PORTRAIT OF A LADY

                                                                 

                                                                            Chapter Six

                                                                           Life Of Crime

 

Michael had long given up thoughts of a life with Ollie, and the seriousness of his dilemma was beginning to sink in. He had been living rough around the town, and had found a number of temporary shelters, but he knew it could not go on like that. So far the weather had been mild, and the occasional wet day had not been too much of a trial, but a more permanent abode was essential. But how? He had no money; the post office voucher he was given when he left the remand home was long gone, and his weekly 'dole' was not sufficient for him to pay for a room, never mind a flat.

          He had even tried to get a job. One day he had been exploring an old industrial area to see what, if anything, he could 'lift', to sell. There was rubbish everywhere, and lots of abandoned machinery, but he found nothing that he could easily turn into cash. By chance he noticed on the side of an old building a sign. 'Hands wanted' it said. Painted in black the words seemed to have been applied in a hurry with a two inch brush on an old piece of hardboard. Painted in a hurry perhaps for there was no attempt at elegance, and Michael wondered how long it had been there since it appeared that everywhere around was derelict and abandoned. He had wandered closer, more out of curiosity than anything, so he was astonished when a door near the sign opened and a man appeared.

          "You interested?" he called out.

          Michael looked around, wondering if someone else had come on the scene.

          "Are you looking for a job?" the man said firmly.

          "Might be." Michael replied. "What's it about?"

          "Nuts and bolts." the man said. "I manufacture them. Come over and we'll talk."

          He did as he was asked, and later, as he walked back towards his shelter for the night he considered his options. Eight O'clock start, fifty hours a week, seven quid in his pocket. Michael had given the man a version of himself which in the main was true, but omitted or at least glossed over most of the important features of his life. No doubt the nuts and bolts man saw through Michael's story but despite that he had offered Michael a job to start the next day. No doubt too he will not have been too surprised when, the following morning no one turned up. Michael himself was confused when the time came. Somehow he recognised that this man, a perfect stranger, might have been offering him a lifeline, but when he came to the brink he just could not do it. He had never worked before, had no knowledge of the world of work, but as a sixteen drifter he simply could not make that kind of commitment. By mid-day the crisis was over, and the subject closed. Nevertheless for the rest of the day there were a couple of little thoughts skulking in the back of his mind. ‘Had he missed a great opportunity, ore had he just had a great escape?’

          The next few days continued as before and Michael's plight was starting to be serious, so it was with a mixture of relief and irritation when, out of the blue, more than three weeks late Ollie turned up.

          "Where the bloody hell have you been?" was all he could say when they met.

          "I'm sorry Michael ... I've been lying low. The ‘rozers’ have been after me for weeks."

          "Oh yeh'," Michael was in no mood to be impressed, "what did you do then - rob a bank?" His tone did not suggest any real concern, and he was certainly not going to let his pleasure at seeing his old friend outweigh his anger at being left stranded like a jilted bride at the alter. At least he was going to let his feeling of annoyance show, if only for a while.

          "No I didn't ya daft bugger, it was worse than that."

          "And what could be worse than robbing a bank?"

          It was clear to Ollie that Michael was not playing his part as he might have hoped. He would have to come clean.

          "There was this old lady see," a moments pause, "and someone mugged her and she fell. Well she was in a bad way and they took her to hospital."

          "You did that?" For all Michael's ambiguous views on right and wrong those few words contained scathing and disgust.

          "Of course I bloody didn't but the police thought I did. First I knew about it was when I saw my picture on TV. Don't know where they got it from; and they didn't have much good to say about me. Anyway, they said the lady might die, and then it would be murder."

          By now Michael was feeling a little less indignant, not quite so angry.

          "So what happened?"

          "I legged it didn't I?... as far away as I could get. But it was no good; It didn't take them long to catch up with me, and then when I was caught they said that running away proved that I was guilty."

          "How come you're hear then?" Michael was still slightly unsure that he was hearing the whole truth and nothing but the truth. After all, the life style they had both lived required that the truth, just like lies, should be used with a degree of flare, and that thinking on the seat of ones pants becomes second nature.

