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Ignoring that, Manny quickly checked all the small cupboards. He found nothing of interest. In the corner near the back door of the premises was another cupboard – a large one. He opened that and struck gold. On one shelf was a black leather handbag. Inside was a set of keys, perfume, a deodorant, items of personal hygiene and a purse – the very thing he was after.
He glanced behind him. Miss Snooty Tits hadn’t come to find him, so he unzipped the purse. He found fifty quid and three credit cards, all major high street banks. Perfect. He pocketed the money and the cards, zipped up the purse, put it back in the handbag, threw that back on the shelf. Only, it fell on the floor and made a clattering sound because it hit the pedal bin on the way.
Manny jumped. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Lost something?”
Only the contents of my arse, thought Manny, staring in the direction of the voice. “Sorry?”
“I said have you lost something?”
Manny stared at the bag on the floor and then back at Miss Bunting.
“It fell on the floor.”
“I can see that. I’m wondering why.”
Manny tried to think his way out of the situation. The key was in the back door, but it was probably locked to keep out thieves.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that on the floor” – she pointed – “is my handbag. That there, on the wall” – she pointed again – “is the fire extinguisher. Am I wrong, or am I right?”
Manny had to leave. He’d been busted. The only way forward was through the door she was blocking.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked.
She was only a woman. Be no problem decking her and pushing past, thought Manny, rushing forward.
It was the last thought he had before his world crumbled along with his vision, leaving him surrounded by total darkness.
Chapter Thirty-four
Twenty-four hours after skewering Wilson to a pub table, Robbie Carter was back in Carpenter’s Yard. If the police were not going to do anything about the situation, he was.
He’d kept busy by putting together a list of the things he needed to sort out. He wanted his guitar back, not to mention the money he had earned that night.
He also wanted whatever had been taken from his music collection. All his vinyl, CDs and DVDs were missing. It had taken him years to collect some of the Glam Rock material, particularly the Slade stuff. Whoever had stolen his property was either very lucky or they knew precisely what they wanted – in particular, a piece of history tucked away at the back of the shelves in the cupboard.
&
nbsp; Back in 1964, drummer Don Powell and guitarist Dave Hill were part of a Midland-based group called the Vendors. They appeared regularly on the club circuit, and at the time had recorded a privately pressed four-track EP. Noddy Holder wasn’t with them. In today’s money that pressing was worth a fortune. Robbie had a copy of that EP. Not anymore.
More importantly, it was imperative he retrieved the cameras. When he finally caught up with Manny Walters, the little bastard would never take anything that didn’t belong to him ever again.
Robbie had kept an eye on Carpenter’s Yard most of the previous evening and had arrived a little over an hour ago. There had been no sign whatsoever of the little toerag.
The entrance to the yard was set back between two shops, encompassing two flats – one of which belonged to the thief’s so-called girlfriend. Though what Manny had done to deserve her, Robbie didn’t know. There were two garages. A VW Beetle was parked outside of one of them. That might come in handy. A number of potted plants decorated the area.
Robbie’s watch showed two-thirty. The cretin would have to show at some point but there was every possibility that Robbie would need to provide an incentive for that.
He walked into the yard and up to Manny’s front door. He knocked but figured it would be useless, so he tried the handle as well. Still locked, and as he’d thought, there was no answer.
Robbie sat on the wooden bench in front of the flat. Had it been yesterday when the weather was wonderful it would have been more than pleasant. Today was a total pile of shite. It was grey and cold and a fair old wind was battering the place.
Robbie checked his new burner. No missed calls, no text messages. To be fair, only a handful of people had the number. Most of those were contacts. They obviously hadn’t seen the little parasite.
The door across the yard suddenly opened. Mary exited her place, waddling toward him.
What a sight, thought Robbie. She was definitely a few pounds heavier than was good for her. Mary’s shoulder-length brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. She wore a beige dress with a light brown cardigan and a pair of shoes even her mother would have been embarrassed to die in.
