Chapter 2
Sandy beamed at him. “Right! Here's your identification card.” He handed him a small buff coloured business card upon which was written 'Farralland Contractor'. Beneath, it bore the name, 'Andrew Hunter'. A telephone number occupied the reverse. Gally was less than impressed. He'd been expecting to get one with his photo on it. He'd combed his hair specially.
"What name were you given, Sandy?"
"Alex Hunter and Clive's says Adam. Oh, and don't phone the number unless you really need to. You'll get the engaged tone for forty seconds then they'll answer and ask for the 'word of the day' which you'll find posted on the notice board daily, in the main office, top right-hand corner."
"What is it today?"
"Take a look and you'll find out. Follow me!"
They climbed the stairs and entered a storeroom next door to the toilets where Sandy showed him the locker in which he was instructed to keep a suitable travel bag in readiness for any overnight stays they might have to conduct. "We call them our 'ready kit'," Sandy informed him, straight-faced.
"Ingenious title," Gally dryly observed as they turned and left.
Passing the main office, they took the internal security door, descended steep steps and emerged directly into a workshop. A man in his sixties raised his glasses and called from the far side, “Hello, Sandy. Grab a pew. I’ll be over in a tick.” Gally occupied himself by staring at the dishevelled sofa that looked as if the springs could do with some urgent refreshment.
"Right, young man!” JD of gunsmith fame said, standing close behind Gallagher and startling him. For a man in his sixties, he was remarkably quick and silent on his feet. “Follow me, and I’ll get you sorted out.” He slid behind a short counter and produced a ledger. “Just sign there.” He pointed at an entry.
“Do I know what I’m signing for?” Gally asked him.
“I don’t know. I assumed you could read.” JD replied.
“But shouldn’t I actually be given what I’m signing for first?”
JD huffed as he reached up to remove an item from a shelf. “I don’t know where you get them from, Sandy. I thought Clive was bad enough. Listen, son. You’re in my store now so you work by my rules. Sign that or you get bugger all.”
Sandy shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
Gally did as he was told. He’d met his sort before when he’d done his national service. The Quartermaster’s Stores were always a fun-filled day. He recalled them giving him a mug once that had a grey mark on it, under the enamel. When he’d mentioned it they said nothing could be done and he had to take it. His squad Corporal thought differently and kept giving him punishment duties. As he said, “That’s gopping that is. You could give people diseases with that.” He’d tried covering the mark with toothpaste but the Corporal wasn’t fooled, more diseases apparently. He took it back to the stores where they said there was nothing wrong with it. He’d pointed out the mark and was told, “Nope, you signed for it as being in good order. Not our problem now.” In the end, he’d resorted to swiping one from the unguarded locker of a soldier from another squad. Someone else could now stand to attention for an hour outside a windswept guardroom in the rain.
“Revolver, 2 inch, Smith and Wesson,” JD said as he placed the weapon on the counter.
“Haven’t you got a little semi-automatic with more rounds and a couple of magazines? Gally asked.
Looking him up and down, JD replied, “Who do you think you are, son? James Bond?” He wandered over to a cabinet, unlocked it and returned with a box of rounds. He counted out 18, reached down then produced two speedloaders.
“Thirty-eight special, hollow points. It should be more than enough for you, Wyatt Earp. They’re for self-defence purposes only, you know.”
Gally checked the weapon and inspected the rounds. As satisfied as he could be in the circumstances, he looked up just as JD threw him a pancake holster. “Use your own belt, son,” he said with a smile before inspecting the ledger. Happy, he closed it and placed it back under the counter. “Nothing else I can think of. Oh! Here's a little cleaning kit for you, on the house.” He handed over a small opened tin; little wire brush, bit of cloth and a greasy bottle which Gally knew would contain gun oil. “Any questions?”
Gallagher looked thoughtful then waved the speedloaders. “Do I get anything to put these in?”
JD grinned. “Yeah, your pockets. Anything else?”
“There is something I’m just curious about. Who’s minding the shop?”
The gunsmith took a grey hanky from his pocket, blew his nose then yanked his pants up. “No one, my lad. Appointments only.”
“Come on,” Sandy interrupted. “We’ll stow this stuff upstairs before we nip across to the yard for your transport.” Gally gave his ginger colleague a wan smile and followed but couldn’t help wondering what the transport would be and if he’d need to buy himself a set of bike clips.
In the yard, he surveyed the grey Austin A55 Cambridge he’d been allocated. It could have been worse.
“I take it you don’t have anything a bit more sporty then?” he asked Sandy with a straight face.
“No, it’s all about keeping a low profile, Gally. I’d have thought you knew that?”
“I’m just winding you up, Ginge. You take it all very seriously, don’t you?”
Sandy forced out a little smile. “Yes, I do and you could do with making the effort to look as if you do as well, Gally. The Old Man isn’t one to suffer fools.” He glanced back at the car then said, “And the name is Sandy.”
