unlock the door.

The doctor who came in was African, a tall cheerful Nigerian with tribal caste marks prominent on one cheek and a ready smile. He sat on the edge of the bed and took Chavasse's pulse.

"How are you feeling?"

"A bit light-headed and my mouth's very dry."

"After-effects of the anaesthetic, that's all. Nothing to worry about." The Nigerian poured water into a glass from a jug on the bedside locker. "Drink this-you'll feel a lot better."

Chavasse did as he was told and then lay back. "What about my arm-is it serious?"

The Nigerian shook his head and grinned. "You'll play the violin again, isn't that what they would say on television? Thirteen stitches-I hope you are not superstitious, but I couldn't find room for an extra one."

"Are you sending me straight back?"

"To Fridaythorpe?" There was something close to compassion in the Nigerian's eyes when he replied. "No, I think we'll hang on to you for a day or two."

Chavasse tried hard not to show his relief, but in his weakened state found it impossible. "What about Youngblood-is he very ill?"

The Nigerian shrugged. "A second stroke is never a good thing. We'll know more after our tests tomorrow. But we've talked long enough. Now you must sleep again."

He went out and they locked the door behind him. The two screws went back to their card game and Chavasse turned and looked at Youngblood. He was sleeping peacefully, his face in repose looking strangely innocent. Chavasse took a deep breath. So-the stage was set? He wondered what the next act would be and still wondering, drifted into sleep.

When he next awakened it was night and the ward was a place of shadows, rain drumming against the windows. One of the prison officers slept soundly on an unoccupied bed, the other read a magazine at the table.

He glanced across as Chavasse stirred. "Are you all right?"

Chavasse nodded. "I think I'll take a walk."

He swung his legs to the floor, sat there for a moment and then got to his feet and walked to the washroom at the other end of the ward. It could have been worse-much worse and on the way back he felt even better.

When he sat down again on the edge of his bed he realised, with something of a shock, that Youngblood's eyes were wide open. He stared at Chavasse strangely, a slight frown on his face and Chavasse pulled a chair forward and sat down beside him.

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

"What is this?" Youngblood said. "What's going on?"

"You're in the closed ward at Manningham General. You had another stroke."

"What are you doing here?"

"When you blew your top at Fridaythorpe you almost went headfirst into the machinery. I caught you just in time. Opened up my arm on the grinding wheel in the process."

"Is it bad?"

"Thirteen stitches-could be worse. They're keeping me here for a couple of days."

The prison officer at the table make a quick phone call and then came over. "I've sent for the doctor. How do you feel?"

"Hungry as hell," Youngblood said. "Any chance of a meal?"

"We'll see what he says."

A moment later there was a knock at the door and he opened it to admit the Nigerian. He crossed to Youngblood's bed, sat down and made a quick examination. "Good-very good. You feel better for your sleep."

"What he really needs is something to eat," Chavasse said. "And so do I. We're both starving."

The Nigerian smiled. "I'll see what I can do, but you must get back into bed." He turned to the prison officer. "I'll tell the kitchen to send something up." Mr. Carter. I'm going off duty now, but my colleague, Dr. Mackenzie, will be taking over. If you need anything, ring through to night sister, but in any case, he'll be looking in later on."

Carter locked the door behind him and returned to the bed. He was a middle-aged, rather kindly man who was thought by most of his colleagues to be too soft.

"Anything I can do for you?"

"I could manage a visit to the washroom," Youngblood said. "I never could stand these damned bedpans. Maybe you and Drummond could give me a hand."

They took him between them, Chavasse on the left so that he could use his good arm. He walked very slowly like an old man and they had to support almost his whole weight. Chavasse was sure he was bluffing, yet on the way back there was sweat on his forehead and when they got him on to the bed again, he seemed exhausted. On the other hand, that might be the after-effects of the drug …?

There was a knock on the door and when Carter opened it, a male nurse came in pushing a trolley. He served them with scrambled eggs, toast and tea, and went out again.

Chavasse took his time over the meal, watching Youngblood intently. He showed little desire for conversation and ate slowly, apparently still weak and yet there was a slight air of tension about him and he kept glancing at the electric clock on the wall.

When they had both finished, Carter took the trays and put them back on the trolley which the nurse had left by the door.

"What about a smoke, Mr. Carter?" Youngblood said.

Carter looked dubious. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Just one-that's hardly likely to kill us."

"I suppose not."

He gave them a cigarette each and a light and went back to his magazine. It was just five minutes to nine and to Chavasse the atmosphere seemed to crackle with electricity. Youngblood lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, the cigarette held loosely between the fingers of his left hand-a hand that shook slightly each time he raised it to his mouth, betraying his inner tension.

As the second hand swept round towards nine he crushed his cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside locker and looked across at Chavasse.

"I'd like to say thanks while I still have the chance for what you did up there in the machine shop. First Brady and then the other thing."