          "Thank god the old lady recovered and gave the police a good description of her attacker. It was nothing like me, but just to be sure they put me in a line up and she picked out another chap. What a bit of luck because it turned out that he was the one, and he'd mugged some others as well."

          "When did all this happen?" Michael asked, torn now between feelings of guilt that he should mistrust his buddy, and that niggley feeling that all was not quite what it seemed.

          "Here, I'll show you" And with that Ollie pulled out of his pocket a wad of folded newspaper cuttings, which pretty well confirmed all that he had said.

          "You poor sod." was Michael's summing up when he had looked through them all.

          "And it's taken over a week to find you since I got back." Ollie chipped in, keen that their friendship should not be weakened.

          So they resumed their life together, but life with Ollie did not turn out quite as Michael had hoped it would. Of course sharing a flat had obvious benefits, even though it was a bit on the shabby side. Their friendship held firm despite some domestic difficulties, not least a seemingly never-ending shortage of cash. They managed to get by alright, but relying on what they could steel was an occupational hazard, and their occasional successes were more than cancelled out by some long lean spells. This inevitably led to some risk taking, and a number of narrow squeaks. Their streetwise manner and cocksure attitudes were all well and good, but now they were in the real world. Nevertheless they were far from being major criminals. Gifted amateurs perhaps but it was more by good luck than good judgement that they didn't find themselves incarcerated again.

          Remarkably they lived like this for more than three years, still living largely hand to mouth, managing somehow to avoid being caught or being the subject of interest by the police. They both knew that something had to change.

          Their dire situation was brought home to them when a 'job' went wrong which they had been lucky to get away with. They were spotted trying to distract the attention of a shop salesmen who was explaining the finer points on two 'state of the art' camera's. Instead of a quick dash each carrying a camera, they left the shop hurriedly when they realised that two of the salesman’s colleagues had positioned themselves nearby. They fled empty handed, and both felt it prudent to stay away from the shops for a while.

          It was Ollie who had first suggested that they should widen their scope; look in a different direction. Of all the possible targets for consideration, the nearby Brook Farm seemed  to him, the most likely.

          "We have to widen the scope of our activities." he argued. "We'll have to include housebreaking and other forms of burglary - if the risks are low." he concluded.

          "Don't want to go inside." Michael was not convinced. "Not after all this time."

          "Neither do I; but we can't get a job - who'll employ us anyway. There must be something worth nicking in all those buildings at the back," he continued, " and we've got to get some cash from somewhere." He turned around to examine the near empty pantry. "We're going to starve if we don't get some money."

          They had both been out of luck recently on their shoplifting sprees, not managing to pick up anything of value. Just the same Michael was unsure. "Can't see him having much though." he said. "The place is nearly falling down. Have you been down there recently?"

          "Yes I have as it happens, and I think it's worth a look."

          "I know there's a few buildings at the back, but it's anyone's guess what's in them." Michael said, almost yielding to the older man's insistence.

          "Then we should take a look." Ollie decided for them both, with just a touch of anger in his voice.

          Michael was far from convinced, but as usual he agreed with Ollie. "I suppose we must do something."

          Later that night they approached the farm. They had both grown used to Brook farm being part of their patch, even though they saw little of it. The incongruity of a farm in the middle of the concrete and brick, of housing estates and shops, that is urban sprawl had never occurred to them.

          It was well after ten O'clock when they found themselves amongst the trees at the side of the farm buildings. Behind them they could hear the sound of the brook, from which the farm derived its name, as it hurried along unseen into the night. Beyond the stream, also unseen from their hiding place, was the back of an old trading centre, strewn with rubbish; flotsam and jetsam garnered over many years; ignored now by the present owners just as it had been by those previous. Michael wondered if some of the rubbish might might go back to the days of the original mills and warehouses from which the trading centre had evolved before it too fell into abandoned disrepair. It was another part of the trading estate where Michael had encountered the nuts and bolts man, and wondered if he was still there.

          It was near these old buildings where Ollie had parked his car, an old but working Morris Oxford. Initially this car had been a bone of contention between them.

          "Where did you get the car?" Michael had asked.

          "Borrowed it!"