Gallagher gave him a frown. “I’m sorry, but it has to be Ginge between you and me, mate. I’m not taking you for a pint and introducing you as ‘And this is my friend, Sandy'.”
Ginge scowled back at him, perplexed but then let out a little laugh. “Oh, I see, that programme, Round the Horne.”
Gally nodded, shielding his eyes as he peered into the car. “Well, at least it’s got a radio. Let’s get the keys, eh, and see what she sounds like?”
After playing around with the gear stick, handbrake and anything else he could think of he turned on the radio and tuned into the Home Service then the Light Programme. "That'll do me," he declared, gunning the engine. "Sounds a bit sedate but it's dryer than a bike."
Stood outside the Old Man’s office, Gallagher brushed his hair with a hand and straightened his tie. A glance at his shoes led him to quickly buff them against the back of his dark grey suit trousers. He tapped the door and stepped in.
“Close the door, Gallagher, and sit down.” The desk was vacant, a black coat, white scarf and a trilby gave the coat stand something to do. The figure that came out from behind the door was reading a file, unlit pipe gripped between his teeth. He waved Gally to the hard- backed chair positioned at a slight angle. The most startling thing about him was he wasn’t old at all. Not a hint of grey that Gallagher could see and, in his estimation, he didn’t look that much older than himself, but that’s where any similarity ended.
He was probably Oxbridge educated, ex-Guards Officer, wealthy family, old in the head. He could've gone on but his thoughts were interrupted
“I know what you’re thinking, Gallagher, the pipe doesn’t fit but I’m trying to give up smoking and sucking on this thing seems to help. Relax, man. I won’t bite unless you fuck up.”
He flicked through the file, chewing the pipe, and then looked up. “Your superior thinks highly of you, Gallagher. He claims you have an analytical mind but mentions you have a tendency to be flippant that can vary from mildly amusing to tedious and annoying. Personally, I think he’s given you too much leeway at times. It may have led to your cockiness and your current predicament. You did well to make it to Special Branch despite your lack of academic qualifications but I think some native cunning made up for it, although your morals are somewhat questionable. I suppose you're going to try and tell me you didn't know she was your Inspector's wife?"
An almost imperceivable smile flitted across Gallagher's lips. "Oh, I knew who she was alright but he's a right nasty little shit, if you don't mind me saying so, Sir. Anyway, she was very persistent and in the end, I succumbed. I'm only human after all."
The Old Man gave him a hard stare. "Well, I won't tolerate such behaviour here, Gallagher."
"I don't think it'll ever be likely, Sir."
"And by that you mean, what exactly?"
"I'm just sure that no one here is unlucky enough to have such a saucy little mare on their hands, Sir." He produced a benevolent half-smile.
The figure opposite him paused then seemed to think better of it, glancing down at the file once more. "I made some further enquiries regarding your national service and your claim when you joined the police that you worked in signals intelligence.”
Gally felt an interruption was in order. “I didn’t tell any lies, Sir.”
The Old Man took the pipe from his mouth. “No, I’ll give you that but you weren’t exactly forthcoming with the truth. It seems the impression you gave was you were more Int than Sigs."
Gally was straight-faced, not a tremor or hint of a facial tick. "I don't know where they got that from, Sir. I never said I was in the Intelligence Corps. I distinctly remember putting the emphasis on the Signals part of the title, Sir."
The Old Man glanced at the file. “It says here you held rank in your unit.”
“I did, Sir. Lance corporal.”
“Yes, for three weeks then they took it back off you because you were late on parade. Twice.”
“They never asked me about that, Sir. It’s not my fault if people make assumptions.”
He closed the file. “Essentially, Gallagher, you spent the entire time making the tea and enjoying the adoration of any woman in the locality who was foolish enough to leave the house whilst you weren’t fully employed, which appears to have been quite often. However, you have, I’m told, skills that should be of benefit to this department and, dare I say, the country as a whole. Don’t let that comment swell your head.”
He pointed the pipe at him. “From here on in, you are a deniable resource. If you bring this department to the unwanted attention of anyone, your feet won’t touch the ground. If you get yourself into an embarrassing situation, we don’t know you, the Government won't know you and I don’t think the Police will want to either. Now, be very aware, if you think at any time that spilling the beans will save you I must tell you it won’t, the exact opposite in fact. To be quite frank, we have some very motivated people working just across the road who wouldn’t bat an eyelid if we asked them to make you disappear.” The pipe went back in the mouth. “Don’t think I won’t make it so, even if you grow on me. Now, go and get yourself a brew, get acquainted with your desk, then pop along and Reg will bring you up to speed. It’s an important case, serious implications, but there’s never been a better time to crack it. With all the attention on the World Cup, it gives us some much- needed leeway.” He attempted an affable smile but for Gally it just made him look sinister.
“Can I ask you a question, Sir?”
“Yes, certainly.”
“Is it too late for me to go back to SB?”
“I’m afraid so, Gallagher. You’re in way too deep already. Close the door behind you.”