Chapter Four
Chapter Four
You are all the woman I need,
and baby you know it.
You can make this beggar a king, a clown, or a poet.
I'll give you all that I own.
You've got me standing in line,
out in the cold, but feeling so fine.
Bend me Shape me, American Breed
Highest chart position No 24 Feb '68
Tuesday 13th February 1968 : 6.00am
The next morning Bob is up and about early, he and Foxy have agreed to make an earlier start than usual at the Azids in an attempt to catch up on the central heating job, Mrs Azid wasn't very impressed with the amount of washing up they left her to do yesterday, wasn't very impressed that they appeared to have been using her best tea service for their breaks yesterday and wasn't very impressed that they didn't seem to have laid much pipework.
Bob sweet talked her and found out that she and her husband both left the house at 7am and so agreed to be there and get a head start on the job today. There was actually only about two days work left but he and Foxy had nothing else lined up after that so they weren't in any hurry to finish, nice house, warm and dry, nice tea service and free biscuits, Mrs Azid had made a rod for her own back on the first day she met them.
It's a quarter to seven when Bob is stuck in traffic driving past the Tomato Dip Café, he looks in of course to check that Maureen is in there and is pleased to see that she looks busy with a queue of factory workers standing outside the door waiting for their sandwich orders, that place might just turn out to be a little goldmine after all.
He's driven past the café when something nags in his mind and tells him that he needed to pop in and see Maureen but for the life of him he can't remember why and its only when he gets to Headingley that he notices the top of the briefcase poking out from underneath the bench seat of the VW Pickup, its too late to go back as he can see the silhouette of Foxy waiting outside the Azids house in his Ford Consul, well that's tough, some office worker will have to go to work without his briefcase and without the important files that are no doubt in the briefcase, Bob'll drop it off tomorrow.
The day goes well, Foxy wants to crack on with this job now because another heating job has been promised in the same street if they can get started with it straight away, Foxy reckons if they can get all the pipework done on this one today then he can make a start on the new one tomorrow while Bob does all the second fixing here, there are times when Foxy almost thinks like a businessman but most of the time he's happy to play second fiddle to Bob.
When Mrs Azid returns home at 6pm she is quietly pleased to note that, following her telling off yesterday, there are none of her Denby cups waiting to be washed in the sink but a quick check of the biscuit barrell reveals it to be empty again although she can't remember whether she refilled it this morning or whether it was still empty from yesterday, in fact it was still empty from yesterday because she'd decided against refilling it until these two ravenous plumbers had finished her central heating, unfortunately for Mrs Azid, Foxy had seen which cupboard she'd hid the chocolate digestives in and he'd managed to "borrow" another whole packet today.
Mrs Azid is also pleased to note that some progress appears to have been made on her central heating with all the pipework under her ground floor rooms now complete and the floorboards relaid, which is a relief as she wouldn't have to spend most of the evening picking splinters out of her bare feet like she has done for the last two nights. The radiators are all in place downstairs and the one on the landing is lying on the floor ready for connection tomorrow, Bob and Foxy now just need her to make up her mind as to whether or not she requires radiators in the three bedrooms, she informs them that Mr Azid has decided against this option as in his considered medical opinion it is "not condusive to good respitory health to breath in heated air whilst asleep" and that he "prefered to leave a window open at night in the bedroom and couldn't see the point of heating air that would simply drift out into the garden" and of course the unspoken fact that three bedrooms would cost more to plumb and subsequently heat and Mr Azid was always careful with his outgoings.
Foxy informs Mrs Azid that they'll do the landing radiator tomorrow and fit the new water cylinder in the airing cupboard, after which its down to Bob to fit the boiler and connect all the pipes downstairs, so Foxy would only be on the job for half a day tomorrow as Mrs Azids friend down the street wants him to make a start as soon as possible, this is acceptable to Mrs Azid as long as Bob can manage on his own, Bob and Foxy exchange glances that silently mean "bloody bossy cow", but confirm to Mrs Azid that they will manage just fine thank you.
So Bob leaves Foxy to solder the last bit of pipework in the kitchen pantry, its too small for them both to work in there anyway and Bob wants to call in at the café before Maureen locks up, but even though he gets away early he gets stuck in traffic heading down towards Kirkstall and Maureen has left and locked up the café so as he drives past it on the opposite side of the road rather than park up and unlock just to leave some daft sods briefcase behind the counter Bobs drives on and takes an early night for a change.