"That's okay."

"I wish there was something I could do for you-I don't like being in debt to anyone-but there isn't. Whatever happens, I want you to get that straight."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

Before Youngblood could reply, there was a knock on the door. Carter opened it on the chain and Chavasse heard a pleasant cultured voice, "Dr. Mackenzie-just making my rounds."

The man who stepped into the room wore the conventional white coat of the staff doctor and a stethoscope dangled from one pocket like a badge of office. He had a pale, aristocratic face and a fixed smile.

To the average person he might have seemed a slightly effeminate rather upper-class young man, but not to Chavasse who knew a real pro when he saw one.

"How are things then?" he said pleasantly and as Carter turned to lock the door, took a.38 automatic from one pocket and delivered a stunning blow to the base of the prison officer's skull.

Carter groaned and fell heavily to the floor. There was a cry of anger and the second prison officer, who had been sleeping on one of the spare beds, flung himself forward and landed squarely on Mackenzie's back before he could turn. He lurched into the wall, the gun flying from his hand to skid across the polished floor.

They went down together, Mackenzie underneath and then Youngblood arrived on the run. He grabbed the prison officer by the collar and pulled him off with a tremendous heave, swinging the man round, driving his clenched fist into his stomach. The prison officer doubled over and Youngblood's knee lifted him back against the wall. He slid to the ground and Mackenzie moved in fast and kicked him expertly in the side of the head.

"Almost fouled things up for us didn't he, old man?" he said to Youngblood as they stood over the two prison officers breathing heavily.

"A remarkable recovery, Harry," Chavasse said. "I must say you put in quite a performance back there in the machine shop."

He was standing three or four yards away, one hand behind his back as Youngblood turned to face him. "That was genuine enough, thanks to a drug called Mabofine. All the symptoms, but none of the after-effects."

"It must have taken quite some planning."

"A fascinating exchange," Mackenzie interrupted, "but I'm sure you won't mind if we postpone it and get to hell out of here."

"That suits me just fine," Chavasse said.

Mackenzie smiled patiently. "I'm afraid you'll have to sit this one out, old man. We've only catered for one."

"That's right, Drum," Youngblood said. "Fare paying passengers only this trip."

Chavasse took his hand from behind his back and held up Mackenzie's automatic. "This tells a different tale. It says we all go or nobody does."

Mackenzie's habitual slight smile disappeared and he slid one foot forward tentatively. "I wouldn't," Youngblood said heavily. "He means it."

Mackenzie shrugged. "The Baron isn't going to like this."

"To hell with the Baron. He can put it on the bill, can't he? Now how do we get out of here?"

"Suit yourself." Mackenzie opened the door and pulled in a wheelchair which had been standing outside. "A nice authentic touch just in case we meet anyone. We take the service elevator at the end of the corridor to the basement and go out through the staff entrance. There's no one about at this time of night. I've got transport waiting and clothes for one." He turned to Chavasse. "I don't know how far you think you'll get in hospital pyjamas and a dressing gown."

"No problem there." Chavasse gestured towards Carter. "He's about my size. Get him stripped. I'll manage just fine with his trousers and shirt and that pullover he's wearing under his uniform jacket."

They didn't argue and a few moments later, Youngblood tossed the clothes across, Chavasse withdrew to the end of the ward, placed the gun within easy reach and dressed quickly.

"It isn't that I don't trust you, Harry," he explained. "It's just that I know you'd cut my throat if you thought there was even a remote possibility that I might spoil your chances."

Youngblood chuckled and shook his head in frank admiration. "A pity we didn't meet up years ago, Drum. We could have taken them all on."

He sat in the wheelchair, arranging a blanket over his legs and Mackenzie took off his white coat and threw it at Chavasse. "You wear that and push the wheelchair-I'll swing the stethoscope in one hand."

"Aren't we gong to tie these two up?"

"Not worth it. The real Mackenzie could turn up at any time. Now let's get moving. We've got a tight schedule."

It was quiet in the corridor and when Mackenzie pressed the button, the lift rose to meet them at once. When the doors opened in the basement he walked out without hesitation and Chavasse followed him pushing the wheelchair.

The basement was deserted except for two ambulances parked by a loading bay and they kept on going through the staff door at the end and out into the night.

Rain drifted in a fine spray through the light over the porch. An old Commer van was parked at the bottom of the steps and Mackenzie peered out cautiously. Two nurses, uniform caps swinging from their shoulders against the rain, were walking down towards the main gates, but otherwise the drive was deserted.

Mackenzie went down the steps, opened the rear door of the van, turned and nodded. Chavasse and Youngblood went after him. The door slammed, a key turned and they were driven rapidly away.

A few moments after starting, an interior light came on and Youngblood discovered a pile of clothing in one corner. There was everything he needed from shoes to a raincoat, all obviously carefully chosen for size.

