COUNT ME OUT

-2-



Gottfleisch was so fat they practically had to lift him into the station wagon. He looked as if he had been inflated with an airpump. He was so distended that you could imagine him tied to a hauser, floating two hundred feet above a fast food restaurant as an advertisement. When you saw his face, though, you stopped laughing.

Small eyes in a fat face, raisins in a pudding, wads of flesh that shrank the eyes till they were like little buttons concentrating the light to fire it at you like a laser: Gottfleisch had such eyes. He also had wet fleshy lips and looked as if he had never in his life needed to shave. Although he weighed about twenty stone he moved lightly on his feet. If he saw a ten pound note blowing down the road he could run twenty yards to snatch at it. Ten yards anyway.

He had bought the Renault Espace because it was one of the few cars he could fit into - though he still needed the middle seats taken out and the back ones modified to take his bulk. Gottfleisch only ever rode in the rear. Trying to squeeze him behind a steering wheel did not bear thinking about.

On this particular day - it was a Wednesday - he was being driven by Cliff Lyons. Cliff wore his straight dark hair in a kind of crew cut. He had become used to short hair when last inside and had resolved to keep it that way. Sitting beside him was little Ticky.

Gottfleisch was crooning directions like an unctuous tour guide: "He will cross from Cornhill into Leadenhall on his way to Aldgate. I'll show you the route across Tower Bridge."

"I've lived here all my life."

"And still a driver," Gottfleisch purred. "There's the sign."

Lyons knew better than to argue back. As the Espace crossed with the traffic over Tower Bridge, Gottfleisch said, "Go straight on to the Old Kent Road."

Cliff Lyons sighed.

Gottfleisch said, "At this point he will call 'Journey Point Charlie'. Have you checked your watch?"

Lyons had, but no longer felt like speaking.

"Ticky, dear boy, how long did you calculate for the rest of the journey?"

"Four minutes."

All three glanced at their wristwatches. Ticky said, "It depends on traffic, sir."

"Good boy."

The Espace crawled south along Tower Bridge Road. Cliff wondered if Gottfleisch would give Ticky another peppermint. The little runt had finished those he had been given, and the sweet minty smell was now extinguished by his bad breath.

As they joined the Old Kent Road, Gottfleisch said, "Journey Point Delta."

Ticky wriggled in his seat, releasing a whiff of body odour, and explained: "He doesn't call 'Freddy' till he's down at New Cross. Except you'll have him by then."

Cliff cleared his throat. "Sure he won't be followed?"

"Dead sure."

"How come?"

"Woody told me. He'd have to know."

Cliff eased out to overtake a bus. "All down to Woody."

Gottfleisch said, "They trust Woody. That's why they let him drive alone."

"Safer with two."

"But cheaper with one," Gottfleisch said. "They have to earn a profit. And it isn't safer, because two can easily plot together. We're nearly there."

"Couldn't he turn off here to Peckham? It's quieter."

"He has to stay on route as long as possible."

They passed St James's Road on the left. "One of these," Ticky said. "That's the one."

The little side roads led nowhere, each of them either turning or terminating at the gas works. As Cliff squeezed the Espace between parked cars he complained, "I'm supposed to get a lorry through this gap?"

Gottfleisch told him he would have plenty of time to practise. Ticky nodded. "That's the yard."

"Gate's shut."

"It won't be."

"Drive straight past," ordered Gottfleisch. "We don't want to attract attention."

"We ain't doing the job till next week."

"Then you have several days to become acquainted with the neighbourhood. Yes, Ticky, quite right; just below four minutes."

Cliff watched the yard gate in his mirror, and as he manoeuvred the large car through the narrow road he muttered, "Bloody lorry's a lot bigger than this."

"You can come early and lay out parking cones."

Ticky said, "You'll have all morning."

"Thanks a bunch."

Cliff waited to rejoin traffic in the Old Kent Road.

Gottfleisch said, "In the morning, you can park the lorry in the yard, then clear yourself an exit. Have a leisurely lunch. Go back and wait."

"Just like that?"

"What could be simpler, my dear boy?"



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