The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [17]
Marlowe helped himself to more coffee. 'He's still too old to be humping sacks of potatoes on to trucks. Another morning wake me.'
Her eyes flashed angrily. 'Don't worry, Mr Marlowe. I'll see you earn your money.'
He grinned and lit another cigarette. 'I'll earn it all right.'
He moved towards the truck and lifted the tailboard into place. 'What do I do with this lot?'
'One of two things,' she told him. 'Either sell the stuff at the market or go round the shops like Bill Johnson did yesterday.'
'Is there any point in going to the market?' he said. 'I thought O'Connor had everything sewed up there.'
She nodded. 'Just about, but there's one independent wholesaler left. Old Sam Granby. He's been ill for a long time and his nephew Tom has been in charge. Tom's mixed up with O'Connor, but the old man isn't. We heard yesterday that he might be back today. It's worth a try.'
Marlowe nodded. 'I'd better get cracking then.'
She frowned and took a slip of paper from her pocket. 'I nearly forgot this,' she said. Marlowe examined the paper. It was a list of various kinds of fruits and vegetables with prices marked beside them. 'You mustn't go below those prices,' she explained, 'otherwise we shan't make a profit.'
Marlowe grinned. 'That wouldn't do at all,' he said. 'Don't worry. I'll get the price you want.'
She took an old fur-lined jeep coat from a cupboard and threw it across to him. 'You'd better put it on,' she said. 'It can get pretty cold in the cab of that truck.'
He pulled on the coat and climbed up behind the wheel. As he slammed the door she moved a little nearer and added, 'Don't forget, Marlowe. Stay out of trouble.'
He pulled the starter and the engine roared into life. He grinned mockingly at her. 'Don't worry about me, angel. I hate trouble.'
Disbelief showed clearly on her face, and he released the handbrake and drove out into the yard before she could reply.
The journey into Barford took just under half an hour. For most of the way he drove with the side window down, the cool morning breeze fanning his cheek. He felt no particular anxiety about what might happen when he reached the market even though it was probable that Kennedy had already reported the happenings of the previous day to O'Connor.
The streets of Barford were quiet and deserted, but when he drove into the large cobbled square in the centre of the town he found thirty or forty trucks and vans parked. The place was a hive of activity and noise, with men passing rapidly between the vehicles pushing large handcarts loaded with produce.
Half-way along the south side of the square on the corner of a narrow street a large warehouse lifted into the sky. A yellow painted board stretched high across the face of the building carrying the legend: 'Inter-Allied Trading Corporation'. A few yards farther along on the same side of the square a faded wooden board indicated the premises of Sam Granby.
Marlowe parked the truck not far from O'Connor's place and threaded his way through the busy crowd of porters. There was a small loading ramp outside Sam Granby's warehouse, and as he walked towards it he saw Kennedy leaning against the large double door that led into the interior of the building, smoking a cigarette.
Kennedy's face was badly marked and his lips were bruised and swollen to several times their normal size. As Marlowe mounted the steps that led up on to the loading ramp Kennedy recognized him. For a moment he stared at Marlowe in astonishment and then an expression of fear came into his eyes. He turned and darted into the interior of the building. Marlowe paused long enough to light a cigarette and then followed him in.
Inside the warehouse several men worked busily packing apples into wooden boxes. There was a glass-fronted office at the top of a flight of old-fashioned iron stairs in one corner and Kennedy was clearly visible as he talked excitedly