Dover and the Claret Tappers

no,’ she said, her earlier cheerfulness breaking through again, ‘I mean permanently. For good. I wouldn’t dream, of course,’ she added virtuously, ‘of leaving this house until after the funeral, though. Well, it wouldn’t be right, would it?’
* * *
It was three o’clock in the morning and the Claret Tappers were still sitting round a television set that had been cold and dead for hours. The air was thick with smoke and they were down to the last two cans of brown ale.
The first kidnapper’s voice was quite hoarse. ‘Look, we’ve got to make our minds up quick. Every minute we keep him here is another minute of bloody danger for us. Either way, we’ve got to bloody well get rid of him.’
The brown ale had given the second kidnapper a modicum of dutch courage. ‘So we croak him,’ he said. ‘That’s the safest.’ He giggled. ‘Dead men tell no tales!’
The first kidnapper regarded his confederate wearily. ‘Why don’t you try using your loaf for a change?’ he asked. ‘Suppose we do kill him – what do we do with the bloody body? There’s over seventeen stone of him, you know. That’ll take some shifting.’
‘So we leave him here.’
‘But this place could lead them to us, couldn’t it, you nit? We’re bound to leave some clues behind us, no matter how careful we are – especially with silly buggers like you messing about. Well, it’s a risk I’m not going to bloody take. We’ll dump Dover somewhere. That way they’ll never find this place and we may even be able to use it again next time.’
The third kidnapper looked up, arms clasped round his knees in an effort to keep the night’s chill out. ‘Is there going to be a next time?’
Too right there is! The reasons we had for going into this in the first place haven’t changed, have they?’ I he first kidnapper’s anger showed in his heightened colour and sparkling eyes. ‘Just because this one’s blown up in our bloody faces, it doesn’t mean we’re going to chuck our hand in once and for all.’
‘No,’ murmured the third kidnapper. ‘Course not.’
The second kidnapper was less submissive. ‘And who’s going to cough up a hundred thousand nicker next time?’ he jeered. ‘They’ll bust a gut laughing at us. I’m telling you, mate – if we let this Dover slob go, nobody’ll ever take us seriously again.’
This aspect of their predicament had not escaped the first kidnapper and he had, indeed, been sweating over it for hours. In the end he’d succeeded in producing a rationalisation which satisfied him and all he had to do now was sell it to his downcast and disappointed companions. He had to convince them that, in spite of some evidence to the contrary, everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds and that his hand was still steady on the tiller. ‘Trust you to go and get the wrong end of the bloody stick!’ he sneered. ‘You’re so thick you can’t see beyond the end of your bloody snout.’
‘I can see that we’re going to look a right bunch of Charlies!’ retorted Number Two. ‘What’s the good of making threats if you don’t carry ’em out?’
The first kidnapper leaned forward in his chair and adopted a more conciliatory tone. ‘Listen, what’s your main stumbling block when it comes to getting your hands on the ransom money, eh?’ He saw the second kidnapper’s mouth begin to open and rushed hurriedly on. I’ll tell you, mate! It’s convincing the victim’s family and friends that you’re on the level. Right? It’s making ’em believe the chap you’ve snatched will be returned safe and sound if only they’ll cooperate and do what they’re told.’
‘Blimey, I should have thought that was the least of your worries,’ grumbled the second kidnapper, lighting yet another cigarette.
‘Well, it isn’t! That’s just the time the pigs get their foot in the door, isn’t it.’ They tell the family that it’s odds on their nearest and dearest has already been croaked and so they might as well play ball with the cops and help catch the naughty kidnappers.’
‘What the hell are you supposed to be getting at?’
Mercifully the first kidnapper cut the cackle. ‘Simply this – because we’ve shown ourselves reasonable and humane this time, the next time the victim’s family will catch on that there’s a good chance of getting their loved one back in one piece, see? Well, that could be bloody important for us. With that sort of hope there will be less temptation to go running to the cops.’ The second kidnapper was still sceptical. ‘So this Dover cock-up is really a blessing in disguise?’
‘It could be.’
‘Jesus.’
‘You’ll see!’
The second kidnapper blew out a lungful of smoke. ‘I dunno why you ever picked this Dover pig in the first place,’ he complained. ‘He’s an effing dead loss, if ever there was one. You might have guessed nobody’d shell out tuppence to get him back. I know I wouldn’t. Jean said he was a right old layabout and they’ve been trying to get shot of him for years. And he’s only supernumerary on the Murder Squad, you know. They got lumbered with him back in the year dot and then found they couldn’t get rid of him. Nobody else’ll have him.’
The third kidnapper risked a sour comment. ‘Now he tells us!’
The second kidnapper stamped heavily on this flicker of insubordination. ‘My sister told us all this right at the bloody beginning. More or less, anyhow.’
‘Precisely!’
‘I he first kidnapper gathered up the reins again. ‘And that’s why we picked him, isn’t it? Exactly because he is a great fat, greasy, overweight slob who’s not got enough bloody gumption to take shelter when it rains. I don’t remember you lot being exactly keen on snatching one of these six-foot-four, keep-fit fanatics with muscles like bloody whipcord.’
The third kidnapper yawned and went off at a tangent. ‘Me, I’ll be glad to see the back of him. Moan, moan, moan