‘You shouldn’t have wrecked my house, you ape.’
‘It wasn’t me. It was Parkhurst. And Toffeebottle.’
I wasn’t listening. I planned the severance some seconds in advance. Speed and timing was vital. Cars hooted to get by. Another few minutes and the rozzers would be onto us. I saw the turn-off. Whether Pindarry had been briefed as to my possible Harwich intention I didn’t know, but he was too preoccupied with his companion’s peril to remember if he had. Almost at the junction, I wound the window quickly down. At the same time I veered sharply.
Kenny’s hand was free, though his bones must have taken a drubbing as the arm grated out. Their car went straight on, while I swerved left and, in good old Black Bess, got onto the slip road without turning over.
As I went away I heard the car that had been behind me crash into the back of the Rolls, because no sooner had Pindarry realised my escape than he panicked, tried to cut in front of me, and slammed on the brakes to stop me when I was no longer there. Too late, he caused the biggest pile-up on that stretch of road since the black fogs of yesteryear.
I won’t say I was laughing. Almost certainly, I had lost the boat to Holland — though my resurfaced optimism told me there might still be a chance. If I missed it, I would drop my incriminating evidence in the nearest Royal Red pillar-box so as not to have it in my possession if Moggerhanger’s lads finally ran me to ground.
There was no advantage in speeding the last few miles. I would leave things to fate. When a tractor swung in front from a field beyond Manningtree I was as patient as a superannuated brigadier out on a pleasant country drive using a map from the 1930s. The young tractor driver had an earphone system clamped over his cloth cap, and was listening to the Jungle Blues from Radio Zombie as his vehicle moved sleepily along. Both of us waved in friendly fashion when I shot by.
I could smell the North Sea, and sensed a rough crossing, which would be appropriate enough on such a day. Then the sea was in sight, as well as cranes and great sheds, fences and the car parks. The boat was still there. I ran into the ticket office, wondering whether Chief Inspector Lanthorn and his lads would be at the passport control waiting for me.
‘Hello, Cullen! Where is it this time, then? Continental holiday, eh? I hope you aren’t getting a bit above yourself. We wouldn’t like that down at the station. We’re getting to love you more and more. Without you our lives wouldn’t be worth writing home about. Our careers would be in jeopardy. Stand still, you bastard. There’s nothing you can do. It’s a fair cop, I think you’d call it. I’d like to say, though, that that little incident on the A12 just now had us absolutely brimming over with admiration. We had a chopper overhead filming the whole thing. No, I know you didn’t notice it. You were somewhat preoccupied. We’ll run the film for you one day — when you come out. Trouble is, film doesn’t keep very well. After twenty-five years it’ll be pitted and smudgy. You’d better come with me. And I don’t want any fucking nonsense. All I have to do is warn you that anything you say will be used to your detriment at the trial, and thrown back at you by the beak to get you the maximum possible sentence.’
‘You’re too late, mate. The boat’s leaving.’
‘I didn’t ask you that.’ I bit my tongue rather than snap at him. ‘Just sell me a ticket. I’d like a cabin, if you’ve got one.’
‘Oh well, maybe it’s not too late, sir.’ He loved playing with late arrivals, but lifted the phone. I stood so calmly I didn’t even light a cigar, though my innermost tripes shook like jellies.
‘Room for one more?’
I looked idly around the room as seconds went by. My troubles weren’t over. They never would be. Moggerhanger might have someone waiting for me, even supposing I got on the boat, when I drove off at the Hook. There was no saying how far his vindictiveness would reach. The only reason for pursuing me was if he had proof that I had got the envelope. I didn’t see how that could be, though I was blind enough to believe anything. He wouldn’t stop me entering Holland, even if I had to leave the car on board and walk off. Such were the whirlings in my brain as I waited by the window.
‘You’re in luck. But you’ll have to get a move on.’
I took the ticket without a word, then drove to the passport window with that vital laundrybook in my hand. I got it straight back, and the customs didn’t bother me. An old salt took half my ticket and pasted a chit on the windscreen. ‘That’s a vintage car, sir, ain’t it?’
I thanked him for the compliment, and trundled ever onward into the car deck, hearing the steel wall fall to behind. A matelot offered to wash my car, and such was my relief at being on board that I gave him a fiver in advance. I felt the vibration of the engines while struggling upstairs with my briefcase, overnight bag and umbrella.
Bursting sticks of chalk drew the ship out of harbour. I stood on the top deck, cold spray hitting my face. Lights winked from the flat countryside of Essex, and we were soon on the watery big dipper. There was a slight rust about the ironwork of the lifeboat derricks.
I sat by the wreckage of my lunch, staring at paper flowers on the cafeteria table. Loudspeakers put out audio-masochistic music which I had even been too old to appreciate as a kid. One song had the word ‘Revolution’ wailed over and over by a group drugged either on Moggerhanger’s wares or their own souls.
I couldn’t stay in that plastic maritime palace for processing tourists into foreign parts, so got up to walk. The rhythmic tinkling of pinball machines dominated every gangway and recreation place, though I was glad to be out of Moggerhanger’s reach. A man wearing a newspaper-hat led four kids in a conga-dance along the deck.
Safe at last, I felt weak and purposeless though what else could I expect? Only my worst enemy would know that to make me powerless all he had to do was stop threatening me. Maybe Moggerhanger wasn’t that subtle, but I stayed on the alert, all the same.
I left my case in the saloon, though I wouldn’t let go of the briefcase, and went on deck to watch a ship go by. Tinkling morse came from the wireless office. Was Moggerhanger sending a telegram to his agent on board, telling him to throw me over the side? Not on your big fat Bertie. All said and done, he was only a racketeer, one of many, and not even my wildest imagination suggested that his influence went beyond the land. Trying to reach a higher deck, the gate wouldn’t give, and I was about to get it open when I noticed the words GREEN TOE GANG painted there.
The sea was heaving, with an invisible menagerie in the rigging, snarling and roaring. White cock-heads went to the walltop of the horizon, spumed up and never far away. I wanted to throw myself at it like the laughing man, but went on laughing after reading the words GREEN TOE GANG over and over. There was no mistake. I got under cover from driving rain, to the popsong noises I had despised a few minutes ago, but wherever I walked I sooner or later came upon the same GREEN TOE GANG label pinned over a door that I tried to open but couldn’t.
I had stumbled on the flagship of the Green Toe Line, the gang’s Titanic, no less, gone from one frying pan into another. I staggered like a blind man, but found the first class bar and sat with coffee and brandy, a little internal bandaging for the nerves.
Smoking the last of Moggerhanger’s cigars, I was filled with admiration at how the Green Toe Gang had affixed their name to so many doors and barriers. After all, they could have owned the ship without advertising the matter. To take over such a vessel was even beyond the power of Moggerhanger. He may have had the money, but hardly the panache. After a while I began to laugh on the other side of my sandpaper face at the thought that, having with such expertise escaped one racketeer’s minions, I had imprisoned myself on the good ship GREEN TOE GANG from which the only escape was to swim through a Force Nine Gale. The sensible course was to meet the Big Chief face to face. A jaunty crew member was walking between the tables, and I called him over. ‘Where does the boss of the Green Toe Gang have his cabin?’