Joseph Bridgeman and the Silver Hunter Read online

  For me, Wendy picks out a black roll-neck, grey velvet jacket, white jeans, and winkle-picker boots. This is the most stylish either of us has looked, probably ever.

  We head back to Vinny’s Vinyl and I explain that when I used to travel, my clothes would disappear halfway through the trip.

  ‘No way,’ Vinny gasps. ‘That must have been really embarrassing.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘I time travelled here once.’

  ‘The shop?’

  I nod. ‘It was at night. You found me, naked.’

  He shrugs. ‘Well, it’s not the first time I’ve had someone naked in my shop.’

  I decide not to ask.

  Vinny spins the sign to Closed and looks a little sad. ‘Just can’t get the staff,’ he sighs.

  I nod understandingly. I don’t like to tell him that he’s probably better off without Solanine. She is the epitome of a narky cow.

  Vinny decides we have just enough time for a cup of tea and one final bacon-and-egg sandwich. He belches loudly. ‘It’s never a good idea to travel on an empty stomach.’

  I offer him a lopsided grin. ‘I will be sure to include that in my Time Travel for Dummies book.’

  He looks at me sideways. ‘You know what, that isn’t a bad idea.’

  ‘I can see it now,’ I chuckle. ‘Illustrated caricatures of us on the front.’ It helps to laugh, gets rid of the nervous tension and… it’s a lot better than crying.

  ‘Right, two minutes to go,’ I tell him.

  We’ve made the connection and solved the most famous crime in British history and now we’re off again, into the unknown. This time, though, I feel we are slightly more prepared and at least dressed appropriately.

  ‘Got the cash, Cash?’ Vinny asks.

  I nod, tapping my pocket.

  ‘And the shopping list?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Lovely jubbly,’ Vinny says. ‘I was wondering. How many times do we get to go back?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know, but Bill said the watch will give me a final-jump warning.’

  ‘Okay. Well, we will do our best with the time we are given,’ Vinny says proudly. ‘I know that sounds a bit like a greeting card, but it’s true.’

  ‘It is,’ I tell him, and somehow, when Vinny says it, it makes me feel better. We will do our best. I don’t doubt that.

  The silver hunter buzzes against my chest. Vinny and I don’t speak. We hold hands like buddies heading into a war zone. We count down to zero and the present ceases to be the now.

  Vinny closes his eyes. For the first time, I don’t, and regret it immediately.

  When I double jumped, tethered travel placed me inside what I thought of as a zoetrope, an endless dark sea of spiralling imagery. It took time, I had to concentrate, focus and attempt to land in exactly the right spot. Untethered travel is instantaneous, faster than a blink and nauseating as hell. For a split second, I see inside Vinny, see his blood pulsing, layers of fat, muscle and bone. Then, we are cut from Cheltenham and pasted into a London street scene.

  Vinny opens his eyes and laughs, jigging around. ‘Wow!’ he gasps. ‘Do you ever get used to it?’

  I exhale, teeth clenched and shake my head. ‘Never,’ I tell him.

  I mean, how could you?

  Steadying myself, I take in our surroundings. Central London, back in the sixties. I would guess it’s mid-morning. It’s warm, but the air still has a freshness and the streets are busy with people going about their day.

  ‘How long do we have?’ Vinny asks, straight to business.

  I check the jump dials and read it out, feeling an uncharacteristic sense of confidence.

  0 Days 5 Hours 15 minutes

  ‘And the date?’

  I pop open the watch. ‘August 7th, 1962.’

  Vinny nods, processing. ‘Lucy killed Tommy last February. She’s alive, but the bank job isn’t for another four months. They probably aren’t even digging yet.’

  We have arrived between the two major events. ‘Okay, so we can’t stop the bank robbery, not this time anyway.’

  ‘Where’s your list?’

  I grab it and we scan down the various coded events. Vinny’s encyclopaedic memory must connect at the same time because we stare at each other and both say, ‘The van!’

  ‘What time of day is it?’ Vinny asks.

  ‘Just gone ten a.m.’ I smile.

  Frankie Shaw commits armed daylight robbery in just over two hours and we know all the details.

