Dark Side of the Street - Jack Higgins [7]
The girl slipped past him and he leaned a shotgun against the wall and came forward, hand outstretched. "A real pleasure, Mr. Hoffa. I'm Sam Crowther."
"So you know who I am?" Hoffa said.
"They've been talking about nowt else on the radio all night."
"Any chance of finding out where I am?"
Crowther chuckled. "Three hundred and fifty miles from where you started off. They won't be looking for you round here, you may be certain of that."
"Which is something, I supppose," Hoffa said. "What happens now? Do we move into Phase Two yet?"
"I had a telephone call from London no more than an hour ago. Everything went as smooth as silk. You'll have no worries from now on, Mr. Hoffa." He turned and called over his shoulder, "Billy--where are you, Billy? Let's be having you."
The man who appeared in the doorway was a giant. At least six feet four in height, he had the shoulders and arms of an ape and a great lantern jaw. He grinned foolishly, a dribble of saliva oozing from the corner of his mouth as he shambled into the yard and Crowther clapped him on the shoulder.
"Good lad, Billy, let's get moving. There's work to be done." He turned and smiled. "This way, Mr. Hoffa."
He led the way across the yard, Hoffa at his heels, Billy bringing up the rear and opened a gate leading into a small courtyard. The only thing it seemed to contain was an old well surrounded by a circular brick wall about three feet high.
Hoffa took a step forward. "Now what?"
His reply was a single stunning blow from the rear delivered with such enormous power that his spine snapped like a rotten stick.
He lay there writhing on the ground and Crowther stirred him with the toe of his boot. "In he goes, Billy."
Hoffa was still alive as he went headfirst into the well. His body bounced from the brickwork twice on the way down, but he could feel no pain. Strangely enough, his last conscious thought was that Hagen had been right. It had been his funeral after all and then the cold waters closed over him and he plunged into darkness.
2
Cops and Robbers
When the noon whistle blew a steady stream of workers began to emerge from Lonsdale Metals. In the cafe opposite the main gates Paul Chavasse got to his feet, folded his newspaper and went outside. It was precisely this busy period that he had been waiting for and he crossed the road quickly
The main entrance itself was blocked by a swing bar which was not raised until any outgoing vehicle had been checked by the uniformed guard, but the workers used a side gate and crowded through it slowly to a chorus of ribald comments and good humoured laughter.
Undistinguishable from the rest of them in brown overalls and tweed cap, Chavasse plunged into the crowd, working against the stream. He met with some good natured abuse as he forced his way through, but a moment later he was inside the gate. He moved through the crowd, glancing quickly through the window of the gatehouse on his left, noting the three uniformed security guards at the table, coffee and sandwiches spread before them, an Alsatian squatting in the corner.
The workers were still moving towards the gate in a steady stream and Chavasse passed through them quickly, crossed the yard to the main block and entered the basement garage. He had spent the previous night poring over the plans S2 had provided until the layout of the building was so impressed on his mind that he was able to move with perfect confidence.
There were still one or two mechanics about, but he ignored them, mounted the ramp, walked behind the line of waiting vehicles parked in the loading bay and pressed the button for the service lift. A moment later he was on his way to the third floor.
It was strangely quiet when he stepped out and he paused, listening, before moving along the corridor. The door to the wages office was on the third from the end and marked Private. He glanced at it briefly in passing, turned the corner and opened a door which carried the sign Fire Exit. Concrete stairs dropped