I cruised at fifty and sixty where I shouldn’t have done more than forty, but this was to see whether the big copper in the back would stir up and say anything. He didn’t, so I hoped a patrol car would tail us and pull us in to see why we were going so fast. Then I’d see an exchange of looks that might be interesting. There wasn’t much traffic on the way out, and I thought how good it would be to have a few hundred miles of road all to myself. If I were king I’d issue a proclamation saying that all subjects were to be off the road on such and such a day, and then I’d get into a souped-up Rolls with my prime minister, minister of war, and chief of police, and speed along freely wherever I wanted to go. As it was, any honest chauffeur making a living risked his life on England’s arterial lanes. It was good practice for my self-control, not being able to curse blind because of my passengers, as I went through town after town and there still seemed no end to getting out of London. But those at the back didn’t worry, and when Moggerhanger let out a reverberating belch Lantorn stirred and asked: ‘What did you say?’
‘Not a word,’ said Moggerhanger. Long Tom jumped on his knee at the sound of his voice, but he eased it off with the back of his hand. Moggerhanger was getting his own way and that’s all that mattered to him and his underworld. He’d asked Lantorn if he couldn’t waive his metropolitan regulations and let him go off for the day to race his favourite dogs in Devon. At first Lantorn refused just to show he had some weight to throw about, but then he relented on condition that he, James Lantorn, could go along too to keep an eye on him, and maybe win a bit of money into the bargain on these dogs Moggerhanger boasted about so much. Moggerhanger swore they were certain to win every race, and I for one knew him to be right. I was prepared to bet every pound on the dogs because they couldn’t help but win. I’d seen Claud put the dope and syringes into his small case before leaving that morning, which was something Lantorn might or might not know. But as I drove along I saw I was stupid in thinking he didn’t know, when it was obvious he knew very well, because it seemed to me that James Lantorn and Claud Moggerhanger were two of the biggest crooks in the world — as I opened up and went at sixty towards Basingstoke. If there was an angel in the car at the moment it must have been me, and I kept saying it to myself in case I should fall for the trap of being proud of it.
Lantorn must have been awake because I heard him say, when a Jaguar overtook me: ‘That bastard’s doing above seventy. I’d pull him in if I was in a squad car.’
‘It’s terrible, the sort of people you get on the roads these days,’ said Claud. ‘If it was up to me every car would cost ten thousand pounds cash, and them that couldn’t afford it could walk, or take a bus. That’d keep the decks clear. It’s getting bad, and it’ll get worse.’ He took out a bottle of brandy and a silver cup, poured a round, and passed it to Lantorn, who silted it down without a word. ‘Cards?’ said Claud. There must-have been a nod in his direction, because I heard the case come open, and the crisp efficient shuffle of a deck. Cigar smoke filtered through, and the rattle of money. Small stakes, I thought, as laughter at some surprising hand or other dinned my neck. There were light-hearted curses, a slapping of thighs, and an occasional harsh: ‘Get down, you bastard,’ as one of the dogs tried to barge its long head in, or when they hadn’t even moved but Claud had lost and wanted somebody to take it out of.
I stopped at a town traffic lights and half turned my head to see what was the score, and Moggerhanger rapped out: ‘Keep your eyes to the front, and your ears to the front. That’s what I pay you for. Not to drive. Any ragbag can drive.’ He laughed at this, and Lantorn joined in, but I shot forward on green so that the deck of cards moved. Surprisingly, Moggerhanger didn’t bury a razor in my neck or sack me on the spot. Apparently his bad hand had suddenly become a good one, and it was Lantorn who laughed on the other side of his face when he couldn’t get things back to the way they’d been before. When we stopped for a sandwich Moggerhanger looked more like the copper to me, a real hardback if ever there was one. But we felt in a better mood after eating and a mug of tea. The dogs were brought out for a piss as well, to stretch their long and lovely legs that were set, when specially primed, to win us so much goo.
At eleven o’clock, and not far from the course, I heard them packing the cards away. Moggerhanger was in a grumpy state of mind because he’d lost five quid. Being a millionaire he resented it more than a man whose last money had slipped away. ‘You’ll get it back on the way home,’ said Lantorn in a friendly manner, seeming to feel that this bad mood between them wasn’t worth such a measly sum.
‘I bloody-well will,’ said Moggerhanger, an unrealistic prophecy that seemed nevertheless to cheer him up. ‘Let’s see to the dogs, anyhow,’ he added. ‘Hold the buggers.’ I heard a couple of yelps, then a few slaps at the arse to get the stuff into circulation, so that both my passengers considered that all was right with the world.
This turned out to be more or less correct. I was told to wait in the car park while they went in and did business. I asked Moggerhanger if he would stake ten of my own quid on Long Tom, since I couldn’t be at the race myself. He snatched it and said he’d do his best but that I’d no right to ruin myself getting into the gambling habit. I’d do much better, he said, sending it to my mother who no doubt could do more worthwhile things with it. The dogs, full of pep, pulled him away, otherwise the sermon might have gone on for an hour. Moggerhanger was still full of surprises to me, which may have been why I put up with so much from him.
I went over to a restaurant and got myself a plate of steak and mashed potatoes, cabbage and bread pudding. Travelling with such people there was no telling when I’d be able to eat again. They didn’t seem interested in food, with such dog flesh and high finance on their hands. Afterwards I sat in the car and heard music on the radio, read a newspaper, smoked, lay full out along the seat and slept for an hour, a far-off announcement of winners coming over from the stadium, with the tremor of cheering and noise now and again.
It was four o’clock when Moggerhanger and Lantorn came out, flushed and half drunk both with booze and the success of their outing, regarding it as more or less over and done with. ‘All right, Michael, home we go,’ Moggerhanger said, bundling the deadbeat dogs inside like so much window-leather. ‘Step on the petrol,’ he crowed. ‘Sink the golden boot in. We cleared the decks, eh, Jimmy’ — nudging old Lantorn when they were seated. ‘By God we did. You should be of good cheer, Michael, because you’re a couple of hundred up on this little journey. Good, eh? He’s a lucky lad, ain’t he, Jimmy?’
‘I’d say so,’ said Lantorn with a chuckle.
So we sailed away eastwards towards threatening clouds. We stopped at some Wiltshire market town called Pigminster and had tea at the hotel. The dogs, who had slept like two stones since leaving the course, woke up and followed us into the lounge, and the manager was so impressed by them, being a fervent greyhound man, that he let them lie like royalty beside our table. Moggerhanger took my saucer and his own and put them on the floor, full of tea. They lapped up pint after pint, and several pots were ordered because we were all thirsty. Neither Moggerhanger nor Lantorn were sober, and their laughter gunned around the large and otherwise empty lounge. Moggerhanger threw whole cucumber sandwiches across at the dogs, whose huge jaws snapped over them like crocodiles. By their eyes, and the way their ribs trembled as the food came flying, they looked as if they needed that sustenance, to stop them caving in altogether.