Civvies

CHAPTER 28

The meeting the next morning with the NatWest bank manager wasn't exactly 'an interview without coffee' – Para slang for a telling-off by the C.O. – but it didn't bode well, not in Dillon's estimation. Along with Harry and Cliff, freshly shaven, all three tarted up in their best suits, he did his level best to present an image of sober respectability allied to a keen business brain. The only thing he lacked was the Masons' secret handshake. Whether the bank manager was taken in by the act was doubtful, but at least they were given coffee and biscuits.

Coming out into the street, though, Harry was cautiously optimistic, a bit puzzled by Dillon's obvious dejection.

'Well, he said he'd put the wheels in motion. I mean, that's something, isn't it, Frank?'

Dillon wrenched his tie loose, striding along with the buff document file jammed under his arm. He snapped irritably, 'Harry, without a guarantor we don't stand a chance in hell!'

'Should have had Jimmy with us!' said Cliff vehemently, and it was all Dillon could manage not to blow up at him too. 'I mean,' Cliff went on, 'who do we know that's got that much clout?' He stopped suddenly, smacked his forehead with his hand. 'Christ! … I forgot!'

Dillon's eyebrows shot up. 'You know someone?'

'The bloody weddin'!' Cliff broke into a trot. He flagged his arm frantically. 'Come on, follow me… I'm in the NCP car park!'

Dillon and Harry exchanged a look that would have bored holes in galvanised steel and set off after him.

Five minutes later, standing by the Granada, Dillon impatiently checked his watch, reckoning they might just make it by the skin of their teeth if Cliff didn't take all day getting the white Rolls-Royce. Harry sat behind the wheel, keeping the Granada's engine ticking over, ready for the off.

They both looked up at the sound of squealing tyres. But neither one could believe their eyes. Dillon actually thought he was suffering from a bad case of the DTs. Down the concrete ramp came Cliff, driving a long, black Daimler hearse tricked out with silver horseshoes and plastic wedding bells, pink and white ribbons fluttering from the radio aerial. As the Daimler bounced into the street, Dillon clasped his face in both hands, eyes bulging.

'You pillock! What the hell are you drivin'? White Roller… white?

Cliff scowled out pugnaciously. 'I know the difference between black an' white, mate! This was all I could get.' With a horrible clashing of cogs, he rammed into first. 'Now follow me, we're late!'

Dillon leaned weakly against the Granada's bonnet. Harry stuck his head out, blinking as he watched the disappearing Daimler. 'Hey, Frank,' he said, scratching his chin. 'That's a hearse…!'

Dillon slowly turned his head to look at him. Why, with his crown of thorns, was he surrounded by pricks?

The bride, her three bridesmaids, her mother, sister-in-law, her father, and the best man, who had returned from the church in a panic as the bride was over half an hour late, were standing in hysterics looking up and down the street.

The bride burst into floods of tears, as the chief bridesmaid went inside the house to call for a taxi. The bride's father was ready to kill, fists clenched he threatened and shouted, as rows of neighbours stood looking up and down the road. The cheer went up as, the car horn blasting, Dillon and Harry hurtled into view in the Granada the white ribbons already trailing the floor. Harry had been in such a hurry to stick them up, now they had blown loose.

The bride almost fainted with relief, the best man was shouting for the chief bridesmaid to stop calling the taxi when round the bend, at the top of the road, and hot on the heels of the Granada, with silver bells, bows, streamers of white ribbon, horseshoes and large strips of Christmas decorations the shop had thrown in for free, came Cliff, hat rammed on, car horn blasting. It's tough to actually disguise a hearse, even covered in decorations and two seats rammed in the back! As Cliff stepped out, trying to appear nonchalant, the father of the bride, already in a state of hysteria, lunged at Cliff.

'That's a fuckin' hearse!'

Cliff sat in the office, his head bent back, holding a bloody tissue to his nose. The bloody nose was a present from the bride's father. Occasionally he closed his eyes and uttered a low moan.

'Don't be a wimp, it's not broken,' Harry growled, leaning over for a look. He flopped down and sucked fresh life into the fat cigar he was holding – a present from the best man. 'It was just that you were drivin' the hearse,' he said by way of comfort.

'We got her to the church on time!' exclaimed Cliff furiously. 'Wasn't as if she had to lie down…'

'He apologised, didn't he?' Harry said. He gave Dillon a look. 'But if Jimmy was here he'd have a fleet of Rollers -' snap of the fingers ' – like that!'

Dillon flicked confetti off his shoulder. 'Jimmy's got us into enough crap. We're better off without him.'

'You think he really signed on then?' Harry blew smoke and watched it billowing up past the stag's head. 'I've often thought of doin' a mercenary stint meself, but some of 'em are crazy bastards. He should watch out -'

'He'll be okay,' Dillon interrupted sharply. He stared off somewhere. 'You know Jimmy…'

'Nobody ever knows Jimmy.' Harry ploughed on regardless. 'He's one of those weird guys – he was demoted more than any other bloke. He was officer material, could have gone right to the top, but… you know what he is?' His blue eyes sought Dillon's.

'I don't want to talk about Jimmy,' said Dillon, tight-lipped.

'Just gonna say he was a -'

'Shut it, Harry!'

'Kleptomaniac,' Harry said, puffing on his cigar.

Dillon cackled a sour, hollow laugh. The phone went, and with a tremendous, grudging effort he reached over to answer it. Newman had delivered on that much, at any rate, had BT reconnect the line. 'Stag Security,' he mumbled into the receiver.

Cliff sat up and threw the bloody tissues into the waste basket. 'That weddin' cost us the last of the kitty… maybe if I'm broke, unemployed, it'll get me out of me own weddin'.'

'Well it was good while it lasted!' Harry said, the wise, ancient philosopher. He gave out a long sigh, suddenly dejected, and slumped down in his chair. 'I'm goin' to miss old Jimmy.'

Dillon had finished the call. He sat with his head in his hands, staring unseeingly at the desk-top. He said to no one in particular, 'I don't believe it…'

'It's not Jimmy, is it?' Harry asked quickly.

'No,' Dillon said. 'No. No.' He arched back in the chair and then slammed his fist down on the desk. The other two looked at him, alarmed, but his face was alight, positively glowing.

'I think we're in with a chance for that bank loan,' Dillon said, eyes dancing. 'We got a guarantor…'

Harry sat up. 'You jokin'?'

'Thirty thousand quid.' Amazed. Incredulous. Gobsmacked. 'It's Marway.'

A movement above Dillon's head had caught Harry's eye. He said, 'Hey! Frank-!'

'No, listen – we're in business!'

The massive stag's head was ever so slowly tilting forward from the chimney-breast, its huge weight dragging the nails out of the plaster.