“You’re putting me into a very invidious position.”
“There’s nowhere else I would like to put you, but it’s only invidious on your part to the tune of a hundred thousand pounds, and a crate of Bogie. It could be invidious to the tune of a lot more. My companion in arms and maybe villainy wanted to make away with every last grain, but I argued him out of it, and got him to agree to the hundred thousand because I didn’t want to be unfair to you. I’m not ungrateful for all you’ve done for me, especially when you had me framed and put inside thirteen years ago. I don’t easily forget a favour like that. Otherwise, our association has been mutually beneficial, since I’ve learned so much from you, but when you’ve handed over the cash I think we’ll call it quits, though I must say I’m enjoying our little talk. We haven’t had one on anything like equal terms before.”
“Equal terms!” he cried.
“Yes. You know, I have, you want. What could be more equal than that? I suggest you accept the situation and get that money — plus Bogie — up here as soon as possible, so that Bill and I can resume the even tenor of our zigzag ways, singing like a couple of Carusos as we count it. All you have to do is cough up, and put a good face on the matter.”
Another wait, but I was prepared for all of them. I’d got him where I wanted, and he knew it. “You know what I’d like to do, don’t you, Michael? Ideally, I mean.”
“Of course. You want us to drive the car and its contents to Ealing like obedient boys, get a long talking to about my recalcitrance,”—thank you, Blaskin, for that word — “and then touch my cap with gratitude on getting your handout of a thousand or so. Then you would let me walk away feeling happy I’d still got all my fingers.”
“That’s a fair account of my feelings. I know from experience that your imagination knows no bounds, but it’s the kind of imagination which is no imagination at all. It’s rather a millstone around your neck that could lead you into such trouble you’d soon have no imagination left because you’d be dead. Neither of us would like to see that, after such a long and fruitful association, would we, Michael?”
“Lord Moggerhanger, forgive me if I’m feeling a little bullish. Although I don’t want this conversation to go on as long as the Congress of Vienna, however long that event did go on, I must remind you that I’m acquainted, as you know, with William Straw, ex-sergeant of the Sherwood Foresters. To say we’re blood brothers is no exaggeration, and if anything were to happen to me he would turn himself into a one-man assassination squad from which, believe you me, you would have no escape. Bill is what used to be known as a gentleman ranker, and he has all the martial talents of that breed. If a hair of my head was harmed he would go into action with such alacrity that even you, with all your so-called protection from the riff-raff of South London, wouldn’t be able to avoid a fate that didn’t bear thinking about. He would kill you quickly and efficiently, because time is money for him too. As well as that he would delight in picking off your progeny, devastating each of your scattered properties, and sowing the grounds of your ruined main residence with salt in a way that would make Carthage look like the vicar’s croquet lawn. In short, he would kill you, even if he lost his own life in doing so, though that would be an unlikely outcome. I would do the same for him. So your threats are idle, and can’t have any place in this discussion. Just face the fact that I have you over a barrel, because if we don’t come to an agreement soon I’ll jack up the pay-off to sixty thousand each, instead of fifty.”
He sounded as if he’d not only lost his marbles but a stone of weight as well. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Not as hard as I could.”
“You’re a bastard of the worst sort.”
“And rather proud of it. Start moving. Get the money. Come up on the train. I’ll be outside the station in your Rolls Royce — or perhaps on the platform. Get off the train alone. If you bring anyone else, or try to pull a fast one, Bill will see to you in no uncertain terms. Your minions wouldn’t stand a chance. He would be in his element letting off a few well-aimed shots. He doesn’t fuck about.
“To continue. Sit over a cup of tea in the refreshment room. I shall meet you there. If in the future you try to get back at me, and I’m killed, or injured, or abducted in any way, I shall be leaving a briefcase with instructions that it should be handed over to the police. Its contents will prevent you having a comfortable retirement. Be sensible. Forget your losses, such as they will be.”
“Have you been up all night planning this?” he croaked.
Because everything had come out unrehearsed I hoped it would get us what we wanted, though of course I couldn’t be sure until it had. It wasn’t the moment for overconfidence. “We went over the scheme till agreeing on every detail,” I told him. “It was a lot of work and trouble for such a small percentage of what’s in your Rolls Royce. In fact I’m disappointed you haven’t offered a tad more than fifty thousand each out of the goodness of your heart. What’s the sense in making all this fuss over such a trivial sum?”
He was so long in coming back I thought I’d talked him into the ground. “Michael,” he said, “the reason I’m reluctant to comply with your demand is that you haven’t earned it. I pay generously for what people do, you know that, but in this case you’re asking for a sum which would cover at least a year of your work.”
“I’m fed up with this chatter,” I snapped. “We’ll meet the sixteen-forty-five tomorrow, and you will get off it. You don’t need cash from the bank. You keep more than that in your safe for pay-offs to whoever won’t accept cheques, or in case you have to go abroad at short notice.”
I put the phone down on Moggerhanger, which showed more than anything that I had crossed the Rubicon, mentally thanking Blaskin again for providing me with such an abundance of classical allusions. On my way to engineering Moggerhanger’s discomfiture gave me far more pleasure than a trip to Runna-Runna.
Everything said had been overheard, Dismal smiling as much as a dog can at my insistence on the Bogie. Bill shook my hand as if to take it away and fill a meat pie. “I don’t know where you found the chutzpah.”
“It’s the Irish in me. Let’s hope it works.”
“It will. You stitched him up like a tailor in a sweatshop. I was full of admiration the whole way through.”
“You deserve cakes and coffee,” Clegg smiled. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Make it strong,” I said.
Moggerhanger, in lounge suit, bowler hat, and navy blue overcoat with a carnation in the buttonhole, lifted the carton of Bogie onto the platform, and reached for the suitcase. He looked worried on calling a railway man to carry his luggage to the buffet, handing out a paper tip for the trouble.
I signalled him out to the parked Roller, which meant another note for the railway man on bringing the luggage over. He must have thought it was his birthday, because Moggerhanger was always generous when it suited him. Dismal was in the front seat trying to work the steering wheel, and Bill came out of the back to take the Bogie and the money. “My lads have got you covered. I’ll spend ten or fifteen minutes checking the amount. Find yourselves a cup of tea, and then come back.”
“Such precautions aren’t needed,” Moggerhanger said. “You can see I’m alone.”
Bill showed an old walkie-talkie I’d given Smog years ago for Christmas. “Do as I say, or I’ll call one of my ex-army pals to come and give you a pasting.”