          "Do you mean you pinched it?"

          "No; I borrowed it from a friend."

          "Which friend. We don't have any friends with a car."

          "Well; this is someone I know but you don't."

          "Who?"

          “Just someone."

          "How come I don't know?"

          "I don't have to tell you everything."

          "I tell you everything."

          "Well I'm older and it's different."

          Somewhere a light clicked on in Michael's brain. "It's a girl isn't it? Do you mean a girl?"

          "I'll tell you about it later." Ollie said crossly "Right now we have a job to do."

          Michael was not to know at that time that he would never meet 'the girl friend' but none of that was of interest to him now or to Ollie, as they waited for their chance, watching and listening. The only light came from a pale and intermittent moon; and from a small window at the front of the farmhouse overlooking the farm yard. The house sat at the back of a square; the two sides of which were framed by long low buildings. These were unlit, and to a pair of kids whose lives had little in common with live animals, their purpose was unknown. The fourth side of the square, nearest to the track from the main road bore no buildings and was open, albeit fenced and gated, thus completing the enclosure.

          Michael felt strangely content as they waited for that single light to go out, and was surprisingly irritated by Ollie's constant griping.

          "What's the silly bugga doing?" he had said. And then, after another short time "For gord's sake go to bed will you."

          "It's early yet." he said, angry at Ollie for being so impatient.

          "I thought farmers all went to bed early."

          "I expect they do, but it's not much after ten."

          Just then, as though on cue the light went off, followed shortly by another one going on - then another - both upstairs.

          "About time too." a muttered voice could just be heard from behind the trees, and just a few minutes later a "Thank gord." when the second of the two was put out. It was now a matter of waiting until the other light, no doubt the bedroom, was also extinguished. It did not take long.

          After a while Michael held his arm up angling it to catch the reflected moonlight on his watch. "Almost eleven." he said quietly. "Shall we make a move?"

          "Two minutes." Ollie replied. Two minutes which would make little if any difference to the grand scheme, but it allowed him to have the final say.

          "Right." he added, just one minute later.

          Carefully they made their way from the protection of the wood until they were at the back of one of the long buildings flanking the square. They were surprised to discover that the back wall, about sixty or seventy feet long and about eight feet high, had not a single window.

          "Fat lot of good that is." muttered Ollie, "Better look down there." and promptly walked along the wall toward the house. At the end they found a gap of about ten feet between the end wall of the long building and an extension to the house. There was enough light from the moon for them to see that at the other side of the square it was the same, and that it too connected the long building to the house with a gated fence. The enclosure was completed by a much longer fence between the two long buildings, gated at the centre where a drive went down to the front of the house.

          They could also see a door into the end of the long building facing the house and some iron steps leading to another door, somewhat less in height, directly above the first.

          "Bingo!" said Ollie, "Let's see if we can get in."

          The ground floor door was solid and immoveable and gave little indication that it might give way to force, so without wasting any time they moved to the foot of the iron steps. Slowly they climbed until they reached the small platform by the upper door, which, somewhat to their surprise, opened with little more than a gentle push. Together the two would be robbers peered into an inky black hole.

          "Can you see anything?" Michael asked his friend.

          "Not a thing; but it's bloody warm. Have you got that torch?"

          Michael took the torch from his pocket and flashed it briefly around. All around them were bails of hay, and the whole floor seemed to be covered with it.

          "There must be a way down; come on." Ollie called as he moved forward, and as usual Michael followed. It seemed like only twenty feet or so before they came up to a rail which prevented any further progress.

          "Quick, shine your torch, see what's beyond the fence.

          "Nothing." Michael said, until he pointed the torch down a bit. "I think we're on some kind of a platform ... about ten or twelve feet up I think."

          He shone his torch around and down trying to get some idea of their surroundings, but it was too small a light to be of much help. Its beam failed to reach the far end of the interior, or an intervening wall, so they concluded that they were in one very long shed. Tilting the torch up was more rewarding as it clearly showed an A shaped roof with lots of supporting beams and cross supports holding up the two sides of one continuous roof.

          But it was Ollie who made the next discovery. "Point it down a bit," he whispered, "I can hear something."

