And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“Six stripes means six diamonds,” Bryant said in triumph. “If any screw checked my tracksuit, he would have found more stashed in there than he earns in a year.”

Bryant handed the diamond over to Benny, who took it across to the tiny barred window and studied it closely while he tried to think.

“So, what do you think?” asked Bryant.

“Can’t be sure yet, but there’s one way to find out. Let me see your watch.”

“Why?” asked Bryant, holding out his arm.

Benny didn’t reply, but ran the edge of the stone across the glass, leaving a thin scratch on the surface.

“Hey, what’s your game?” said Bryant, pulling his arm away. “I paid good money for that watch.”

“And I won’t be wasting good money on this piece of shit,” said Benny, handing the stone back to Bryant before returning to the bottom bunk and p

retending to read his newspaper.

“Why the fuck not?” asked Bryant.

“Because it’s not a diamond,” said Benny. “If it was, it would have shattered the glass on your watch, not just left a scratch on the surface. You’ve been robbed, my friend,” said Benny, “and by a very clever man who’s palmed you off with paste.”

Bryant stared at his watch. It was some time before he stammered out, “But I saw Abbott fill the bag with diamonds from his safe.”

“I’ve no doubt you saw him fill the bag with something, Kevin, but whatever it was, it wasn’t diamonds.”

Bryant collapsed onto the only chair in the cell. Eventually he managed to ask, “So how much are they worth?”

“Depends how many you’ve got.”

“A sugar bag full. It weighed about two pounds.”

Benny wrote down some numbers on the back of his newspaper before offering his considered opinion. “Two grand perhaps, three at the most. I’m sorry to say, Kev, that Mr. Abbott saw you coming.”

Bryant began picking at the remaining stripes on his tracksuit bottoms with the plastic fork. Each time a new stone fell out, he rubbed it across his watch. The result was always the same: a faint scratch, but the glass remained firmly intact.

“Twelve years for a few fuckin’ grand,” Bryant shouted as he paced up and down the tiny cell like a caged animal. “If I ever get my hands on that bastard Abbott, I’ll tear him apart limb from limb.”

“Not for another twelve years you won’t,” said Benny helpfully.

Bryant began thumping the cell door with his bare fists, but he knew that no one could hear him except Benny.

Benny didn’t say another word until lights out at ten o’clock, by which time Bryant had calmed down a little, and had even stopped banging his head against the wall.

Benny had spent the time working out exactly what he was going to say next. But not before he was convinced that Bryant was at his most vulnerable, which was usually about an hour after lights out. “I think I know how you could get revenge on your friend Mr. Abbott,” whispered Benny, not sure if Bryant was still awake.

Bryant leaped off the top bunk and, towering over Benny, their noses almost touching, shouted, “Tell me. Tell me. I’ll do anything to get even with that bastard!”

“Well, if you don’t want to wait twelve years before you next bump into him, you’ve got it in your power to make him come to you.”

“Stop talking in fuckin’ riddles,” said Bryant. “How can I get Abbott to come to Belmarsh? He’s hardly likely to apply for a visiting order.”

“I was thinking of something more permanent than a visit,” said Benny. It was Bryant’s turn to wait impatiently for his cellmate to continue. “You told me the judge offered to reduce your sentence if you told where you stashed the diamonds.”

“That’s right. But have you forgotten they ain’t diamonds no more?” shouted Bryant, inching even closer toward him.

“Exactly my point,” said Benny, not flinching, “so it shouldn’t take the police long to work out that they’ve been taken for a ride, while Abbott has ended up with ten million of insurance money in exchange for two pounds of paste.”

“You’re fuckin’ right,” said Bryant, clenching his fist.