“‘Bullion delivery, very hush-hush, transfer of a load of gold ingots from some arms deal a bunch of North London villains’d done with Nigeria. Mr P’d got word of it from a baggage handler at Heathrow. Goods were going to come into the country, you see, in crates marked “Tribal Artefacts”, but everyone at the airport had been bunged a bit to keep a blind eye. The baggage handler who snitched reckoned the bung wasn’t big enough and he’d get a better deal from your husband. Which of course he did.... Always the soul of generosity your old man was, Mrs P. ‘Anyway, like as ever, the planning of the job was meticulous. Never left any angle uncovered, Mr P didn’t, sorted through everything, done dry runs, rehearsals, double-checks. Any operation he was involved in was always sweet as a nut and tight as a noose.’ A wistful, nostalgic look came into Truffler’s eyes. ‘He was an artist, your husband, Mrs P, a true artist. ‘Right, so the whole thing’s planned. The lorry with its crate of “Tribal Artefacts”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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