Constable Turner pretended to lumber his way to the top of the stairs (he was fat but not that fat), then stood still for a few moments as he took in the surroundings. Out of habit he placed his hands on his hips. He smiled deceptively and nodded at Eric Smiley and Ronnie Clarke who were sitting on upturned crates, both of them puffing away like a pair of old steam engines. Instinctively, he sensed they were nervous, at least Eric Smiley was. “You want to watch that, you could set yourselves and the place on fire with all this straw and wood about. The whole lot could go up with just one spark.”
They put out their cigarettes immediately, looking like two naughty schoolboys caught in the act. They both avoided the constable’s searching gaze but it was Eric who shifted uncomfortably on the hard crates. They remained seated and pinned their eyes on Alfie, looking to him for direction.
Something’s going on here, Constable Turner thought. “Mind opening up one of those boxes for me, Alfie?”
“If you insist, officer. You two! Get that open for him,” Alfie shot out from a downturned mouth while pointing to one of the safe ones.
While Eric and Ronnie got busy with the claw hammers, Constable Turner strolled around the compacted space on the upper floor. The crates were piled high and there wasn’t anything else to see in the way of merchandise. All the crates seemed the same but that didn’t stop the constable from climbing on one or two single ones at the sides to confirm it and find out the depth of the stacks.
Eric heaved a sigh and put down the hammer. “There you go, constable.” He stepped back to allow him a look inside the crate, anxiously darting his eyes between the contents and Alfie. Ronnie kept hold of his hammer, gently beating it against his palm as the constable skirted around him.
The contents: valves, bits of wire, transformers – no more than rubbish really, except for a few of the new transistors – were neatly compartmentalized. As he rummaged through them, Constable Turner cast about for a stick; some of the items were sharp. “All these crates the same are they?” he enquired, looking to Eric for an answer after easily spotting that he was the most ill at ease and vulnerable of the three.
Eric gave him a tight nod.
“Can’t see how you can possibly expect to sell much of this stuff. Fetch that one down from the top over there,” he said, poking an officious-looking finger at the stack by the wall.
Alfie wasn’t going to stand for that and grabbed Eric’s arm. “You’ve seen enough now, constable. We’ve got better things to do than keep undoing boxes just to satisfy your curiosity. So if there’s nothing else we’ve got work to do.”
There’s definitely something going on. “Know anything about that nasty business up in Fennel Wood, Eric?” Turner asked, ignoring both Alfie and Ronnie.
Eric shifted his eyes to the floor and shook his head vigorously.
My God, he’s lying! Constable Turner glanced at Ronnie who was defiantly looking him in the eye, a smirk playing at his lips and sporting an insolent look that he would dearly love to wipe off with the back of his hand “What about those two kiddies? One of them is still missing?”
“We don’t know nothin’ about nothin’!” Alfie growled. “Now if you don’t mind.” And he moved to take hold of the constable’s arm.
Despite his bulk the constable niftily sidestepped Alfie and trotted down the stairs, belying his earlier bumbling ascent. “I’ll no doubt be seeing you all again,” he said, leaving them something to fret about.
“Christ!” Eric blurted as soon as they heard the door slam shut.
Alfie ran down the stairs to check that the copper had really gone and then thumped the door panel several times, enraged.
Ronnie sauntered down in Alfie’s wake, the heels of his boots noisily strafing the edges of the steps. He came to a halt at the bottom and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, waiting for the expected invective. Alfie wheeled round, fists bunched, and one glance at his thunderous face told Ronnie that his blood was up more than usual. Having had the misfortune to be on the worst side of Alfie’s temper once before, he thought it prudent to make himself scarce. While Ronnie liked dishing out a bit of violence, he didn’t like being on the receiving end of it. “I’ll just go and fetch us some pies, Alfie. It’s almost dinner time and me belly thinks me throat’s been cut.”
Alfie threw him a ten-bob note and warned, “Don’t be all day.”
Eric waited until Ronnie had gone, then descended the stairs slowly, hand dragging on the banister. “Alfie,” he whined, almost in a whisper.”
“What!”
Eric came to a halt two steps up from the bottom. “That thing up in Fennel Wood. We both know who did it. Something ought to be done about him. He’s not right in the head. He can’t be, not doing something like that. I know he’s –”
Alfie leapt the short space between them, grabbed Eric by the scruff of his neck and pulled him down the remaining steps. Hoisting him off his feet, he slammed him against the banister post. The sound of cracking wood rebounded off the walls. “If anything’s to be done, I’ll do the doing. Mind your own business and keep your mouth shut.”
“All right, Alfie, all right. Take it easy! I was only trying to save us all some grief.”
As Alfie dropped his hands, Eric started to rub his back, searing pain already beginning to throb. He started back up the stairs, still thinking that something ought to be done.
Still fuming, Alfie watched his laboured ascent. Maybe it was time to get rid of Eric Smiley.