The Vatican Rip

'I have a right—' Chris was storming.

'You're thick as a brick, Chris,' I said, honestly trying to be kind.

His eyes glazed and he grabbed me by the throat—or would have done if his rib hadn't cracked on the stool I slammed up under his ribcage. The broken glass suddenly in my hand opened a slit down his sleeve and forearm through which blood squirted.

'You should only dust terracotta figures,' I told him as he reeled back aghast and squealing. I heard Sal the barmaid shriek. 'And use a sable paintbrush. Okay?'

The pub was silent, except for the quiet jingle of the door behind old Alfred. The poor bloke was like a refugee today. Chris clutched at his arm as the blood refused to stop and moaned, 'What's Lovejoy done to me? Get an ambulance.'

'Oh Gawd,' Tinker muttered. 'Scarper, Lovejoy.'

The scattered drinkers were simply looking. That is, all except one. And he was smiling, clapping his hands together gently in applause. Pigskin gloves, London-made. Clap-clap-clap, standing by the door.. His two goons were there but simply watching.

I slid past Chris and out of the side door. Tinker's hunched form was just shuffling round the side of the pub on to the snowy slope of East Hill. I wisely took the other direction, slushing past the small timber yard and the Saxon church into the little square where the Three Cups pub stood. I took my time, stopping in the bookshop to price an Irish leather binding, but their prices read nowadays like light years.

Alfred Duggins wasn't in the Cups when finally I reached there. He'd probably given up.

But the big stranger was waiting for me just inside the taproom.

'Look, mate,' I said to him. 'If you're narked about the auction, say so and let's get on with it.'

'Drink?' His voice was man-sized, cool and full of confidence.

'What's the catch?'

'Catch?' He gave a lopsided grin. 'No catch. I just thought you deserved one, that's all.'

Without thinking, I said, 'Well, ta,' and we pushed in to the fug.

* * *

Arcellano was instantly at home in the Three Cups, exactly as he'd been at home in Seddon's crummy auction rooms, and just as he had seemed in the spit-and-sawdust Ship. While he ordered at the bar I glanced at him. This bloke was a hard nut and no mistake.

Jason and the delectable Jane were just settling down in one snug corner, which failed to cheer me. I glimpsed Big Frank over among a huddle of barkers, all of whom glowered my way. Nobody waved. I guessed my popularity was lower than ever because of spoiling the auction.

'Here, sir.' The stranger passed me my pint. I crossed to the fireplace to dry my shoes.

I noticed we were out of earshot of the others. A careful geezer too.

'My name's Lovejoy, Mr Arcellano,' I told him. Oddly, my name caused no screech of merriment. It always had before.

He said slowly, 'You know my name?'

'You bought at Seddon's, remember.' That was the name he had given Millon. Too late now to wonder if he'd made the name up. 'You a collector?'

He shrugged my question off and cautiously he tasted the beer before drinking properly. 'You're pretty definite about antiques, Lovejoy. Other dealers aren't.'

'Most dealers are like Chris, can't tell an antique from a plastic duck.'

'You're famous hereabouts.' He smiled as he spoke but with no warmth. I began to see why his tame goons did as they were told. 'Lots of people gave me your name.'

I didn't like the sound of that and said, all innocence, 'Me? Oh, you know how people are.'

'Yes, I know.' He said it with utter conviction. 'And people say if there's an antique to be got, Lovejoy's the man to get it.'

'Do they indeed?'

'Sure do. In fact,' he added, 'they seem to talk pretty guarded when I asked about you.'

I didn't like the sound of that, either. In fact, I wasn't at all sure I liked the man, but he seemed like a customer with money and I was sick of living on fried tomatoes and what I could scrounge from bored housewives when I was forced to go on the knocker.

Things had been really terrible lately. So I smiled affably. 'Take no notice.'

'Oh, but I have, Lovejoy. You're hired.'

'I am?'

He smiled at the irritation in my voice. 'For lots and lots of money.'

The dull world exploded in a blaze of gold fireworks. The muted mutter of the taproom soared into heavenly cadences. The entire universe was once again a magnificent carousel of dazzling lights and brilliant music. I was suddenly aware of how pleasant a bloke he actually was. I cleared my throat and squeaked, 'Have another, Mr Arcellano?'

I reeled back to the bar and gave Jean a weak grin. She's the barmaid, sometimes co-operative. 'Trust me, love. Stick it on the slate. I've a deal on. Pay you back tonight.'

She drew the pints and slid them over, holding my stare. 'I'll hold you to that, Lovejoy.

I finish at eleven.'

'You're wonderful, Jean. I'll come, love.'

She smiled mischievously. 'I might hold you to that, too, Lovejoy.'

The big man was lighting a cigarette when I rejoined him. I'd never seen so much gold in my life. There were rings, the lighter, watch, tiepin and collar clips, teeth. He didn't offer me a smoke. So I was already one more minion. I'm no smoker, anyway, but the message was there.

'Hired for what?'

'To get me an antique.'

He probably meant for me to bid for him in an auction. 'You want it valued?'

'I already know what it's worth. And where it is. I just need it collecting. You see, I own it.'

My brow cleared. A simple vannie's removal job. Well, in my state I wasn't proud.

'That's easy.' For some reason I'd been getting anxious.

'It isn't, Lovejoy.' That horrid smile was worrying me. The more I saw of it the less I liked it. 'But I saw the way you broke the auctioneer's arm—'

That got me mad, because people have no right to go suspecting things people don't want suspected. 'I did no such thing!'

'You did,' he said flatly. 'I've used the same trick myself. Pretend to help somebody in a brawl and put their elbow backward over the edge of a desk. It never fails.' His face was expressionless now. I noticed his eyes were always on the go, flicking glances here and there as we talked. My brow cleared and I thought, oh Christ. What have I got into?

He continued, 'And that dealer in the pub. Big and tough. But you sorted him out.

Never seen anybody move so fast in my life. You're the man I've been looking for.'

'To do a vannie's job?' He looked puzzled till I explained. Vannies are the humpers of our trade, mere shifters. A right mob of brainless old boozers they are too.

He heard me out and shook his head. 'Nothing that simple. You see, Lovejoy, somebody else has got my antique. And I want you to get it back.' His voice chilled me, and I'm not easily chilled.

He'd said 'get'. Not buy, not bid, not collect. Get. As in rob?

'Why can't you, erm, get it, Mr Arcellano?'

'Because it's risky. I might get caught.'

I thought, bloody hell. It's a rip. The bastard actually wants me to do a rip. Not him, note, because it's frigging risky. I rose, full of bitterness. It had all been too good to be true. Back to the cold snow and a quick rape over Ann's lace in the village. Maybe there was a slender chance of fitting in a quick hot nosh, though other times I'd called round I'd had to nick what I could from her fridge while she went to the loo.

'Sod off, mate.'

'Sit down, Lovejoy.' His face lifted. His smile was there again. I'd never seen such an unhappy smile. 'You just risked gaol for that old man—'