  Vinny is beaming. ‘That will do, donkey,’ he laughs, ‘that will do.’

  Seeing Vinny so excited is excellent but as always, I have concerns. ‘Will it be enough?’ I ask. ‘You know – will it put him away?’

  Vinny nods. ‘It was armed robbery, rare for the sixties. If the police catch him red-handed, he’ll get a hefty sentence.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘And there’s an added bonus. If he goes down for the armed robbery, he’ll be locked up for years.’

  Vinny clicks his fingers. ‘Yes! The bank job won’t happen.’

  ‘Exactly, and Lucy’s secret stays safely buried.’ I let this sink in and slowly begin to nod. ‘It isn’t perfect,’ I tell him, ‘but it’s going to have to do.’

  I spin the watch. The change-event indicator drops into view. ‘Target acquired,’ I announce, fully embracing my eighties action hero.

  Vinny rubs his hands, grinning. ‘I love it when a plan comes together.’

  Five minutes later, I’m feeling a bit less optimistic. Walking is slow-going. Vinny pants like a dog in the sun and I’m realising the limitations of my clockwork sat nav.

  ‘How much further, Cash?’ he gasps.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I tell him, but a few streets later the change event locks on to a building, just like the last time, a kind of magnetism. I stare at the pub and nod.

  ‘This is it,’ I say. ‘The Two Puddings.’

  Vinny has his hands on his knees and although he could probably do with the oxygen, he starts to chuckle. ‘It’s perfect. My natural home,’ he says. ‘Just give me a second, I’m hyperventilating.’ He stands, wipes sweat from his brow and says, ‘The Two Puddings. This place was famous.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Oh yeah, we won’t find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. All the bad guys come here...’ – he pauses for effect – ‘ ...with the coppers! They used to drink together.’

  I nod. ‘Right. So maybe we’re here to tip off the Old Bill?’

  ‘Get you, Cash!’ He gives my arm a playful nudge. ‘Sounding proper East End.’

  I stare at the pub. ‘I think we might need to go in.’

  The name must be ironic. There is nothing welcoming or sweet about this place. It smells of yeasty beer, cigarettes and sweat, and is so thick with smoke it looks as though someone just lit a bonfire. The barrel of the gene pool has been scraped fairly low. Everywhere we look we spot boss-eyes, thick foreheads and hunched backs. Bad-looking men drink and smoke and guffaw. The music is loud. I half expect the jukebox to scratch to a halt but the fancy dress works a treat. We don’t draw too much attention, only a few disinterested glances.

  ‘Any ideas?’ Vinny asks.

  I scan the room, trying to match the change event to a person. The sensitivity is gone. ‘The event seems to be this pub. That’s as much help as we get I think.’

  Vinny nods. ‘Maybe we need to blend in, you know, act like them.’

  ‘You know what?’ I laugh. ‘Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Travelling sober.’ I nod towards the bar. ‘Come on, Vinny, I think we need a drink.’

  Drunk time travel… It could be the way forward.

  Or back...

  You know what I mean.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  We walk the sticky carpet towards the bar, a dark wood monstrosity, like the cabin of an old ship. Vinny looks happy. There’s a long line of real ales on tap.

  The la
ndlord, a tall, sinewy man with a crewcut and a flat nose, is polishing glasses. He has the look of someone who has fought malnutrition with a quick tongue and hard work. ‘What can I get you gents?’ he asks.

  Vinny orders two pints of something called Dartford Dangler.

  The proprietor watches us with calm, dark eyes, clearly in control of this infamous pub. I’m reminded of how some teachers managed to control a class. It didn’t matter how good a teacher they were; if they didn’t have control all was lost. Respect. You’ve either got it or you haven’t. Without it, they eat you alive.

  Vinny passes me a pint. I gaze around the pub and see a face I recognise immediately. It’s PC Green.

  ‘I know that guy over there,’ I tell Vinny. ‘He’s the copper who took pity on me after I was arrested for Lucy’s murder.’

  PC Green is seated opposite a nervous-looking man, the absolute spit of a young Woody Allen, replete with bottle-top glasses and wave of jet-black hair.