          Michael dutifully obliged and together they peered into the gloomy space. That they should have been surprised at what they saw served only to emphasize the narrow lives they had thus far lived, for below, but near enough for them to feel the heat was a small heard of cows.

          "Cattle." Ollie shouted. "For Gord's sake lets get out of here."

          Ollie’s apparent panic surprised Michael, for though he knew that this was probably the nearest he had ever been to a cow he couldn't see why he would be frightened by them.

          "No need to be afraid," he said, "they can't get to you up here."

          "I'm not afraid, I'm bloody shit scared."

          "But why, cows are usually easy going."

          "It's not that you wally, It's ... well; if they catch us in here they will think that we are trying to steal their cattle. Rustling man, rustling ... it's a bloody hanging offence."

          "Are you sure?"

          "Well maybe not you, but it'll be all up for me, being older."

          Ollie's fear was contagious and Michael felt the same feeling of panic. In a moment they both turned and rushed for the door, and the comparative safety of those outside metal steps. Unfortunately Ollie forgot that the door to the hay loft was only five foot high and he caught his head a crashing bang on its top frame. If the noise of the collision was not enough to wake the dead, the cry of pain he let out surely was, and the pair set off like lightning to gain the sanctuary of the ground and then the wood. Breathing heavily while they rested, they waited, expecting any minute the door of the house to be flung open, and a pack of snarling dogs to be let loose.

          Nothing happened. They watched and waited until they could breath easy again, but no angry farmer or hungry dogs came into view.

         "My God, what a fright!". Ollie cursed. "I thought that was it. We'll ave' to give it at least ten minutes before we go and have another look."

          Michael would much preferred to have gone home.

          The long shed on the other side of the square looked much the same as the cowshed from the courtyard, but round the back it was quite different. Only half of the building, the end furthest from the house was without windows, while the half nearest the house contained four small units, each with its own door and window.

          Reassured by the lack of response following their hasty departure from the other side, and determined to make the outing worthwhile, they were careful not to make any more noise.

          Working from the end farthest from the house, but nearest to the wood, they soon found that the four units were empty; their unlocked doors and one or two missing window panes quickly removed any dreams they may have nurtured of a big haul. A conclusion soon confirmed by a sweep from Michael's torch. They did notice however that the separating walls did not go right up to the roof.

          "Wonder what's in the big half?" Ollie asked.

          "Don't know ... maybe more cattle ... "

          "Bloody hope not; let's go and have a look." and with that he back-tracked to the last of the four units, Michael following obediently.

          "Let's have a borrow of your torch?" Ollie stretched out his hand, and then shone it around. An old work-bench in the corner looked strong enough to take their combined weight. Once mounted, Michael's back made a good step enabling Ollie to reach an old iron bracket from which it was now an easy pull to the top of the wall.

          "What can you see?" Ollie heard a voice from the blackness behind him.

          "Not very much. It looks a bit like another cow shed, but there's none here, and not much else as far as I can see."

          From his position and the work-bench, but standing now, Michael helped his friend scramble back, and soon they were in the open again.

          "Looks like we are wasting our time." Ollie said discontentedly.

          "Didn't think it would be much cop." Michael answered. He didn't often challenge Ollie openly, but he had never shared his friends enthusiasm for this job.

           "OK; OK; but I don't know everything. Let's just have a look at those buildings behind the house and then we'll call it a day."

           Having made his protest, mild though it was Michael did not object again, and so as always he followed as they skirted the farm house and came to the first of five old buildings which was almost in ruins and minus a roof. The next was larger and showed, as far as they could determine with a small torch, signs of renovation and repair. A cursory look through a small widow revealed two large sleeping horses. It also housed a number of items of equipment related to them, but nothing that they thought that was worth stealing even had the building not been 'occupied'. The next building was small like the first, in usable if not perfect condition, its roof being just about head high.

          "This is more promising." Ollie said as the came to the side furthest away from the house. From there they could see a large fenced area between it and the next out-building. "Better go and have a look." he said, a note of expectancy appearing in his voice as he climbed over the fence.

