CHAPTER - 4

4 

 

 

At six I pushed the door and walked into what was, for a pub, a bright space. The big side windows faced west and on such a fine evening light streamed in. A quick glance around. No signs of trouble. That was the thing with going into a pub on your own especially with my pedigree. Sometimes trouble lurked. Fellas out for the night wanting a bit of spending money or, and this was even more relevant, some past acquaintance finally catching up and wanting to make things right was the commonly used expression. At the moment I was thinking of a fella in a light blue Take Six suit but he wasn’t in there. Besides, I’ve a memory for faces and names and could not place him anywhere or put a name to what had been quite a distinctive face.

  No Monkie, but the place was filling up with the on the way home workers who would eventually be replaced by the going out crew. Feeling safe I wandered up to the bar and had a word with Glynis. Nice girl. Mid length auburn hair and a bit wavy. Styled well to suit her face. Blue eyes that always smiled. Got a pint of best and a bag of nuts and chatted until she had to serve then found a seat in the corner out of the way. 

Sat and watched. Mostly the door. Kept an eye on the punters coming in just in case but that was only a habit. Trouble had a way of standing out in a crowd and I had long ago learnt to spot the signs. Took a sip. Threw in a handful and chewed. Stared at the painting on the end wall. A posh looking fella from years ago sitting on a big chair with a gold crown on his head. King someone or another but I’d never spent the time to find out. He was a bit portly so maybe old Henry, the guy with all the wives. But I wasn’t sure. He had these eyes that seemed to follow you around the room. Real creepy. Before I was forced to wander over and check his regal title the door swung and there was Monkie closely followed by a group of noisy Mods. Parkas swished as they swaggered in. A couple wore a pork pie hat. 

Monkie waited in the doorway and let the Mods struggle by. He didn’t move, just let them barge past. I could see him giving the place the once over. Lingered a moment on two fellas on bar stools but moved on when they glanced his way. I liked that, the care he was taking. Saw him settle on Glynis then his gaze flicked my way and he grinned. I had sensed he’d seen me the moment he walked through the door but the best thing, he hadn’t let it show. 

Swinging around a couple of tables he wandered over. He had changed. Gone were the bomber jacket and ripped jeans. His working clobber as he called them. On was a slick grey jacket with straight lapels, no flap pockets and near new Levis. White T-shirt. The same red bumper boots. Hair slicked back. Quite long but nicely styled.  

“Glad you could make it, “I said. “The hair looks smart.” 

“My sister’s a hairstylist. She can sort yours out if you want.” 

“Not sure I want to look so slick but, thanks, I’ll give it some thought.” 

The Mods had congregated under the portrait and were making a row. “Do you know them?” I asked Monkie. 

“Nope. You?” 

“No. Tribal stuff I don’t do. They’re like the trendy girls. All identical and full of crap.” I stared at the parkas with their fur collars and imagined a few dressed up hair dryers outside. 

“They’ll upset old Henry the eighth,” said Monkie, “You know something? We’ve got the same boots and jeans.” 

“Not the same thing, is it? Everyone pretty much wears jeans and the boots, so what, they’re just boots without a meaning. All those guys' stuff has meaning. Everything is worn for a purpose. It identifies them as part of the wider tribe.” 

“You know what, I do like you. You’re a useful fella to know. You're a banker, a lawyer and now a psychologist… anyway, how was the day?” 

“First I’ll get you a pint… hang on.” Over to the bar and I had to wait for the Mods to get a refill. The one ordering giving Glynis a hard time. She held her own until the guy grabbed her arm and tried to pull her close. Glanced at his mates, grinning. Confidence in numbers, I thought. So, I wandered over. 

“Hey Glynis,” I said, “Are you serving or shall I give you a while to chat to this guy?” I looked at the fella and gave him a quick flash of the teeth. 

Glynis replied, “Sure, Rich, just give me a second.” She turned to the guy and said, “Anything else?” 

He stared at me, seeming to be contemplating making a move. Unblinking, I stared back. Didn’t shift my gaze and said nothing. That made him glance at his mates but they were all chatting. He glanced at me and I saw he was lost. Without his support he let go of Glynis and left carrying a tray. I watched him say something and a couple of his lot turned my way. Looked like they might wander over but there was hesitation. I flashed some more teeth. They looked at each other, then carried on talking. 

I swung back to Glynis. She was rubbing her arm and I noticed the look on her face, “Pint of best, please, Glynis” I said adding a cheerful, “You okay.” 

