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Chapter 3 : Harry’s Barge
Harry took his seat on the river bus from Westminster Pier. The boat was, unsurprisingly for the middle of October, almost deserted. Harry scowled out at the afternoon gloom. He didn’t see why this meeting couldn’t be in a pub. It would have been warmer.
A non-descript, rather short man with thinning sandy hair put his head into the boat’s saloon. He looked around a few times attempting to appear nonchalant but looking more furtive by the moment. The shabby overcoat and down at heel shoes appeared ostentatiously scruffy. Harry wondered why he used him.
There was no one else in the saloon and barely anyone else on the boat but the man advanced on Harry as if the eyes of the entire KBG, CIA and SIS were on him. He sat down on the seat immediately behind Harry.
“Reg,” Harry said, “wouldn’t this be easier if we could see each other.”
Reg paused for a moment, looked around again, shrugged, stood up and sat down beside Harry. “You can’t be too careful,” he said.
No, thought Harry, you can’t be too careful but you can be too bloody irritating for words. It was the down side of working with Reginald Tobin. The obsessive secrecy, the penchant for methods that belonged in a John le Carré or Len Deighton novel; they all just made it more difficult to have a normal conversation.
“We have five items of merchandise that need collecting.” Harry knew that Reg would appreciate the oblique terminology.
“Would this be for onward shipment to your distribution centre?” Reg leant forward after looking from side to side. The more care he takes, thought Harry, the more furtive helooks. The boat was now in the middle of the river. No one had come in to the cabin. They passed under Waterloo Bridge.
“Yes. We’d want you to take care of packaging, of course and provide some sort of distraction activity just to make sure the removal of the items in question does not cause undue excitement.”
Reg nodded, sagely. “And would this be a local arrangement or are we talking about importation?”
Importation! As if, Harry thought. It would be quite a while before anyone in the UK could afford the luxury of importing product. One thing the credit crunch had fucked up for Clegg’s business was the home market. Still at least the falling pound was helping to keep export sales up. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “Norfolk.”
Reg’s face looked gloomy, evidently disappointed that the job did not involve some travel to warmer climes. “Very flat, Norfolk,” he said in flat tones that betrayed his black country origins.
Harry knew how to cheer him up. He passed him photographs of the five girls. “The county perhaps,” he said, “but not these young ladies.”
Reg fished a pair of spectacles from his jacket pocket and peered at the photographs with enthusiasm. “Reasonable. Very reasonable,” he said, running a finger across each picture in turn as if somehow the pictures had been embossed with the girls’ features. “I am sure I will be able to oblige.”
Harry really didn’t like working with Reg. All of Harry’s associates enjoyed their work – it wasn’t the sort of thing you could do otherwise - but Reg seemed enthusiastic in a way that wasn’t quite, well, right. He half expected to find Reg’s sticky paw marks on the girls when they turned up at the centre. On the other hand Reg was completely reliable and right now Harry wasn’t sure where else he could go for a five girl pick-up. “You’ll be working with Deirdre again on this one?” Harry wasn’t sure what the relationship was between them. She was as about as unlikely a criminal as Reg was, but that was made her good at what she did Harry thought.
“Suppose so.” Reg seemed reluctant to share the pleasure. “Assuming she can get the time off. They’re busy up at the factory, she tells me. Still the way things are going she can use a few extra notes.”
The boat drew up to Blackfriars Pier. “Ah’ll get me trine beck,” Reg relapsed into his impenetrable Dudley accent as he got to his feet.
Harry just about understood him. The train back to Wolverhampton would have him there by six o’clock. Just in nice time for a mug of tea and whatever it was they ate in the wastes of the West Midlands, Harry thought. He wasn’t a big fan of anywhere outside of London.
“Let me know if you need any help,” said Harry, not expecting him to ask for any.
“Should be orl roight,” Reg smiled. “Nice to have a few days by the seaside. And you always manage to find such nice girls for me to meet.”
Harry watched him as he left the boat. Harry was heading on down river to Tower Pier so he could walk up to the Whitechapel offices. At least this was all under way now.
© Freddie Clegg 2008
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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