The Getaway Driver

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“He’s a moron.”

“I know, I know,” nodded Tom.

“There is more sense in a dead penguin,” Frank expanded. Tom just nodded this time.

Such exchanges were regular but they didn’t upset me – I knew that they were just kidding.

I had met Tom and Frank in the “Bull’s Head” just a few weeks before. The “Bull’s Head” wasn’t my regular drinking place but I popped in one night and got to playing pool with a couple of wasters who turned out to be Tom and Frank. Neither of them worked so they were quite pleased to find me – I usually have a few quid in my pocket.

“If you let him in on the job we’re snookered,” Frank said. “We may as well stroll down to the cop shop now and hand ourselves in.”

“He’s not that bad,” from Tom this was high praise. “We need someone.”

“Not him,” Frank snorted and cast me a disdainful glance.

“Get them in, Billy.” Tom turned to me and pushed their empty glasses towards me.

Nothing new there, I always got them in. They were so clever they only had the social to live on – Moron Billy made quite a good sum on the side.

When I got back to the table I walked into a heated discussion.

“He’ll balls it up,” Frank groaned.

“Who else have we got? Suggest someone – come on, give me a name.”

“I can’t come up with a name just off the top of my head,” Frank admitted. “But not Billy.”

“He can get us a car and he can drive. That’s all we need.” Frank turned to me. “You can get us a car, can’t you Billy?”

Considering that my full time occupation was “getting” cars to order for the MacGregor Brothers it was a damn silly question. The MacGregors only had to put in their order for a Merc or a Jag or a B.M.W. and Billy went out and got it for them. Considering the value of the cars I got for them the MacGregors paid me pee-nuts – but it was a damn sight more than Frank and Tom saw in a twelve month.

“Yeah, sure,” I said.

“He’ll get us a two door Mini,” Frank sneered.

“What can you get?” Tom ignored Frank and smiled his question to me.

“What ever you want,” I shrugged. “If you tell me what you want, I’ll get it no problem.”

“Big, powerful, four doors,” Tom said.

“Sure. When do you need it?”

“Sunday,” said Tom.

“Christ!” squealed Frank. “Don’t tell him anything else.”

“He’s got to know something,” said Tom.

I knew quite a lot about the great job they were planning. I could hardly have been in their company for the last few weeks without picking up plenty of bits and pieces.

“If you tell him he’ll blab,” Frank sighed.

“Why should he? If he’s involved he’s got as much to lose as us.”

I didn’t mention it but I actually had a lot more to lose if I went to jail – I would lose my MacGregor contract.

Frank held up his hands in surrender. “If he’s in I’m out.”

“Don’t be bloody daft,” Tom snapped. “Where are you going to get a chance like this again? You happy to live on a pittance for the rest of your life?”

Frank glowered at me, then at Tom and finally at his glass before raising sad eyes and sighing. “Okay but it’ll be a bloody disaster.”

Tom took this as an affirmative and turned to me.

“We’re going into Marshall’s on Sunday at closing time – plenty of cash in there at that time. We need you outside in a good, reliable big car when we come out. We’ll be in a hurry.”

I had known most of that. They had some pal on the inside at Marshall’s and for a big shop like Marshall’s Sunday was a busy day.

“What then?” I encouraged.

Frank groaned. “You drive us away, of course.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“He don’t need to know that,” Frank spoke to Tom.

“Of course he needs to know,” Tom sighed. “What do you suggest? That we jump into the car with the bags of money and then draw him a map?”

That shut Frank up.

“Marshall’s is in Carney Street,” Tom explained as if I really was a moron or had just landed from space, “At the bottom of Carney Street there is the slip road to the motor way.”

“We’re heading for London?” I suggested.

“No,” Tom said patiently. “We go to the next junction and off. Then we go round the roundabout back onto the motor way in the other direction.”

“Going to Birmingham?”

“Yeah but we’re only coming back to the Carney Street junction and off. Then along Shore Street and up a side street. We’ve got a lock-up there. Drive in and shut the door and Bob’s your uncle.”

“Why go on all this motor way jaunt?” I asked.

“There’ll be scores of witnesses watching us leave Marshall’s and we want them to think that we’re off down the motor way to London.”

“What if there’s a jam on the motor way?” It wasn’t me being negative but Frank.

“On a Sunday?” Tom snorted.

“Could be,” Frank smirked. “An accident or something like that.”

“Bloody hell!” Tom snapped. “If the worst came to the worst we could bale out and carry the bags over to Shore Street.”

“No one’ll notice that,” Frank hooted. “Three yobs loaded down with bags of cash running across the motor way – no, no one’ll notice that!”

“It’s not going to happen,” Tom sighed.

“But what if?” Frank insisted.

Tom just glowered so I said, “Carrier bags.”

They both looked at me as if I had grown an extra head.

“Three blokes running across carrying carrier bags wouldn’t be so noticeable,” I expanded.