          Michael was less than convinced. A fenced off stockade could only mean one thing to him, along with the smell. This was confirmed by Ollie, who by now was shining the torch through a window, and had now discovered its secret.

          "Pigs!" he hissed "Bloody pigs!"

          He picked his way back more carefully than when he had gone in. He knew now what the smelly penalty would be if he fell.

          "That's it." he exclaimed when he reached the fence. "There's nowt here for us. But unusually it was Michael who had the last word. "There's only one building left to look at. Don't you think we might as well have a look now that we're here?"

          This time it was Ollies turn to trudge wearily behind, disappointed that their night time expedition had all been for nothing.

          "Hurry up with the torch." Michael called, and soon they were looking through a window in the largest of the five out-buildings. Now they were close they could see that what they thought were two buildings had been converted into one, and it included a garage door. Also, not only was it the largest of the five out-buildings but it seemed to be in a good state of repair.

          "Looks like a workshop." Ollie breathed, with renewed hopefulness in his voice.           "Maybe we might still be on to a winner - just look at all that stuff."

          Through a non too clean window near the door they could make out numerous pieces of machinery; tools hanging on the walls, work-benches all round with boxes on and under them. An oldish car, a flat backed van, and what looked like car maintenance tools, plus lots of electric items and cables.

          "It's like Aladdin's cave," Michael whispered, his enthusiasm renewed, "and we can't see half of it from here . . . wonder how we can get in."

          The door was held shut by a stout hasp and padlock, but a close inspection by Ollie revealed that the door-frame seemed quite old, unlike the door itself and window frames, which looked as though they had been replaced fairly recently.

          "If we can find something to prize it with, I think the padlock will go."

          "Back in the big shed where you climbed the wall," Michael muttered "I'm sure I saw an iron bar on the floor near the bench."

          Ollie dashed off, his hopes high that things might work out after all, and in two minutes was back with the iron bar in his hands.

          "This should do it." he said, and without delay pushed one end of the bar down into the hoop of the padlock, and taking hold of the other which was above his head, pulled down as hard as he could. The bar was about three feet long and so it applied considerable torque on the hasp; so much so that it started to bend, but suddenly, and then easily, the bar spun, then fell the the floor. The hasp had been pulled out of the door frame. Although it was still engaged with its padlock mate, it was now hanging impotently.

          Ollie pushed the door, hoping upon hope that it would not squeak. It did not. It was silent and they were in. After a brief look round in the workshop they gathered together all the small things they could find. Some electric drills, and a wooden block into which were fitted a variety of chisels. Tools of all kinds; saws, screwdrivers, hammers, and a small petrol engine. Even a wood turning lathe.

          "We'll never be able to carry it all." Michael complained, as Ollie came from the back carrying more stuff.

          "I not leaving this lot; there's some good stuff here. We'll just have to make a few trips to the car."

          "But that's miles away, can't we take some and come back another time?"

          "Oh yeah, they're bound to leave the door open for us aren't they?"

          "But we'll never be able to manage all this lot."

          "Look," Ollie was getting a little impatient. "It's just after one o'clock; we've got three hours - maybe four - we can make a few trips to the car before the farmer starts moving, and then tomorrow you can stay in bed all day."

          Michael could see the sense of it. They had to take as much as they could because almost certainly there would not be another chance.

          "Right then, lets make a start." He started to pack as much as he could into a wooden box he had found. Then he proceeded to do the same with a sack which was laid out neatly folded on one of the work benches.

          "Not so much at a time or you'll never carry it."

          Even Ollie had been a little more practical, only half filling the box he had found. They set off skirting the house and up the side of the long shed, and then it was a quick dash across the open end of the courtyard heading for the trees by the river, where they deposited their cargo. A second trip was accomplished the same way, this time carrying their steals as best they could as no more boxes or sacks could be found. They were just about to complete the third trip when Ollie found a small welding machine in a cupboard.

          You go with your lot and I'll catch you up when I get this out."