Bob parks up in the street outside his house, a one bedroomed back-to-back terrace house in Burley, just up the hill from Kirkstall. The term back-to-back is fairly unique to Leeds, areas of which have the highest concentration of population per square mile than anywhere else in the country thanks mainly to the ingenious design of the back-to-back terrace where not only did every house in a street share at least one side wall with its neighbour (most shared both side walls), but the back wall of the house was also the back wall of another house in the street behind, they were built "back-to-back" and therefore you could build two houses in the space that a normal terrace house with a traditional front and back door would occupy.
The house is small and shares all of its walls except the front elevation with its neighbours, the front door opens straight into the downstairs living area, to the right is a tiny kitchen from which a flight of stairs lead down into a damp cellar. Another flight of stairs lead straight off the living area upstairs to a minute bathroom and single bedroom, Bob has plans for building another staircase up into the loft where he can put a window into the roof and make another bedroom and then maybe he can sell the place at a profit and buy that nice place in Horsforth, for now he'll make do with a back-to-back in Burley and even though tonight is cold, dark and damp outside, his living room is warm and welcoming as his neighbours on three sides have all had their coal fires burning since tea time and a welcome side effect of sharing walls is that you share heat.
Bob can't be bothered lighting a coal fire for tonight, he's going to his local pub soon anyway, so after washing face and hands in the kitchen sink he puts on a heavy knitted pullover and puts the briefcase that he's brought in from the car on the living room floor in front of the fire.
While he's in the kitchen frying up a piece of steak and buttering a couple of slices of bread he glances into the living room at the briefcase and wonders who on earth would forget to take a briefcase home with them, he imagines an office worker who lives just off Kirkstall Road getting off the bus outside Woodrups and then deciding to go for a cup of tea before going home, why would they do that ?
Yes they do a lot of business from locals on their way to work who can't be bothered frying up a breakfast or making sandwiches up for their lunch, but its usually very quiet in the afternoon and evening, in fact Maureen often locks up at 4pm as no-one calls in for a sandwich before they go home for their tea do they ?
Bob asks himself the question over and over again, the person must be local or they wouldn't have got off the bus there, but why didn't they just go straight home like everyone else, why call in a cafe first and then how did they forget their briefcase, or maybe, just maybe they called in during the afternoon, maybe they were a sales rep from outside of the area doing calls up and down Kirkstall Road and maybe they called in for a cup of tea mid-afternoon ?
Maybe so says the other voice in Bobs head, but if they were a rep then they'd need their briefcase at the next call they made and they'd easily remember that they saw it last in the cafe, they'd just go back for it wouldn't they ?
Maybe, just maybe, says the first voice in Bobs head, the sales rep had had a bellyfull of trudging up and down Kirkstall Roadyesterday afternoon after all it was cold and wet, maybe, just maybe he went in the cafe, got nicely settled down with a cup or pot of tea and a nice iced bun, got talking to Maureen, stayed longer than he intended and just decided to knock off early, saw his bus turn up and ran for it forgetting his briefcase ?
Yeah, that would work said the second voice in Bobs head, that would work ok, yeah I can see that happening, thats the way it was then, glad we sorted that out then.
His steak is well done by now, the bread buttered and he's also managed to boil a kettle in synchronisation with all the talk in his head so he takes his plate of bread and steak and his cup of coffee into the living room, switches on the TV and while waiting for the twelve inch monochrome screen to warm up and flicker to life he drags the briefcase across to the settee and speaking out loud to no-one in particular advises that he's going to have a quick look inside to see if the sales rep has left a business card inside, which he surely must have being a sales rep and all, even a forgetful one.
He carves a chunk of steak off his plate and crams it in his mouth, its tough, as expected, well it was cheap and he didn't pay much attention to it while he was frying it a minute ago, chewing hard on the meat he tries the briefcase lock, its locked, he sits back and stares at it while in the corner the TV still faintly buzzes, not yet warm enough to come to life.
Bob stands up and goes into the kitchen, routes around in the knife drawer and comes back with a sharp steak knife with a very pointed blade which will serve two purposes, the first to get in this bloody lock. He sticks the knife in the flimsy lock slot and twists and turns it only succeeding to bend the knife at first for which he curses then as he thinks its a hopeless task there is a faint click and the lock gives up its grip on the flap that hold the two sides of the briefcase closed.