“Great,” said Tom and turned to Frank. “See, he can come up with some good ideas.”

“Super,” Frank said but not with great enthusiasm.

“That can be another job for you Billy,” Tom said. “You can get a couple of carrier bags.”

“What kind do you want?”

“Here we go again,” Frank groaned and held his head.

“Big ones,” Tom said and picked up his pint as if the matter was closed.

“‘Farm Foods’ ones are good and strong,” I said.

“Great,” said Tom.

“Or ‘Argos’ have big ones. Or if you get something big ‘Woollies’ put it in real big ones.”

“Whatever,” said Tom.

“Super,” said Frank.

“I was planning on getting a new duvet,” I said. “If I went to ‘Woollies’ for that they…”

“Just get two bloody bags,” said Tom.

So I went to ‘Woollies’ and got two new duvets. Got two super big bags too.

Getting the car on Sunday was just as easy.

I went out to Broxton on the bus. Lots of big houses in Broxton and lots of flashy cars.

I’d hardly gone half way down the first road when I spotted what I wanted.

A spotty kid was washing Daddy’s big white Volvo. He had the car radio on so I knew that the keys were in. I’d hardly been in the hedge for five minutes when Mummy came out to call the spotty kid in for his drink and biccys. He left the radio on and trotted off into the house.

He’d hardly have got his first biccy dunked when I was out of the drive and heading for town in the white Volvo.

I had to hang around for a few hours. It hadn’t taken long to get the car and I didn’t have to be in position outside Marshall’s until just before six. Outside Marshall’s was a bit prominent to park a stolen car so I found a quiet alley-way in the town centre, amongst all the closed banks and offices. I tried a few of the guy’s D.V.D.s but they were gross so I ended up with the football on Five Live.

When I did get to Carney Street the place was crowded. Tom had told me to park at the front door of Marshall’s – Fat chance! The best I could get was a space on the opposite side of the road. I reckoned I could nip over if something moved – always assuming there was a break in the traffic to let me get across.

There was a big white van in the spot I wanted. Now, if it would go it would be perfect. I was eyeing the damn thing when I realised it was moving. Not, sadly, out of its space but moving on its springs – someone was inside.

It was nearly six when I spotted Tom coming along the pavement opposite. When I squinted in the rear view mirror I could see Frank strolling from the opposite direction.

Tom was looking at the rows of cars but even when I gave him a little wave he didn’t spot me – he seemed to be totally occupied with cars on his side of the road. Then my mobile went.

“Where the bloody hell are you?” It was Tom – he sounded anxious.

“Opposite, in the white Volvo,” I said and waved until his eyes passed over me.

“What the hell are you doing over there? Expect us to use the Zebra on the way out?” He sounded very peevish.

“Couldn’t get in over there,” I said and added hopefully, “I’ll get over as soon as something moves.”

“See that you bloody do,” Tom snarled and was gone.

I saw him meet Frank. Frank looked along the cars and over at me and clutched his head in despairing hands. Tom grabbed his arm and steered him into Marshall’s.

They had hardly gone when the back door of the white van opened. A guy jumped out and was about to close the door behind him when he seemed to realise that he was still wearing his policeman’s hat. He grabbed it off his head and thrust it into a hand which extended from within.

He got into the driver’s seat and started the motor. Having a van load of coppers on the scene was worrying but it could just be a coincidence and Hell! they were going away. I started the Volvo and looked hopefully for a chance to get over.

Before I could get out a car came down the other side of the road, flashed it’s lights at the white van and, when it pulled out, swung into the vacant space. Even though I could only see their heads and shoulders I knew they were coppers. Even more worrying, they were in a big white Volvo.

The white van went just a few yards and turned into the service road beside Marshall’s – in my view but out of sight from the shop front.

I rang Tom on the mobile. It was switched off. He probably reckoned he wouldn’t have time for a chat while they were doing the hold-up. I couldn’t help thinking that he was mistaken.

I didn’t have time to consider any other moves. Tom and Frank came scampering out of the entrance carrying big bags. They yanked open the Volvo’s back door, threw in the bags and dived in behind them.

They must have been terribly surprised. The coppers in the front seat looked a bit shocked too. While the car started to bounce with the melee which had developed within the back doors of the white van flew open and a covey of baton wielding coppers converged on the Volvo.

I thought I had better make a move. I took a few seconds to wipe the gear lever, the key and the steering wheel and shoved the door open. I was nearly out when I spotted the ‘Woollies’ bags and leaned back in to grab them. I shut the door, gave the handle a wipe and casually strolled off along the street. Most folk were heading the other way to view the entertainment but I repressed the urge to join them and kept steadily on.

I dumped my bags in a bin but only took a few steps before I turned and went back to retrieve one of them. I still had my receipt for the duvets and with the carrier bag I could take one of them back and get my money back.

What did I need with two duvets? I walked on humming a cheerful tune, happy that the job hadn’t been a complete dead loss.