Page 57 of These Old Lies
Before Frank could come back with a retort, Ned jumped in. “I’ve met him before, of course. But this time he was in bed.”
The startled look on everyone’s faces gave Ned the opening he was looking for, and he launched into an extended story regarding the Prime Minister railing at his generals while in his pyjamas and smoking his famous cigar.
“…and then he shouted, ‘I’m going back to bed! The reports better have improved before I wake…’” A screeching siren cut Ned off, louder than the laughter of the Villierses.
Ned’s heart rate instantly raced, unable to resist the fear of an air raid alarm.
“Fuck,” Charlie muttered as he threw back the last of his gin. Betty was already at the closet grabbing coats, while Frank shoved a few mouthfuls of the nearly cooked stew into his mouth.
Ned pushed himself back from the chair, mentally spinning through his own options. Probably best to head to the local Tube, which meant hours underground cramped with strangers with nothing to eat and sleeping standing up. He turned to Charlie. “Shall we head to Baker Street Station?”
“Betty and the children will go to Baker Street, I’ll stay here,” Charlie answered, wiping his hands.
“You can’t be serious?”
“Not many bombers have made it that far west, but the looters have.”
The public had been horrified by the reports of scoundrels taking advantage of the chaos of nighttime bombing to rob stores and shops. Ned hadn’t; he’d seen worse in Flanders.
At this point, the responsible, respected man that Ned was should have bid Charlie good night and gone to the closest shelter.
Except there was no way Ned would leave Charlie to fend off looters on his own. “I’ll stay with you then.”
There was a glance between husband and wife that Ned didn’t fully understand, and then Betty leaned up to kiss Charlie’s cheek. “We’ll see you soon. Don’t be stupid. That goes for you too, Ned.”
Only after Charlie had firmly bolted and braced the shop door behind his family did a tendril of suspicion begin to sprout in Ned’s mind. “Why are you so sure the looters will come tonight?” The sirens had temporarily paused, but the instinct to shout remained.
Charlie was already rummaging behind the shop counter. “Sons of bitches have been running a protection racket for when the sirens go off,” he answered, pulling out a wooden bat.
“And you said no, I assume?”
Charlie gave him a disgusted look. “I punched two of them.”
“Excellent,” Ned replied sarcastically. “So, we’re not standing watch on the off chance looters stroll by, we’re preparing for a siege.”
“Betty took the cash from the register, and we stored the valuables elsewhere a while ago. But we can’t hide all of the stock.” Ned knew enough about wartime purchasing to appreciate that Charlie’s tools and parts were becoming harder and harder to come by. If the looters carried off stock and tools, it didn’t matter how well the Villierses were insured, they wouldn’t be able to get replacements.
Charlie peered out the window. “I’m right pleased that you offered to stay.” The compliment made Ned happier than it should have.
“You know, I’ve been in exactly two fistfights in my life, and you have been standing beside me for both of them. One begins to wonder if there is a pattern.” Ned removed his restrictive jacket, mapping out variations of different attacks in his mind. “We won’t be able to keep them out of the shop.”
Charlie’s answer was a quirked eyebrow, and Ned expanded on his point. “Too many ways inside, especially if they break the windows. But once they are inside,” Ned gestured around to the crowded space of shelves, counters, and engine parts, “there’s hardly anywhere to move.”
“Tactical retreat, Pinsent?”
“Lure them into the trap, let them think they are alone. With surprise we could give ourselves an advantage.”
Charlie immediately nodded and gestured for them to go into the back room, snapping off the lights. Ned was taken aback by how readily Charlie followed his direction. His trust, after all these years, staggered him.
It was slightly surreal to be going through Betty’s meticulously organised sideboard looking for a knife. When they heard the first sound of breaking glass, Ned had to grip Charlie’s shoulder to prevent him from charging into the shop. “We need them to come in,” he hissed into the other man’s ear.
Ned peeked around the corner, barely able to make out four—no, six—shapes shuffling and bumping into each other in the dark. Criminal masterminds they were not, but what they lacked in mental capacity they made up for in sheer size.
The men were laughing, joking. Good, let them get comfortable. When the conversation relaxed to the point that they were arguing about how to divide up the spoils, Ned locked eyes with Charlie and nodded. In one single movement, they pushed through the door to the shop, slamming on the electric lights as they did so.
The blaze of light combined with the racket from Charlie and Ned had the desired effect. Two of the looters turned and fled without bothering to find out the details of what they might be up against.
That still left four who clearly had no intention of backing down.