The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [36]
Mac looked about him in awe. 'Man, if we sicked the cops on to this lot friend O'Connor would find himself in real trouble.'
Marlowe nodded grimly. 'About five years' worth.' He went to a door in the corner and opened it quietly. After a moment he beckoned Mac over, motioning him to silence.
They were looking into the main part of the garage. It was empty except for one Bedford three-tonner. It looked like a war-surplus job and was still painted a dull shade of khaki green. There seemed to be no one around. Marlowe approached the truck and peered inside. The interior was full of neatly stacked boxes.
He clambered in and Mac followed him. They squatted down and Marlowe took out a pocket-knife and prised up a corner of the cover of one of the boxes. Inside he could just make out the top of a whisky bottle. He grinned and turned to Mac. 'This must be a load waiting to go out.'
Before Mac could reply there was the sound of a door opening and footsteps approaching the truck. Marlowe quickly motioned to him and they crouched down on the floor. They could hear the conversation quite clearly through the canvas canopy.
There were two people standing outside - O'Connor and Kennedy. O'Connor said, 'Here's the address. It's not far from Lime Street, down towards the docks. If you push this crate along you should be there not much after midnight.'
'Hell, Mr O'Connor, I'd have to sprout wings,' Kennedy protested. 'Liverpool's a hell of a long way off.'
O'Connor's voice was cold as ice-water. 'Listen, Kennedy. I'm paying you good money. I want to see some results for a change. You've made a habit of bungling things lately.' His tone became menacing. 'If you don't like working for me we can always make other arrangements.'
'Oh, no, I didn't mean anything like that, Mr O'Connor,' Kennedy hastened to reassure him, and there was fear in his voice.
O'Connor grunted contemptuously. 'Then see you do things right this time,' he said. 'Sid Brown will hand you a paper packet in exchange for this load. There'll be two thousand quid in it. That's a lot of cash. I want to see you and every penny of it back here for breakfast in the morning, and no excuses.'
The door banged, and the whole truck shook as the engine started. A moment later Marlowe heard the rattle of the sliding-doors being rolled back, and then the truck bumped out into the darkness and picked up speed along the main road.
Marlowe settled himself comfortably with his back against the wooden cases, and said to Mac, 'Where did he say we were going? Near Lime Street and not far from the docks?'
The Jamaican's teeth gleamed in the darkness. 'I've never been to Liverpool,' he said. 'I'm quite looking forward to it.'
Marlowe grinned, turned his coat collar up and pulled his cap down over his eyes. 'Better make yourself as comfortable as you can,' he told Mac. 'We're in for a long trip.'
Several times he fell asleep, but always he came awake again as the old truck bumped or swerved over some particularly bad piece of road. Kennedy made quite good time, and on some of the stretches where traffic was light he pushed the Bedford up to sixty.
On the last occasion that he awakened, Marlowe found they were moving through the suburbs of Liverpool, and when he checked his watch he saw that it was just coming up to midnight. He gently nudged Mac, and the Jamaican came awake like a cat. 'We're nearly there,' Marlowe told him. 'Friend Kennedy's certainly pushed this old bus along.'
'What's our next move going to be?' Mac asked.
Marlowe shrugged. 'I don't know. We'll make it up as we go along.'
About fifteen minutes later, they turned into a quiet, dark street and halted. There was complete silence, and in the distance Marlowe could hear the eerie, mournful hooting of the ships out in the Mersey.
There was no immediate sign of activity, and then the door opened and Kennedy jumped down from the cab. They heard his footsteps along the side of the truck, and then he clambered up over the tailboard and shone