Bob opens the briefcase flaps wide and expecting to find files and paper in there starts to reach a hand in, then stops, and stares.
Its full of money.
Rolls and rolls of banknotes, all held tight with rubber bands, blue five pound notes, brown ten pound notes, all rolled up tightly, rolls and rolls of them, and moving them slightly to one side Bob could see the bottom of the bag was stuffed full of green one pound notes and even ten bob notes, all loose in the bottom, hundreds of them.
Hundreds of them, all rolled up, hundreds of them.
Suddenly, and without warning, the TV bursts into life, and Barry Chambers on Look North is reporting on a spate of allotment fires in Wakefield, Bob jumps to his feet in shock then quickly looks around embarassed in case anyone saw him, which of course they didn't , he lives alone, but they might see the briefcase through the window, and he dives across the room and drags the single curtain shut to prying eyes.
"Jesus" he speaks out loud again to no-one in particular and turns down the volume on the TV, "Jesus" he sits down again and looks into the briefcase again, "Oh Jesus bloody hell fire, what the, bloody hell fire, Oh Jesus"
He stands and walks around the room which actually means that he walks around the settee being as there is no room for anything else in the living room, "Jesus, bloody hell" his hand is holding the top of head down to stop his brain exploding out through his skull so hard is his heart beating, he walks to the briefcase again and looks inside again, "Jesus christ, bloody hell, oh fuck what have I done?"
He sits down again. He touches the briefcase. He jumps back into the settee afraid to touch the bag now. His mind is racing and telling him all sorts of things, rubbish most of it, just a scramble of thoughts, its not real money, its not your money anyway, take it out of the house, take it to the police, leave it in a waste paper bin, take it back to the cafe and leave it under the table where you found it, spend the bloody lot Bob you fool, its yours now, you found it, its yours, finders keepers, tough shit on the sales rep, what sales rep, the sales rep that left it in the cafe, there wasn't a sales rep you bloody idiot, you said there was, no I made that up, sales reps don't carry money like this around, well who's is it, no who's was it, its yours now, finders keepers Bob, its yours, its yours.....
"Oh Jesus"
He stand up again, goes to the front door and locks then bolts it then check the window to make sure the curtain is closed properly he even checks the kitchen window to make sure no-one can peek in through there then slowly walks back to the settee and stands and stares down into the briefcase.
“Oh shit”
He sits down again and this time reaches right into the briefcase and takes out one of the rolls of notes then places it on the settee cushion next to him. He can hear his heart pounding in both ears so loud that its like his heart is inside his skull and he runs his left hand through his hair and holds it there on the top of his head again, takes some deep breaths and tries desperately to regain his calm.
He picks up the roll of notes, its much thicker than the roll of notes that he keeps in the sugar tin in the cellar, this one is about two inches in diameter and it looks like its all in ten pound notes. He slowly removes the rubber band and the wad of notes unfold and lay in a one inch pile on his settee, still staring, heart still pounding Bob picks up the notes and starts, hypnotically, to count them.
150 of them, £1500 in ten pound notes, £1500 in used ten pound notes, he remembers an episode of “Dragnet” the American TV detective programme and he checks the serial numbers, they are all different and they are not consecutive.
Bob sits back in the settee and although he hasn't lit the fire and although it's a cold damp February night outside he is sweating, his hands are shaking and his heart is still banging inside his ears.
He thinks hard, the notes are used, and they all have different non-consecutive serial numbers, what does that mean? It means they are untraceable, it means that they are not forged and there is little chance that they have been planted there by the police, like they do in Dragnet, bloody hell, where did it come from then ?
For the next hour Bob sits there counting out the rolls of money, making a note of how much is in each roll as it appears that they are rolled up together at random, some rolls have a few hundred pounds in them, some as much as two thousand pounds, and give or take a few pounds here and there he eventually comes up with a total, £43,220.
“Bloody Hell”
The house that he's sitting in only cost £2000 three years ago, he could buy the whole street with the money in the bag, bloody hell fire.
Time for a strong drink, in the kitchen cupboard Bob has a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label and he goes there now and pours a good shot of the stuff, downs it in one swallow then pours another and takes it back to the settee.