          Michael was not too happy at this but it did seem that things were going their way now. He set off and was just past the house walking and trotting by the long shed, when he stumbled and dropped his load. Gathering everything up as quickly as he could he stopped for a moment by the door of the unit where Ollie had climbed the wall, and listened, ready to hide if danger threatened. Had anyone heard? After a few minutes he continued to the end of the long shed and turned left. Now he had to pass the long open side of the quadrant again in order to gain the wood beyond the first cow shed. It was only when he was half way across by the gate that he saw the dim light from the open door of the farmhouse, and in it's frame the silhouette of a man.

          Simultaneously with the moment he knew he had been rumbled he saw the dog. Rather he sensed it, aware of its movement as it loped towards him along the central drive. He dropped everything and fled. He did not look back to see how the dog negotiated the gate. It mattered little to him whether it made a graceful leap over it, or an inelegant shuffle under it, but the slight pause in its footsteps followed by a heavier tread of landing, suggested the former. There was a luminance in the sky which gave just enough light to see a path between the trees, which Michael negotiated as fast as his young legs would carry him. But they were not fast enough for he could hear the dog just behind him. The pad of its feet and its panting told him that it was close, but it remained out of sight, just a snap away. They came to a footbridge which Michael crossed hoping that he might get amongst the old trade buildings and then to the open road. But a combination of muddy shoes and the slippery wooden slats of the bridge conspired against him, and he fell with a thudding crash. Exhausted by the run, and winded by the fall he lay still, his body half across the end of the bridge and the path, his intended route to safety. Defeated, he waited for the inevitable attack. Moments later the animal jumped on him, and Michael feared the worst, unable to defend himself. But it did not attack; it just sat on him; large and heavy it refused to budge. Michael could tell by it's thumping heart that it too was feeling the effects of the chase, but now victorious it seemed content to sit and wait. The only sounds that Michael could hear now was the pounding of two hearts; the gasping as he tried to breath; the panting of the dog, and the gentle sound of the babbling water under the bridge.

          After a while there was another, more insistent sound. "Well done Bess; well done old girl." the voice said, and for the first time Michael heard the cultured tones of Old Man Farrah.

          Mr Farrah the farmer was in no rush to proceed. He was a man who, according to the bible, had passed his allotted time, and so too, according to the canine calendar, had his dog. He knew well enough that the youth, who was pinned to the floor under his faithful but somewhat overweight Alsatian, would be off like a shot given half a chance, and until they had caught their wind he was not about to give him that chance.

          When he felt recovered sufficiently he bade the boy get up, and with Bess at his heels, he pushed Michael forward having first secured the handle of his walking stick around the top of his trousers where it found good purchase against the belt. It was a curious unhurried procession; not a word spoken, and neither was there any attempt at violence or escape.

          Presently they reached the farmhouse door which Farrah opened, and then after ushering the boy inside, closed and bolted it.

          "Sit down." he said to his captive visitor, noting, perhaps for the time that his 'guest' was not a boy, but a young man.

          Michael looked around the entrance hall for a chair but all he could see was a small table, a tall clock, and a heavy looking chest of some kind, above which hung a large mirror. The clock had a tick as loud as his heart, and its face, ornate but clear, displayed that it was now two seventeen.

          Farrah gestured downwards. "On the floor." then he pointed his finger first at Bess, then slowly changed its direction to the young man. He went to the little table and picked up the phone, confident that both his 'guest' and his dog had got the message.

          "Police please." he said, and after a short pause "Yes; it's Farrah here from Brook Farm; I've just ... yes; Brook Farm; at the end of Pasture Lane." There was another pause.

          "Yes that's right, about a quarter of a mile past West Mill School ... yes that's right; I've just apprehended a youth breaking into my farm."

          There were more questions , and more answers before the police had they information they needed.

          "No that won't do; as soon as you can please, the sooner I get rid of him the sooner I can get back to bed. It's bad enough as it is ... " he looked up at the clock "I'll be up again in three hours to milk the cows."

          "Bloody cheek!" he said as he replaced the phone on it's cradle. "I'll see if I can get someone to you before breakfast." he muttered, impersonating the local bobby as he gave the boy a withering stare. "And who's going to look after the cows, that's what I want to know?" he said, looking now at Bess.

          Neither Michael or the dog attempted an answer.