Gently Go Man by Alan Hunter Page A

do.’
    ‘Give me that envelope,’ Gently said.
    ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ sobbed the blonde.
    ‘Just the envelope,’ Gently said. ‘The one this gentleman here handed you.’
    ‘He didn’t hand me no envelope.’
    ‘Let’s keep polite about it,’ Gently said. ‘He handed you a fat manilla envelope, after which you gave him the chocolates.’
    ‘It’s down the front of her dress,’ said the navvy unexpectedly. ‘I saw her shove it there while you were out.’
    ‘So?’ Gently said.
    The blonde looked murderous. She felt in her bosom, tossed the envelope on the bar. Gently lifted it by one corner and let the contents slip out. They were a bundle of forty or so pound notes, old ones, held together with a rubber band.
    ‘That’s a lot of money for a box of chocolates.’
    ‘It was owed us,’ Leach snapped. ‘We don’t know nothing about what was in the chocolates.’
    ‘But you’ll know who owed you the money.’
    Leach made a rude suggestion. ‘Bloody find out,’ he added. ‘We’ve said all we’re going to say.’
    Gently sat amiably on another bar-stool. He slowly filled and lit his pipe. When it was alight he blew two rings, placing one of them in the other.
    ‘You’re in a bit of a jam, Leach,’ he said.
    Leach was impolite again.
    ‘You’ll be going away,’ Gently continued. ‘You’ll be going away for quite a spell. This isn’t the only box, is it? You’ve been filling some more down in the cellar. You’ve got a stock of reefers here, you’re the local distributor for the top boys.’
    ‘I’m being used, I tell you,’ Leach said. ‘I’ve never seen them things before.’
    Gently shook his head. ‘You won’t make it stand up, Joe. Look at it squarely. You’re due for a rest.’
    ‘I ought to have pitched you,’ Leach said, spitting.
    ‘We’ll let that pass,’ Gently said. ‘But you’re in a jam right up to your ears, and if you’re wise you’ll stop trying to buck it. Because a kind word could make a difference to you, Joe. And I’m the one who could put in the kind word.’
    ‘You think I can’t see it coming?’ Leach said.
    ‘Who was this box for?’ Gently asked.
    ‘I wouldn’t know, would I?’ Leach said, sneering. It don’t happen to have a name and address.’
    ‘Where are you getting the stuff from, Joe?’
    ‘Look for the trademark on it,’ said Leach.
    ‘It’ll be maybe worth a year to you, Joe.’
    ‘Yeah, but I value my health higher,’ Leach said.
    ‘I’ll tell you something else,’ the navvy said. ‘I keep my eyes about me, I do.’
    ‘You keep quiet, you bastard,’ Leach snapped.
    ‘You better look in that coffee machine,’ the navvy said.
    Leach came off the stool in a whirlwind of fists. Gently caught him, heaved, sent him crashing among the tables. He went to the coffee machine, the lid of which was awry. He looked inside. In the bubbling black coffee floated a green-covered notebook. He fished it out with a fork.
    ‘Blimey!’ said the navvy, looking at Leach.
    ‘Nice work,’ Gently said. ‘We could use your sort in the Force.’
    He separated some pages of the sodden notebook. It contained dates, figures, and some notes of money. And on the inside of the cover appeared a telephone number with a London code prefixed to it.
    ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a little careless, Joe.’
    Leach kept sitting on the floor. He said a number of things that were not nice.

CHAPTER SIX
    G ENTLY HUNG ON at Castlebridge while the local police were in action, but neither Leach nor the blonde seemed inclined to be more helpful. Two other counter assistants arrived at the milk bar during the morning, but on interrogation it was soon apparent that they knew nothing of the trade in reefers. A considerable haul was made in the cellar. Leach had concealed his store under the planking of the dais. It consisted of fifteen sauce-bottle cartons each containing a thousand reefers, while another three thousand were found packed