  ‘I recognise the other guy,’ Vinny says. ‘His name’s Ted Daley, known locally as Squint.’ My knowledgeable sidekick takes a quick sip of his pint, moans in appreciation and then guzzles half of it down. ‘He’s an electronics whiz. Squint got done… sorry, I mean he gets done for his part in some payroll scam, a few years from now.’

  PC Green is in full uniform, which looks odd. It’s not his fault he looks twelve, either. This was a time when cops and robbers drank together – there was a kind of understanding, a respectful stalemate. I suppose it was a “better the devil you know” arrangement: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  A group of men playing darts erupts into raucous laughter, a crescendo that continues with a seemingly friendly argument. ‘Just banter,’ Vinny says.

  I turn my attention back to PC Green and Squint. The Woody Allen look-a-like is fidgeting, scratching his hands, knee bouncing. He’s nodding at Green but his eyes are on the exits. He finishes his pint, says something to Green and then leaves the table. He walks past us, biting his fingernails.

  ‘Vinny,’ I say, ‘this is our chance. All we have to do is persuade him that our information is good, that the robbery is going to happen today.’

  ‘Got it,’ Vinny says.

  ‘There is one slight problem, though,’ I say, half to myself. ‘Last time I saw PC Green I was disappearing from his prison cell.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s going to be difficult to explain.’

  I blink, frowning. ‘No, actually... wait a minute,’ I murmur, ‘that hasn’t happened yet, not for him, anyway.’

  Vinny sips his pint. ‘So, he won’t know you yet.’

  ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I get arrested in June 1963, nearly a year from now.’

  ‘Ow… it hurts.’ Vinny sighs.

  Carefully I give the pub another check, wanting to be certain that Frankie Shaw isn’t here before we approach Green. There’s no sign of him but we do seem to have attracted a little more attention.

  We walk over to the table. PC Green looks up, raises his eyebrows and smiles. ‘Hello gents,’ he says in that well-practised, slightly condescending tone that most policemen are born with. ‘Haven’t seen you before in here, have I?’

  ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘We’re not from around here but we’ve got some important information for you.’

  ‘Information, eh?’ He leans back in his chair and gestures to the chairs around the table. ‘You’d better take a seat.’

  In hushed tones we waste no time explaining the situation. We tell him about the van getting hit at one p.m. and how the robbery involves Frankie Shaw. ‘This is an opportunity to catch him red-handed, armed and dangerous,’ I tell him.

  Vinny chips in with various details. Green listens, nodding. Vinny is clearly enjoying this. I’m not so sure. Tipping off the police is no guarantee of action. And, even if we do persuade him and they stop the van, there’s no guarantee Frankie Shaw will be arrested. No guarantees about anything.

  Green is deep in thought. I glance around the pub nervously, aware of a few unsavoury types who seem to have taken an interest in us. I’m unable to shake the feeling that time is also watching, that it knows we’re here, a thorn in its side.

  Eventually Green says, ‘Armed robbery.’

  ‘Yes,’ Vinny replies. ‘Frankie will be there.’

  ‘And why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘We just want you to stop him,’ I say.

  He leans in towards us and in a hushed tone asks, ‘Are you part of the Dickerson gang?’

  Vinny and I shake our heads.

  ‘I didn’t think you were.’ He pauses, eyes tick-tocking between us. He leans back, folding his arms. ‘And you don’t strike me as grasses, either… In fact, it’s fair to say, you don’t make any sense.’

  ‘Why?’ Vinny asks.

  ‘Because everybody wants something.’

  ‘Isn’t justice enough?’ I ask him.

  ‘If you want to get paid, I will need your names.’

  ‘We don’t want paying,’ I tell him.

  He holds my gaze, rubs the back of his neck and thinks it over. I can practically see the cogs in his brain whirring. He might be young, but he’s smart. His eyes remain narrow, suspicious. ‘I’m sorry for not jumping up and down. I mean, it sounds good. Catching Shaw? Of course I’m interested, but I haven’t seen you two before and that bothers me.’

  I nod. ‘Look, I know we just appeared out of nowhere.’ Vinny and I share a glance. ‘But it’s going to happen today, in a few hours. We’re telling the truth.’

  He looks me in the eye. ‘Why should I trust you?’