“Bloody Hell”
He tries to think about what to do but can't get past the first question - who left the money in the café ? Its not the sales rep theory that much he knows, and its not the office worker story either. Could it be a bank employee who was taking it home to count ? Bob actually considers this for a while before he realises what he's doing and laughs out loud, bank employees don't take their work home.
But perhaps it's a bank employee who has been embezzling this money for years, maybe he's been taking the odd notes out of the cash drawer and hiding it in his locker and now needs to get it out of the building quickly ?
Don't be stupid the other voice in Bobs head speaks, if an employee had been working on this scam for years then he wouldn't leave the briefcase behind in a café would he, anyway with the number of notes in here he'd have to have been doing it for twenty or so years, surely he'd have taken the money out of his locker by now ?
So it's the bank manager himself, he's done a one-off grab straight out of the strong room, that's a possibility, but just like the last theory, why would he forget all about it as soon as he walked into the café ?
Maybe like the sales rep his bus came early and he had to run for it and completely forgot, no don't be stupid Bob the other voice interrupts, no-one would walk into a cafe with £43,220 in a briefcase, more money than they can earn in a lifetime, walk in , order a cup of coffee and an iced bun, put the briefcase on the floor then forget all about it just because his bus came early, for gods sake Bob he could walk down the road and buy all of Norman Brooks' stock of crappy old used cars and still not make a dent in one of those bundles, a bloody Leeds City Transport bus isn't going to make him forget the £43,220 between his feet.
"Bloody Hell"
One things for certain, this money is not legal, this sort of money does not normally travel around in an old black briefcase and get left behind in cafe's, the sort of people who travel around with this sort of money in black briefcases and stop for cups of coffee in cafe's whilst carrying a mans life earnings around like its just paperwork they're taking home, can only be ... .
Crooks.
"Bloody Hell"
It must be, can only be stolen money, its the only explanation, its been stolen this afternoon in a bank robbery and the thieves went for a coffee afterwards, saw a policeman outside, panicked and fled the cafe leaving the loot behind.
"Bloody Hell"
They went for a coffee afterwards ? They wouldn't do that would they ? They might, for an alibi. They'd have to be pretty cool to go for a coffee after robbing a bank though and pretty daft not to return for the briefcase when the police had moved away. But how does he know they didn't come back, remember you didn't go to the cafe at all today, bloody hell no I forgot that, haven't seen Maureen for two days, never asked Maureen if anyone asked if she'd seen a briefcase lying around, bloody hell she might be in danger, she might be kidnapped by now, there might be a ransom note waiting for me pinned to the counter by a steak knife, and I never went in tonight to find it, Maureen might be dead now because I couldn't be bothered parking the van up tonight, bloody hell.
These and a thousand other speculative stories rush through Bobs head and the more of the Johnny Walkers that he drinks, the dafter the stories get, until finally at around 11pm he takes that last sip that tips him over the edge from conciousness to sleep and his head lols back at an awkward angle and the first of many snores emits from his open, drooling mouth.
But even now he can't forget the money, he dreams that the National and Provincial Bank manager from Burley Road robs his own counter staff wearing a guy fawkes mask, still in his work suit but because he's got the kids cheap plastic mask on his own staff don't recognise him, running from the bank he is persued by Mrs Azid, who wants to know when her heating boiler will be connected, and an old war hero who threatens him with a walking stick. The bank manager jumps into Bobs VW Pickup truck and suddenly turns into Sid Fox who's driving hard and fast to get away from the taxman who wants £43,220 in back taxes and Sid is hanging out of the window shouting obscenities at the taxman telling him he'll never take him alive when he smashes the van into the front of the cafe and Bob is sitting at the back table and he catches the briefcase as it flies through the air and then the taxman rushes in and tells Bob that seeing as he caught the bag cleanly and didn't drop it first then the money is his, finders keepers, and Bob is laughing out loud, and then he's awake....
He's awake again and his neck is badly cricked and in pain and he's got a throbbing headache and a dry mouth with the whisky and he didn't finish the steak last night so he feels very queasy with all that Johnny Walkers on an empty stomach, so he sits there for a few minutes trying to straighten his neck and open his eyes properly, god that was a wierd dream, all that money in a briefcase flying through the air...
"oh fuck"
Bob spots the briefcase on the floor between his legs, turns his eyes ever so painfully to the left and sees the rolls and rolls of paper money and the notebook that he used to tally up the final score.
"Oh fucking hell"
Its not a dream.
