that of a far older man, coarse and raspy. 'Gentlemen. What can I do for you?'
'Tommy Butler sent us.'
'Did he? You got a cigarette?'
Len Haslam glanced at the warder, who nodded. Billy handed over a pack of five Woodbines and a box of Swan Vestas. Yul took his time lighting the cigarette, never taking his eyes from them, wondering how he should play this.
'You should be honoured, you know,' Len said eventually.
'Why's that then?'
'Being collared by Tommy Butler. He doesn't do much thief-taking these days. Not personally. You've been nicked by royalty.'
Yul gave a smile that showed a chipped front tooth. 'I should ask for some whatsit then on my chamber pot. That fur.'
'Ermine,' offered Billy.
'Yeah. I'd like an ermine piss pot.'
'I think we might be able to do something for you. But that might be pushing it, Yul. Other cons might get jealous. They'd be wanting silk pyjamas next.'
Duke let it sink in that 'something' might be on the table. He looked around the room at the bare walls, the bricks painted a lurid, glossy green up to waist-height, then dirty cream above that. You'd do a lot to get out of this place.
'You're Buder's boys, are you?' Yul asked.
'Not exactly.'
'C Eight?' This was the section that contained the Robbery and Flying Squads, as opposed to C5, the CID. It meant Yul knew his coppers.
'Yup.'
'Sweeney?' A nod acknowledged this. 'All right then.' He seemed satisfied that he was dealing with men with some clout at least. 'So what we going to talk about?'
'Motors,' said Billy.
Yul stuck out his lower lip, as if pleased. He was on safe ground here. Nothing about his cellmates or any of the more outlandish plans to go over the wall. Outside. Talking about the outside was safer than discussing the inside. 'What kind of motors?'
'Fast. Four-door,' said Len. 'That kind.'
'Mr Butler suggested to us,' added Billy, 'that you might know where a man who wanted a particular type of Jaguar might go, were you not available to source it for him.'
Yul's jaw tightened and he looked from one policeman to another. 'I don't know what all that means.'
Duke laughed suddenly, a violent explosion of mirth that made Yul flinch. 'Don't be ridiculous. My friend here might have made it a little too convoluted, but you know what we're saying. You want a car for a job, you come to you, Yul. Everyone knows that.' He pointed a finger as the prisoner made to speak. 'Shut up. All we want to know is: with you out of the picture, where would someone go? If they were in the market for a couple of fast Jags.'
Yul considered, smoking his Woodbine for a minute. 'They'd go to the Old Kent Road or Warren Street, wouldn't they? I can't give you names.'
'No?' Len asked quietly. 'Shame. 'Cause we can't do anything without a name, can we?'
'Well, we haven't discussed that yet, have we? What you can do for me?'
Len shot forward over the desk and Billy thought he was going to strike Yul for a moment and so did the prisoner, because he scraped the chair back out of arm's reach very sharpish indeed. The warder stood by, his face implacable. He'd seen it all before.
'Look,' Len said, 'you don't have to be a cunt all your life. You can take a day off. Today, for instance. You know how this works. Two Jags, stolen to order: who is doing the stealing and who is doing the ordering?'
It might seem a ridiculous idea, that one man would know about two cars in a city of thousands of them, would have knowledge of a particular criminal in its vast underclass. Except it wasn't that vast. Not once you took out all the petty chancers. When it came down to it, the hardcore blaggers constituted a small close-knit community.
Yul shrugged. 'If I hadn't been put on remand, I could've helped you.'
'If you weren't on remand, we wouldn't be having this little chat at all, would we?'
Yul accepted this truth with a nod. 'All I can tell you is which firms it might be doing the ordering.'
'And the drivers?'
Yul shook his head. 'You know them as well as I
'Tommy Butler sent us.'
'Did he? You got a cigarette?'
Len Haslam glanced at the warder, who nodded. Billy handed over a pack of five Woodbines and a box of Swan Vestas. Yul took his time lighting the cigarette, never taking his eyes from them, wondering how he should play this.
'You should be honoured, you know,' Len said eventually.
'Why's that then?'
'Being collared by Tommy Butler. He doesn't do much thief-taking these days. Not personally. You've been nicked by royalty.'
Yul gave a smile that showed a chipped front tooth. 'I should ask for some whatsit then on my chamber pot. That fur.'
'Ermine,' offered Billy.
'Yeah. I'd like an ermine piss pot.'
'I think we might be able to do something for you. But that might be pushing it, Yul. Other cons might get jealous. They'd be wanting silk pyjamas next.'
Duke let it sink in that 'something' might be on the table. He looked around the room at the bare walls, the bricks painted a lurid, glossy green up to waist-height, then dirty cream above that. You'd do a lot to get out of this place.
'You're Buder's boys, are you?' Yul asked.
'Not exactly.'
'C Eight?' This was the section that contained the Robbery and Flying Squads, as opposed to C5, the CID. It meant Yul knew his coppers.
'Yup.'
'Sweeney?' A nod acknowledged this. 'All right then.' He seemed satisfied that he was dealing with men with some clout at least. 'So what we going to talk about?'
'Motors,' said Billy.
Yul stuck out his lower lip, as if pleased. He was on safe ground here. Nothing about his cellmates or any of the more outlandish plans to go over the wall. Outside. Talking about the outside was safer than discussing the inside. 'What kind of motors?'
'Fast. Four-door,' said Len. 'That kind.'
'Mr Butler suggested to us,' added Billy, 'that you might know where a man who wanted a particular type of Jaguar might go, were you not available to source it for him.'
Yul's jaw tightened and he looked from one policeman to another. 'I don't know what all that means.'
Duke laughed suddenly, a violent explosion of mirth that made Yul flinch. 'Don't be ridiculous. My friend here might have made it a little too convoluted, but you know what we're saying. You want a car for a job, you come to you, Yul. Everyone knows that.' He pointed a finger as the prisoner made to speak. 'Shut up. All we want to know is: with you out of the picture, where would someone go? If they were in the market for a couple of fast Jags.'
Yul considered, smoking his Woodbine for a minute. 'They'd go to the Old Kent Road or Warren Street, wouldn't they? I can't give you names.'
'No?' Len asked quietly. 'Shame. 'Cause we can't do anything without a name, can we?'
'Well, we haven't discussed that yet, have we? What you can do for me?'
Len shot forward over the desk and Billy thought he was going to strike Yul for a moment and so did the prisoner, because he scraped the chair back out of arm's reach very sharpish indeed. The warder stood by, his face implacable. He'd seen it all before.
'Look,' Len said, 'you don't have to be a cunt all your life. You can take a day off. Today, for instance. You know how this works. Two Jags, stolen to order: who is doing the stealing and who is doing the ordering?'
It might seem a ridiculous idea, that one man would know about two cars in a city of thousands of them, would have knowledge of a particular criminal in its vast underclass. Except it wasn't that vast. Not once you took out all the petty chancers. When it came down to it, the hardcore blaggers constituted a small close-knit community.
Yul shrugged. 'If I hadn't been put on remand, I could've helped you.'
'If you weren't on remand, we wouldn't be having this little chat at all, would we?'
Yul accepted this truth with a nod. 'All I can tell you is which firms it might be doing the ordering.'
'And the drivers?'
Yul shook his head. 'You know them as well as I
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