The van was not being driven at any particular speed and he had little difficulty in changing. He had barely finished when they braked to a halt. The engine was switched off, Mackenzie jumped out, came round to the rear and unlocked the door.

"Let's be having you."

They were in a large town-centre car park and buildings lifted into the night on either side. "Where are we?" Youngblood demanded. "Manningham?"

"A change of transport, that's all." Mackenzie handed Chavasse a Burberry trenchcoat and a silk scarf. "Much as I regret having to part with them you'd better have these. Do you think I could possibly have my gun back now?"

"A fair exchange." Chavasse handed him the automatic and pulled on the raincoat.

Mackenzie withdrew the magazine then snapped it back into place with an ominous click. "I'm awfully tempted, old man. I really am."

"I'm sure you are," Chavasse said. "On the other hand it would make a hell of a dent in your plans to have me lying around in a ditch somewhere. Now that really would have every copper in the country straining at the leash."

"Somehow that's what I thought you might say," Mackenzie said. "Another time perhaps. Shall we go?"

The car waited in the shadows of the far side of the park, a Vauxhall brake, and Mackenzie drove away at once, taking a road which had them out of Manningham and into the countryside within ten minutes.

He switched on the radio and as music drifted out, leaned back in the driving seat, his eyes on the road. "And now we can get down to business, Mr. Youngblood."

"I was wondering when you'd get round to it."

Mackenzie laughed gently. "Do you know something? That's exactly what Ben Hoffa said."

Youngblood turned to look at him. "You handled Ben's break?"

"But of course. The Baron always gives me the big ones."

"Where is he now?"

"Hoffa?" Mackenzie chuckled. "A long, long way away, Mr. Youngblood. I can assure you of that and they won't get him back. That's all part of our guaranteed service. But let's dispose of the sordid cash angle first. You know our terms-they were fully explained. We've kept our part of the bargain-we've got you out. You tell us where the cash is and that completes Phase One of the operation."

"There is no cash," Youngblood said calmly.

The car swerved and Mackenzie fought to regain control. "You're joking of course."

"Not at all. I did a deal with some Dutch money changers in Amsterdam and converted my share into diamonds-two hundred and fifty thousand pounds' worth."

"Not bad-not bad at all. Prices have risen a lot in five years. Where are they?"

"A safe deposit in Jermyn Street in London in the name of Alfred Bonner. One of those places where the manager keeps one key and the customer the other. You need both to open the box."

"And who has yours?"

"My sister. She lives at 15 Wheeler Court, Bethnal Green. She'll hand it over with no trouble. I put her in the picture when she last visited me three months ago."

"That all sounds perfectly straightforward," Mackenzie said. "I'll pass the information along to the right quarter."

"And what happens to us?"

"You'll be well taken care of. If everything goes according to plan, they'll start Phase Two when the Baron has his hands on those diamonds. I should point out, by the way, that Mr. Drummond here is very definitely going to come extra."

"And when do we get to see the Baron?" Chavasse said.

"When he's ready and not before. Under our system you're passed on from hand to hand as it were. We find that much safer for all concerned."

"With the Baron waiting at the end with my money, I hope?" Youngblood said.

"Plus a new identity, a new life, a passport to anywhere in the world. I should have thought that was quite a bargain, old man."

Ahead was an intersection and he turned left into a quiet secondary road and braked to a halt about a mile further on. It had stopped raining and a full moon had appeared from behind a bank of heavy cloud so that they could see quite clearly a five barred gate and a ruined farmhouse beyond.

"All out!" Mackenzie said. "This is where I leave you."

Youngblood and Chavasse stepped on to the grass verge and looked around them. "What is this?" Youngblood demanded.

Mackenzie slipped off his watch and gave it to him through the window. "It's now nine thirty-five. In approximately ten minutes someone will pick you up."

"What's he driving?" Chavasse asked.

"I've no idea. His opening words will be: Is there anywhere in particular you'd like me to take you? You must answer: Babylon. He'll tell you Babylon's too far for him, but will offer to take you part of the way. Have you got that?"

Youngblood stared at him in amazement. "Are you crazy?"

"If I am, then you've made a damned bad bargain, old man," Mackenzie said and he released the handbrake and drove rapidly away.

They stood there, listening to the engine fade into the distance and when it had finally died Youngblood turned to Chavasse, face white in the moonlight.

"What do you think? Are they just stringing us along?"

"I shouldn't have thought so. They've too much to lose."

"I suppose you're right. Better have a cigarette and hope for the best."

It was Chavasse who heard the sound of the approaching vehicle first and he moved out into the road and looked down to the shadows at the bottom of the hill where headlights flared through the darkness.

"Could this be it?" Youngblood demanded.

Chavasse watched for a moment, eyes narrowed and then shook his head. "I shouldn't imagine so. It looks like a petrol tanker to me."