Moonspender by Jonathan Gash Read Free Book Online Page B

her role in life—and
got down, pulling Tinker along and down the steps. The quicker we were out of
this place the better, now I'd got the job.
    Geoffrey hobbled after us saying wait for me and that. Wearily we
helped him down the path. When Tinker had got his breath I asked him what he'd
followed me for.
    "Nothing urgent?" I asked, hoping.
    "Sykie's after you, Lovejoy. He's bleedin' mad."
    My blood chilled. "At me? What for? I've done all the right
things." I'd proved it to myself over and over. Hadn't I?
    "Says he told you to stop home," Tinker said.
"Here, Lovejoy. Reckon they've got draught beer?"
    I was just drawing breath to say I'd suggest it to Suzanne for
opening night when I decided to save the oxygen. A pair of long thick saloon
cars were waiting in the roadway. Sykie's two lads stood by wearing happy
smiles.
    If you don't mind I won't go into details over the next bit. Eric
and his brother did me physical damage. That's enough description. It was more
or less as painful as what I'd done to the galloping major. It only seemed to
last forty times as long.
    5
    Doc Lancaster told me I was a bloody fool to keep getting into
scraps that I never won, but wasn't it lucky I had good friends like Mr. Sykes
who had come to give me a lift home. I said a bitter yes, wasn't it.
    "I've been good to you, Lovejoy," Sykie announced as I
got painfully into his car. "Haven't I?"
    "Yes, Sykie."
    "Your face isn't even marked," he added, gratified and
forgiving. "You understand the implications, Lovejoy?"
    "Aye, Sykie."
    "No more naughty from you, eh?"
    "No, Sykie."
    "Legs all right, are they?"
    "A few stitches."
    "Good, good." He sounded honestly quite glad.
"Always go to the doctor's in good time, Lovejoy. My old mother used to
say that."
    Sykie swung his motor onto the A604 and put us between the farms
in quick succession, driving patiently, reminiscing about the good old days
spent duffing up law-abiding citizens and bribing the
Plod in London's East End. He thoughtfully included a number of his dear old
mum's homilies for my edification. I said how very wise his mum had been.
    "Yes, Lovejoy," he sniffed. "An angel. She raised
us to show respect. Visited our Joe in Wormwood Scrubs every chance she got.
They don't make them like her any more. Do they, lads?"
    "No, dad," his psychopathic offspring said in unison.
They were beaming proudly on the rear seats. Four more hooligans followed in
the second motor.
    They left me at the cottage door. The elder lad chucked a flintstone through my window, grinning at the crash. They
really love life. Sykie put his head out.
    "What's that implication, Lovejoy?"
    "No more naughty from me, Sykie."
    "Good. See how easy life is?" He gave a forgiving smile.
"Stay home until somebody calls with a job for you because he's seen you
on the telly. Right?"
    Hell, I thought I'd just done that, but obediently I repeated the
instruction. We cowards don't mince matters. "Why not tell me who it is,
Sykie?"
    "And have you chisel him with one of your crooked
deals?" said this paragon of virtue indignantly. He eyed me, grinning.
"You needn't wave us off, Lovejoy." The joke being that my ribs were
strapped up.
    They were all laughing as they drove out of the gateway. It took
me an age to reach the keys in my back pocket and open the door. I brewed up,
had a pint pot of tea, pulled out my divan, and slept for a million years.
     
    Six o'clock I fried my breakfast, seven thick slices of bread,
tomatoes, and sliced apple sizzled in margarine. Noshing and wincing, I did the
post. Today there were a good dozen letters. I was sore as hell, but pleased.
And determined. I'd survive in this maniacal antique business if I died doing
it. These letters proved I was getting there by degrees— as lawyers go to
heaven, my old gran used to say.
    About these letters. Leaving aside my lies to Suzanne York about
warehouses bulging with tsarine splendors, there are
only three ways of surviving when times are bad. The first is to go