  ‘There’s not much more I can say, but if you do nothing, I promise you will regret it.’ I let that sink in and then add, ‘Besides, what have you got to lose?’

  ‘My reputation.’

  Yeah. There is that, I suppose. I decide to wait, give him space.

  Eventually, Green says, ‘Alright.’

  ‘Yes.’ Vinny pumps his fist.

  Green looks at him. ‘But you need to tell me how you know this.’

  ‘We overheard it,’ Vinny says before I can speak.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The Cock and Bull, yesterday, heard a couple of geezers bragging about it, one of them mentioned Frankie Shaw directly.’

  I stare at Green, trying not to smile. When Vinny’s bad, he’s bad but when he’s good, he’s awesome.

  Green shifts in his seat and leans in. ‘If I bring CID in on this and it doesn’t happen –’

  ‘It will happen,’ I assure him.

  It’s written in the stars.

  PC Green sinks the dregs of his pint. ‘I’m going to go with my gut feeling on this one.’

  Vinny pats his tummy. ‘I always listen to mine.’

  I check my pocket watch. Just gone eleven a.m. Two hours till the robbery. ‘So, what will you do?’ I ask Green. He looks at me like I’m an idiot.

  ‘I’m not going to share official police procedure with you,’ he says. ‘But thanks for the tip-off.’ He stands up and adjusts his jacket. ‘Nature calls,’ he says. ‘Don’t go anywhere. I want you two close when this robbery of yours goes down.’

  Green walks away.

  Vinny elbows me, smiling. ‘Job done,’ he says. ‘We are about to watch Frankie Shaw get nicked!’

  I smile but as I glance around the pub, surrounded by the underbelly of sixties London society, I can’t help but focus on what PC Green just said. He’s going with his gut feeling. I wish I could tell mine to shut the hell up because right now it’s screaming. It’s telling me that this is all too easy, all too pedestrian. Something isn’t right.

  Look. I’m no seasoned time traveller. In fact, apart from saving Amy I’ve been consistently crap at it. But if there is one thing I know about, it’s life.

  Karma. Balance. In my experience, if things start to feel good, if things start to feel as though you’re in control…

  It means you’re about to get screwed.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

>   Vinny and I are in the back of a surveillance van. It’s cramped, sweaty and hot. PC Green is next to us along with another copper who is also young, but at least looks like he might hold his own in a fight. Seated by the rear door is Detective Inspector Price, the one who played bad cop on my first trip to the sixties. He looks even more like he belongs in an episode of The Sweeney today. Jaw clenched, arms folded, scowling at me.

  It’s weird to think that my interview with him, the one where I called Relocation Services, hasn’t happened yet. What’s even weirder is trying to figure out how their future will be altered by my trip today. Surely they will recognise me when I stagger from the alleyway covered in Lucy’s blood?

  No. Wait.

  If we succeed today, the alleyway murder will never happen. I wince, the pocket watch paradoxes melting my brain. I glance at Price. He checks his watch, clears his throat, looks at me and says, ‘Ten minutes until the supposed robbery.’

  I really hope I’m wrong and the robbery takes place as it’s supposed to. Perhaps more than ever, the concept of the “observer’s paradox” plays on my mind. It’s odd but for some reason, I feel as though our presence here is already altering the past.

  I check my watch. The change event indicator is on the move, creeping slowly around the circumference of the watch. I exhale, frowning. I have my very own version of Uber, tracking the van on its approach.

  Vinny is clearly excited, slurping tea from a paper cup and munching through biscuits. The coppers love him, obviously. PC Green offers another packet of biscuits around.

  ‘No, thanks,’ Vinny says, ‘I’m on a diet.’ A slight pause for comedic effect, and Vinny laughs. ‘Only kidding!’ He reaches over, grabs two and they’re gone in seconds. ‘The way I see it, the more you weigh, the harder you are to kidnap.’ He nods enthusiastically, smiling.

  The policemen laugh.

  ‘So, why haven’t you got guns?’ Vinny asks.

  DI Price snorts, ‘Because if we start carrying guns then they will start carrying guns, and then where will we be?’

  Er, the present?

  Vinny shrugs. ‘So, how will you stop them?’