Imposition (DI Gardener 5)

“What do you think?” Manny asked.

Trench coat stared at him. “You in a rush or something?”

“No, I just love hanging round pub car parks putting my life at risk.”

Trench coat went back to his inspection. He put one leg on the back of the car and rested the guitar on one knee, running his hands up and down the strings.

“Feels okay, but I need to test it properly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Need to hear it.”

“Put it through an amp, you mean?”

Trench coat nodded.

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“Oh, good,” said Manny. “For a minute there I thought you were serious.” He glanced around. “Only I don’t see any fence posts with sockets on, do you?”

“No problem. Follow me.”

Manny was doubtful. Straight in and straight out was all he wanted. Now trench coat was walking to a big van. There could be anything in the back of there. Like Manny’s carcass when a dozen blokes had finished with him.

Trench coat opened the back doors. “See, I got everything we need.” He pointed to an amp. “Cordless. Amazing what you can get these days.” The man connected the guitar to the amp, switched it on, struck a chord and nearly blew the windows out of the van.

“Fucking hell,” shouted Manny, ducking. “Look, are you gonna buy this thing or what? I don’t want to be here all night, and I don’t want to advertise to the world what we’re doing.”

“Good enough for me. How much?”

“Four hundred,” said Manny.

“For this battered piece of shit?”

“Battered?”

“Look at the state of it.” Trench coat pointed to all the scratches.

A group of seven men wandered into the pub car park. They were big, probably rugby players. Luckily they paid no attention to Manny and his companion, heading straight for the main door instead.

“Two hundred,” said trench coat.

“Behave yourself,” said Manny. “That’s a quality machine. You can tell by the sound.” Not that Manny knew one end of a guitar from the other but he was going to have to put some pressure on. He had too many other things to do.

“Three hundred or I’m leaving... with the guitar.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Manny was on his way home with his pocket bulging. What a day: five hundred quid richer from the day’s takings.

Within an hour he’d offloaded all the CDs, the hi-fi, and the car, which would no doubt be used later in a smash and grab. It wouldn’t matter to Manny. As always, he’d worn three pairs of gloves.

Manny glanced at an ancient timepiece in his kitchen. It was nine o’clock. Enough time to shovel down the last of the casserole and pay Mary a quick visit. He felt like he ought to apologise for earlier, ushering her away so quickly.

He strolled into the living room, fully satisfied with the food and drink. He thought about another glass or two of brandy but decided against it.

Dropping into a chair, Manny picked up the box at his feet. He unlocked and opened it. The thing was full of cameras. Manny unloaded them one by one and although he knew very little about cameras, he recognised some of the names, Kodak being one. He saw a pocket camera in a leather case. As Manny rifled his way through, he figured there was very little of interest, or anything that would fetch money. He wondered if any of them had film inside.