The Spoilers / Juggernaut

‘Quiet, Dan!’ urged Abbot.

‘I won’t be bloody quiet! I’m gettin’ tired o’ your snipin’, too.’ His voice took on an ugly mimicry. ‘“Don’t do this, Dan; don’t do that, Dan; don’t eat wi’ your mouth open, Dan.’ Who the hell do you think you are?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said Abbot.

‘You said you could help me wi’ what I’ve got – an’ what ha’ you done? Sweet Fanny Adams!’

‘It takes time to make the contact,’ said Abbot wearily.

‘You said you had the contacts,’ said Parker venomously.

‘What have you got to complain about,’ said Abbot in a high voice. ‘You’re not paying for all this, are you? If it wasn’t for me you’d still be on your arse in London fiddling around with beat-up cars and dreaming of how to make a quick fortune. I’ve laid out nearly a thousand quid on this, Dan – doesn’t that count for anything?’

‘I don’t care whose money it is. You’re still doin’ nothin’ an’ you’re wastin’ my time.’ Parker gestured largely towards the open door. ‘That harbour’s full o’ ships, an’ I bet half of ‘em are in the smugglin’ racket. They’d go for what I have in me noggin an’ they’d pay big for it, too. You talk about me sittin’ on me arse; why don’t you get up off yours?’

Abbot was trying – unsuccessfully – to quiet Parker. ‘For God’s sake, shut up! Do you want to give everything away? How do you know this place isn’t full of police?’

Parker struggled to his feet drunkenly. ‘Aw, hell!’ He looked around blearily. ‘Where is it?’

Abbot looked at him resignedly. ‘Through there.’ He indicated a door at the back of the cafe. ‘And don’t get talking to any strange men.’ He watched Parker stagger away, shrugged, and picked up the magazine.

A voice behind him said, ‘Monsieur?’

He turned and found Picot looking at him intently. ‘Yes?’

‘Would I be right if I said that you and your friend are looking for … employment?’

‘No,’ said Abbot shortly, and turned away. He hesitated perceptibly and turned back to face Picot. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘I thought maybe you were out of work. Sailors, perhaps?’

‘Do I look like a sailor?’ demanded Abbot.

Picot smiled. ‘No, monsieur. But your friend …’

‘My friend’s business is his.’

‘And not yours, monsieur?’ Picot raised his eyebrows. ‘Then you are definitely not interested in employment?’

‘What kind of employment?’

‘Any man, particularly a sailor who has … ingenious ideas … there is always an opening for him in the right place.’

‘I’m not a sailor. My friend was at one time. There’d have to be a place for me. We’re great friends – inseparables, you know.’

Picot examined his finger-nails and smiled. ‘I understand, monsieur. A great deal would depend on the ideas your friend has in mind. If you could enlighten me then it could be worth your while.’

‘If I told you then you’d know as much as me, wouldn’t you?’ said Abbot cunningly. ‘Nothing doing. Besides, I don’t know who you are. I don’t go a bundle on dealing with total strangers.’

‘My name is Jules Fabre,’ said Picot with a straight face.

Abbot shook his head. ‘Means nothing to me. You could be a big-timer for all I know – and then again, you could be a cheap crook.’

‘That’s not very nice, monsieur,’ said Picot reproachfully.

‘I didn’t intend it to be,’ said Abbot.

‘You are making things difficult,’ said Picot. ‘You can hardly expect me to buy something unknown. That is not good business. You would have to tell me sooner or later.’

‘I’m not too worried about that. What Dan – my friend – has can only be made to work by him. He’s the expert.’

‘And you?’

Abbot grinned cheekily. ‘You can say I’m his manager. Besides, I’ve put up the money so far.’ He looked Picot up and down insultingly. ‘And talking about money – what we’ve got would cost a hell of a lot, and I don’t think a cheap chiseller like you has it, so stop wasting my time.’ He turned away.

‘Wait,’ said Picot. ‘This secret you have – how much do you expect to sell it for?’

Abbot swung around and stared at Picot. ‘Half a million American dollars. Have you got that much?’ he asked ironically.

Picot’s lips twitched and he lowered his voice. ‘And this is for smuggling?’

‘What the hell do you think we’ve been talking about all this time?’ demanded Abbot.

Picot became animated. ‘You want to get in touch with someone at the top? I can help you, monsieur; but it will cost money.’ He rubbed his finger and thumb together meaningfully and shrugged. ‘My expenses, monsieur.’

Abbot hesitated, then shook his head. ‘No. What we have is so good that the man at the top will pay you for finding us. Why should I grease your palm?’

‘Because if you don’t, the man at the top will never hear of you. I’m just trying to make a living, monsieur.’

Parker came back and sat down heavily. He picked up an empty bottle and banged it down. ‘I want another beer.’

Abbot half-turned in his seat. ‘Well, buy one,’ he said irritably.

‘Got no money,’ said Parker. ‘Besides,’ he added belligerently, ‘you’re Mr Moneybags around here.’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake!’ Abbot took out his wallet, peeled off a note from the thin wad, and threw it on the table. ‘Buy yourself a bucketful and swill in it. You can drown in the stuff for all I care.’ He turned to Picot. ‘All right – how much, you bloody twister?’

‘A thousand pounds – Lebanese.’

‘Half now and the other half when contact has been made.’ He counted out notes and dropped them in front of Picot. ‘All right?’

Picot put out his hand and delicately took the money. ‘It will do, monsieur. What is your name and where can I find you?’

‘My name doesn’t matter and I’ll be in here most evenings,’ said Abbot. ‘That’s good enough.’

Picot nodded. ‘You had better not be wasting time,’ he warned. ‘The man at the top has no use for fools.’

‘He’ll be happy with what we have,’ said Abbot confidently.