Just Another Day - Clark Steven - Страница 7
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Into first gear. The wagon lurched forward. ‘Fuck me,’ said Dave. ‘He’ll kill us all driving like that. Mind if I put my seatbelt on?’
‘Very slowly, pull it over with your right hand.’
As he reached for the belt, his mind was racing. Stupid thoughts of another film from the dim and distant past, today is not a good day to die. What day is ever a good day to die thought Dave?
The wagon bounced over a particularly deep pothole in the road and Dave bounced out of his seat slightly. Johnson looked away from Dave and politely asked Joe to be more careful as he drove!
Dave managed to slip his right hand under his uniform tunic and moved one of the switches on the radio concealed under his clothing. He was grateful of the early Season. Still fairly cold on the docks at this time of the year, especially on Nights. He was still wearing his bulky winter short coat whereupon the radio was carried inside the left chest area of the jacket. The new radio system, which had only been up and running for a few months was a huge improvement over the old one. Not only was it much more powerful in the distances it could transmit and receive, it was a lot smaller and lighter, and more important today than any other day, had a number of features that old gear didn’t have.
The switch he had operated was the open microphone facility. He wouldn’t be able to receive any messages of which he was extremely thankful. The last thing he wanted was for his abductor to know about the radio. All he could hope for now was that others might become aware of his predicament.
Chapter 4
Just before 0700 hours and the Port Police control room was its usual noisy banter and mayhem of the night shift about to go off as the early shift came on duty.
Sergeant Chambers had just come on as the early turn supervisor. The Section Sergeants always came on duty a bit earlier than their constables so that they could sort out any briefings or information required prior to the lads and lasses coming on. They would quickly scan the incidents of the previous 24 hours and be in a position to allocate any jobs or enquiries that would need to be carried out during their tour of duty for that day.
The Night duty Sergeant had appraised him with, ‘All quiet Bob, see you tomorrow morning.’
‘Right.’ said Bob, as he walked into the control room for his first cup of tea of the day. All jobs and offices have their little routines and idiosyncrasies and Bob’s first and foremost action was to make that first cup of tea in the morning. He knew he couldn’t function properly until he was sat there with that steaming mug in front of him reading the 24 hour log.
‘Now then Stevie, which of our lovely lads and lasses; those sweet little cherubs of ours has rang in this morning saying they’re going to be late because they’ve had a puncture, got stuck in traffic, alarm clock didn’t go off, or they’ve been up all night with the shits and vomiting then?’
Steve smiled and busied himself as usual. ‘Everyone’s here boss, except Tony Collins. He hasn’t phoned in from Birkenhead yet to book himself on duty. I’ll give the night lads a bell over there in a few minutes if I haven’t heard anything.’
Steve Mullins was the early turn control room officer and was issuing radios and car keys to the Morning duty Bobbies when the telephone rang.
Sergeant Chambers slid into the hot seat and answered the ‘phone in his usual cheery early morning manner as the display indicated the call was from one of the gate houses. As he knew the call was from one of his officers and not a general call from the public, he answered in the usual way.
‘Morning bollocks, what can I do for you at this unearthly hour?’
‘Mornin Boss, PC Edwards here. I’ve just got to Bramley Moore gate. Dave Watkins helmet is in the hut boss, but there’s no sign of him. It’s like the bleedin Marie Celeste here; the fires on and the radio’s playin but he aint here. I’ve checked the bog as well sarge but nothing. I know he hasn’t pissed off home early boss because his car’s still here and his civvie coat is hanging on the peg behind the door.’
As Bob Chambers was listening to Mick Edwards, he was aware of something unusual coming through over the radio system and instinctively, although he hadn’t registered what was being transmitted, he knew it was something untoward as his stomach churned. Today was definitely not going to be just another day.
‘Quiet, everybody. Quiet. Now’.
Instantly, all the officers in the control room who seconds earlier had been receiving their patrol vehicle keys and radio’s; discussing last night’s football results and latest conquests, real or imagined, knew their jovial Sergeant wasn’t messing about. There was instant hush.
‘Mick, I’ll phone you back, there’s something going on here. Steve, turn the radio up.
Steve Mullins increased the volume and listened intently. Nothing.
Two or three minutes went by with just some unidentified noises and static. A car horn in the distance maybe? an engine revving? He couldn’t make it out.
Suddenly, the recognisable voice of Dave ‘the satisfied diner’ Watkins voice came over the air.
Dave had been affectionately known by this nickname for a few years ever since he had been invited to a night out and was unable to go at short notice due to some domestic crisis or other and had said, ‘Sorry, lads I can’t make it, I’ve got a lot on me plate at the moment.’
He was met with the retort, ‘Yer wha? got enough on yer fuckin plate ave yer. Who d’ya think you are then. The fuckin satisfied diner?’
Liverpool humour being what it is, particularly that relating to the docks, ensured that he would be forever known as the satisfied diner.
Sergeant Chambers listened intently and the room was hushed. When the words were spoken, he was surprised at how clear and calm the voice was.
‘How long then?’
‘How long what?’ Nobody recognised the second voice.
‘How long you gonna keep that sawn off shoved into me ribs?’
‘Until I decide whether or not I’m gonna rearrange your insides now, shut the fuck up.’
‘OK, I’m just a bit worried about Joe, our driver. You can see he’s sweatin like a pig. I don’t fancy him smashing into the overhead gantry here at Switch Island that’s all.’
The six or seven officers in the control room either looked at the radio base unit on the desk, or at each other in silence, nobody spoke as they were all dumbfounded by the words emanating from the speaker.
Bob chambers laughed nervously and thumped the desk with his huge fist.
‘Good lad Dave, fuckin good job son.’ he said to no one in particular.
He turned to the other officers in the control room and to the controller, Steve Mullins, he said, ‘He’s trying to let us know as much as possible where he is and what’s happening.
‘Start the Log Steve. Make sure you write down everything you hear, everything. Sounds; noises of any kind, any words spoken by anyone at all. He’s in deep shit by the looks of it boys and we need to give him a fighting chance by being on the ball. John, give him a hand with the phones and you Griff, go and speak to Inspector James and bring him up to speed. Go on lad, quick as you can.’
Sometimes the lads were chided by management for not doing this, or complaining about that but, one thing Bob Chambers knew for an absolute certainty was, when the mucky stuff hit the fan, they all pulled their weight and worked hard together without complaint. He knew that none of his lads would complain today regarding working hard or long hours.
‘Hang on in there Dave; we’re gonna give you as much help as we can mate,’ as he reached across to the array of telephones and monitors close by.
‘I need to speak to your Force Incident Manager, Priority One. Armed robber and hostage’s situation.’
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