Just Another Day - Clark Steven (читаем книги бесплатно .TXT) 📗

‘Right then me old mucker,’ said Terry out loud, ‘1st gear, nice and gentle, no drawing attention to yourself, no tickets, no speeding and next stop; the Docks.’

He pulled away from the gates of the breakers yard as they were being noisily opened by the morning workers and saw a quizzical look from the guy in his greasy overalls with the cigarette behind his ear. He gave him a thumbs up and cheery wave and gunned the big diesel engine towards the Motorway as he chuckled nervously to himself, You’ve got no idea mate, not a fucking clue.

‘You miserable bastard,’ said Terry out loud to himself as he drove up the slip road of the M5 Motorway heading North, ‘Fifty fucking quid and a lousy bottle of scotch when I’ll be saving your fucking arse. Fifty fucking quid out of 24 million you tight arsed git.’ He began to get more than a little irate at the thought that it was him taking all the risks of losing his licence while his new best friend; who would fuck him off as soon as look at him if it suited, was drinking tea in his nice warm office.

‘You’re just a twat Frank. A bullying fucking twat’, as the wagon joined the main carriageway. The beginnings of an idea began to form in Terry’s head as he drove towards Liverpool, maybe he wasn’t quite as honest as he thought he was.

Chapter 15

Terry pulled up outside the portacabin office in the yard. He tried to appear calm and relaxed as he walked toward the office door.

‘Hey bollocks, how come you’re back here with the same box on?’ J.J. Roberts the company mechanic emerged from the trailer yard with his oil stained overalls on and as usual, wiping his hands with a greasy rag. Whenever Terry saw him, no matter what time of the day, he always seemed to be wiping his hands on a piece of old cloth.

‘Remember when the boss always says he doesn’t make any cock ups with the papers J.J., well he made a cock up with the papers, but don’t tell him I told you.’ He laughed and waved his hand as the affable mechanic shrugged his shoulders,

‘You must be mistaken there Terry, golden balls doesn’t make mistakes. You should know that by now.’ They both laughed as J.J. waved the tattered old cloth in the direction of the office and turned back towards the forty foot skeletal trailer he had been working on getting ready for next weeks MOT test.

Terry glanced around the yard, other drivers and staff were coming and going, but nobody paid him any attention as he walked towards the door with the delivery notes in his hand. He glanced up to see Frank looking out of the window towards him. Terry gave him a wink and saw an almost imperceptible nod of the head in return as acknowledgement of his gesture, steady on Frank, thought Terry. You might strain your bleedin neck if you move like that again.

There were two portacabins in the yard, one on top of the other. The lower one served as the driver’s rest room and canteen and was simply fitted out with a few chairs and tables. A stainless steel sink that seemed to have more stains than J.J.’s rags stood in one corner complete with an old kitchen worktop that had been thrown out by one of the other drivers when he’d had a new kitchen installed at home. It was well chipped and cracked but served its purpose of housing the kettle, microwave and small table top fridge. A second hand two ring electric grill finished off the sparse fixtures and fittings except for an old colour TV on a small corner unit on the far side of the cabin. Home sweet Home!

The top cabin was Frank’s office and was reached by a set of metal steps at the side. As Terry walked up the fire escape type steps and holding onto the handrail, he continued to casually look around to see if any one was paying more attention than normal to his ‘cargo’. Frank was also scanning the yard from his lofty position and was still looking out of the window when Terry entered.

,Any problems?’ he said as Terry closed the door behind him and continued to cast his eye over the scene below without looking at him, hands casually in his trouser pockets. He knew that this was Frank’s way of letting him know that regardless of the fuck up with the paperwork, he was still the boss.

‘Wanker,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘What’s that Terry?’ said Frank as, having carried out his little display of management power, he turned to speak further.

‘Thanks Boss,’ he said, ‘no problems with traffic or anything on the way up. Good run. I’m just about ready for that bacon butty eh?’

‘Yeah, I had a little think about that while you were on the way back; don’t think it would be a good idea if the other lads saw you and me having a cup of tea and a butty together, might make them suspicious don’t you think. After all, I wouldn’t do that with any of the other drivers’ would I?’

Terry had expected something like this as he knew that it was just another of Frank’s little ways of asserting his authority over the ‘minions’.  He had to remember his place in the order of things. He was after all, just another fucking driver, plenty of them about, as he remembered a heated conversation they’d had a few months ago when Frank had only paid him half of a promised bonus. Terry had retreated gracefully from his stance on that occasion as he knew that the boss was right. He would sack him soon as look at him. ‘Always plenty of lads looking for a start eh, Terry?’ He weighed up the odds of coming off better and decided this was not the time for another argument. Frank was already looking for a fight as he knew full well the seriousness of the cock up he had made and now that he had covered his arse by getting the wagon back before any one from the Bank of England staff were aware, he was looking for someone to blame.

‘Aye, you might be right boss, how about my little bonus and the bottle of scotch then? No one needs to know about that; the lads won’t need to see you giving me a bottle now will they?’

‘End of the month eh Terry, cash flow’s a bit tight at the moment. Sort you out then. You know the score eh?’

He knew the score alright, whistle fuckin Dixie and kiss the fifty quid goodbye.

Frank knew that he was treading on thin ice to some extent as, apart from him, Terry was the only other person in the company who was aware of the secret transportation and he softened his stance somewhat.

‘Tell you what Terry, after you’ve had your dinner, take this box up to Preston,’ as he gave him a large manila envelope with the details of another container for delivery. ‘When you get back tonight, you will be the last man back in the yard. I’ll still be here, but nobody else will be. I’ll give you your bottle of scotch and we can have a chat. I’ve maybe got a little proposition for you. It would be better if there’s no on else about.’

Terry wanted to press him on the matter but decided better of it at that time. ‘Sounds interesting Frank, I’ll see you later.’

He made his way down the stairs and across the yard. He manoeuvred the box with the money to the corner of the yard; uncoupled his tractor unit and drove back across the compound to where the box destined for Preston was sat on another trailer. After checking the air brakes and lights, he double checked the numbers, after his last little excursion, he made absolutely sure everything tallied.

He got stuck in traffic on the M6 Motorway and was further delayed at the factory in Preston where he was making his delivery, normally it wouldn’t bother him too much; waiting was part of the job as a lorry driver. You were always waiting somewhere; either on the roads or at the factory, no point in getting too hung up about it.

Maybe it was the proposition that awaited him back at the yard, or maybe he was just tired, but he was more irritable than usual as he headed back down the Motorway and his thoughts drifted back to his twat of a boss. ‘I’ll make that bastard pay somewhere along the line’ he thought as he pulled into the transport yard.