“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile, “and thanks, Rich.” 

“You’re nice,” I said. 

“So are you,” she replied and walked off to the other end of the bar and picked up the phone.  

As I watched a huge guy wearing a black suit and white shirt came through the door at the back of the bar, gazed at the end of the room towards old Henry and smiled at Glynis. She glanced my way but didn’t do anything, just looked, but I knew what she was saying. Telling me the evening heavy crew were coming on-line. 

“Trouble,” asked Monkie as I returned to our table. 

“Not really,” I said. “See the big guy who’s just appeared? Together with his mate, who’s probably out back finishing off polishing his knuckles, they’re the peacekeepers of this establishment. The girl’s name is Glynis in case you want to buy a round. She’s real nice.” 

“Odd name… Is that a hint?” 

“My glass is nearly empty… her name’s actually Mary Johns but we call her Glynis. You know, after Glynis…” 

“Johns, the Mary Poppins Glynis Johns?” 

“That’s it. She’s nice as well.” 

“Interesting. So, while we’re on names, how about an explanation?” 

“The name’s Aubrey Richards. My mum reads a lot and one of her favourites is Lord of the Rings.” 

“The one with dwarfs and elves and crap.” 

“Yeah, so she’s nuts about elf lords. Thinks they’re just about the most romantic beings.” 

“Okay, I get that but…” 

“Why Aubrey… apparently it means elf ruler or some such thing. German origin I think she said. Anyway, at the moment I’m not sure it fits my profile too well, so I stick with Rich.” 

“That sounds fair enough. So, as I was saying, how was the day?” 

“Excellent.” I handed Monkie a few notes and change. “There’s three pounds three and six there.” Then to make sure he was aware, I said, “It’s rounded up to take care of a half penny split.” 

“That’s very generous, a whole halfpence.” 

“A sign of solid commitment,” I said and Monkie just grinned. I think he found that a bit funny. “There’s more that we pick up when we leave.”  

“Much more?” 

“You know the rule about jobs?” 

“Sure, they need an angle.” 

“Correct, and the rest we’re picking up is the angle paying off.” I told him all about the shop setup and why I worked there. 

“I take back what I said about boring shop work… Did you get us a date?” 

“Got a number so we can give it a go later if you want… What about you? You mentioned cats.” 

“Sure, there’s four empty cages in the car… here’s your cut. There’s five pounds ten shillings.” 

“You’ve a car?” I asked, hoping my ongoing transportation problems might be about to be resolved.  

“Well, yes and no. My dad sells the things. Monk’s Motors he likes to call his operation. 

“That has a neat ring to it. Kind of a backstreet under the arches sort of ring though.” 

“Yeah, and he does sell mostly second-hand junk. He’s got a showroom, well, that’s what he calls it. More of an old warehouse with a workshop tacked on the back. I’m not entirely sure how… how should I put it?” 

“Are you looking for a word like professional?” 

“That’ll do nicely. I don’t know how professional his operation is. He sticks firmly to the bottom end of the market where there’s a buy it, dump it attitude. Ride ‘till it dies is his company motto. No comebacks that way so maybe, like you say, a bit on the backstreet side.” 

“That’s not the important thing, is it though. The question is, is there a market?” 

“Massive… at the moment, that is, but I think that’s about to change. For now, though, there are plenty out there who want something real cheap with no maintenance cost. Long term though things need to change but he’s stuck with the same old story, he needs capital to move up the few notches it’ll take to keep up with the market. Anyway, I get to use the stock in exchange for helping him out.” 

“So, you know a bit about cars?” 

“Pretty much everything there is and I can sell the things.” 

“Well, this is unexpected news,” I grinned. “A partner with wheels and the knowledge to boot… anyway, back to the cats.” 

Monkie’s smile had a mischievous look about it, “Yeah, the cats,” he said, “I find lost cats.” 

That made me wonder. So, I said, “I bet that’s hard work. It’s not gone unnoticed that they can be difficult to locate even when they’re not lost.” 

“On the contrary, it’s not at all difficult and there’s a reward.” 

“So, a bounty hunter. Nice job… is it dangerous?” 

“Not so much. Not if you know where they are and they’re small and lack fangs.” 

“I see but if that’s the case please explain why they’re lost?” 

“They’re lost as far as the owners are concerned and they put up a reward. You must’ve seen the notices in the shop windows, Cat lost, five-pound reward from a grateful owner. Something like that although the sum does vary quite considerably.” 

