The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [23]
Marlowe nodded. 'That's all right,' he said. 'I'm from Magellan's, of Litton. Our other man was round here yesterday. I thought you might be interested in some more stuff today.'
The grocer looked puzzled. 'I don't understand,' he said, 'your man's been round already this morning.'
Marlowe answered him automatically. 'I must have got the lists mixed up. He's working one part of the town and I'm supposed to be covering the other. We've probably got you down twice.'
The grocer smiled and said amiably, 'Never mind, young man. At the prices you're quoting this morning you won't have any difficulty in selling everything you've got.'
Marlowe forced a smile to his lips. 'I hope so. We need big sales to make it profitable.' He moved towards the door. 'Anyway, thanks a lot. I'll sort the mistake out with my friend when I see him.'
He got back into the cab of the truck and sat with his hands resting lightly on the wheel and stared out through the windscreen. He was seething with rage. When he looked down he saw that his hands were trembling and he gripped the wheel and swore violently. As the black, killing rage swept through him he hung on to the wheel and closed his eyes.
After a few minutes he felt a little better. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in the seat to consider the position. So Bill Johnson had played Judas? O'Connor must have discovered what was going on during the previous day. That was the real reason why Blacky Monaghan and his thugs had waylaid Johnson at the roadside cafe. They must have slapped him around a little until he had agreed to play things their way.
Marlowe leaned forward and pulled the starter. As the engine coughed into life he reflected that it wouldn't have taken a great deal of persuasion to make a rat like Johnson agree to do as he was told. All men had their price. That was the first great lesson and it was the knowing of it that made men like O'Connor so successful. The one thing that rankled above everything else was the fact that all this had been planned. O'Connor must have been laughing up his sleeve during their meeting in Tom Granby's office.
After making another half-dozen calls he turned the truck back towards Litton. Everywhere he went it was the same story. Johnson had already called and his prices were heavily reduced. For the moment O'Connor had beaten them.
As he passed the roadside cafe on the outskirts of Barford he glanced idly across to the car park and saw Bill Johnson come out and walk towards a truck painted in a familiar yellow. Marlowe pulled into the side of the road and jumped down to the ground.
Johnson was reaching up to open the door of his cab when Marlowe grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round. Abject fear showed on his face and he opened his mouth to scream. Marlowe hit him with all his force in the pit of the stomach. 'You rat,' he said bitterly. 'You dirty little rat.'
Johnson doubled over and sank to the ground. Marlowe lifted his foot back to deliver a final blow when there was a shout from behind him. He swung round and saw Monaghan and his two friends emerging from the cafe.
For a moment he wanted to stay and then discretion moved him to turn and run back across the road to his truck. As the engine drowned the cries of rage in the background, he reflected grimly that there would be other times. As he moved into top gear a grin of satisfaction appeared on his face. One thing was certain. Bill Johnson wouldn't forget him in a hurry.
As he pulled up outside the farmhouse door Papa Magellan appeared and stood on the top step waiting for him. Marlowe jumped down from the cab and as he approached, shook his head. 'No good, Papa,' he said. 'O'Connor hasn't wasted any time.'
The old man nodded and said heavily, 'You'd better come inside and tell me all about it.'
As they went into