“So, where do you normally find these disorientated feline creatures?” 

Monkie shrugged, “In the back of my dad’s garden shed, of course.” 

“Of course, I should’ve realised there was a convenient explanation. Let me guess how they got there… I know, you’re a catnapper.” 

“Sure, but not in the true sense… I don’t demand a ransom. I simply wait for a reward to be posted.” 

“Okay, but that still has a big catnapping element. How…” 

“Do I appropriate them? From front gardens mostly. Tin of sardines, scruff of the neck, into the basket and a short holiday in a very luxurious location with the best tinned food money can buy. Mostly sardines or tuna or luncheon meat from my mum’s larder. Strangely they also do like corned beef. In fact, anything that’s just lurking. Although I’ve found they’re not so bothered about pickled onions.” 

“I’m not surprised… but surely cats can be noisy critters? Do your folks not notice?” 

“Not so far. They’re not gardeners. The garden’s long. The bottom’s overgrown and they’ve probably forgotten they even own a shed. The best they manage is to cut the grass near the house and the mower lives in the garage. Then there’s the noise Bengie makes. It sort of detracts from any meowing that might make it all the way to the house.” 

“Your dog?” 

“Parrot. My mum wanted a dog, hence the name, but my dad decided to surprise her.” 

“And I bet that worked.” 

“It sure did, especially considering Bengie’s disposition. I asked him why a parrot and he said something about a pet’s a pet and they don’t need as much walking. But, probably the main thing, Bengie was extremely cheap.” 

I took a moment to ponder and without any firm conclusion I said, “You know, I’ve always thought parrots were exotic and were found at the higher end of the cost scale. There must’ve been a reason why the creature was so affordable.”  

“Of course, and that has caused some problems… You’ll have to come and meet him, the parrot, then it’ll be obvious. He’s got an interesting turn of phrase, but I’ll explain that when you’re there preferably when my mum’s out. She gets upset because she won’t let the vicar in the house anymore. Anyway, they're not there long, the cats. Cat owners tend to miss them quickly.” 

“So, four baskets.” 

“Yup, four cats. One five-pound reward, one three pounds and two, two pounds. For the company records that’s a total of twelve less the cost of food to supplement my mum’s larder makes eleven hence the five pounds ten I’ve just handed you.” 

“Very good and a good enterprise for sure and an even better explanation.” 

“So, drink?” Monkie finally asked and wandered over to have a word with Glynis. Came back and said, “She is nice, isn’t she.” Then immediately changed tack, “What about the girls?” 

“I will call and make the necessary arrangements. Where shall we go?” 

“How about the Ricky Tik, Windsor. Saturday night is Geno night.” 

“Your car?” 

“Sure… Petrol?” 

“If you’ve enough for tonight I’ll fill it up with what I collect tomorrow if you come to the petrol station at ten when I’m closing.” 

“You work in a petrol station?” 

“Sure, the Sunday afternoon and evening shift. Two ‘till ten.” 

“On your own?” 

“Sure.” 

“And the angle is?” 

“What else, free petrol and oil. I’ll explain how that works tomorrow when you arrive. Free maps if you want them but they’re free anyway. There’s a story there I can tell you. All about a robber who might've been lost.” 

“Okay… how about the clobber we’re going to collect? The stuff from the shop.” 

“Oh, that’s no problem. It goes on my market stall. It’ll be sold by Thursday evening.” 

“You’ve a market stall.” 

“Sure, and before you ask the angle is it’s an outlet for freely obtained stock. I should add mine and others who pay a commission for items sold. Before you ask some more, I do vet them. They’re all like-minded pilferers rather than full blown violent criminals… So, how about we finish the beers, collect the stock, I call the girls, and we head for Windsor but first a trip to my place. Marge will like you. She loves cats so you can have a natter while I change.” 

“Who’s Marge?” 

“My landlady.” 

“You’ve a landlady?” 

“Sure. They’re a necessary requirement if you happen to live in digs. I'll tell you all about her while you drive us there. It’s not far. Two train stops.” 

“How far apart are the stations?” 

“Not so far. I’m sure your motor will get us there.” 

Monkie had a dubious look, “You know I told you the garage moto? Well…” 

“No matter, if it croaks, we'll get the bus.” 

“And the girls?” 

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll not mind a walk. It’ll be a nice warm evening. Think of the romance. The spring air, breeze through their hair, a stroll hand in hand en-route back from Windsor… It’s only twenty miles.”