I, Crime Writer Read online

  'Never rob the poor, never do violence and never do drugs.'

  So that was it. That was Ruby's philosophy on life. And I have to admit, I'd never known her break the rules. Maybe that's why Lord Cornby hated her so much.

  On the outside, Cornby was a fortyish, handsome entrepreneur running his own advertising agency. A typical flamboyant Brit, it was, however, a cover. For underneath the layers of respectability was the new type of gangster. And for as long as Cornby employed that psycho, Simpson, he was invulnerable. And Ruby Slane was the wild card on his patch. And he didn't like disorder.

  He really began to stick his claws into Ruby one day when she was inspecting a jewellery shop. It was a neat scam - never failed. Keep fingering the rings, she knew, and one could easily disappear. Working the CCTV cameras, they could easily be fooled. It was just a matter of quickly taking out a bit of chewing gum and sticking a ring under the edge of the counter. So even if they saw it was missing - even suspected you'd taken it - there was nothing they could prove. And then, half an hour later, in I'd pop, buy a cheap chain or something, and slip the ring in my pocket.

  'Great, Lorimer,' she said as I handed it to her in the pub. 'Should bring a grand.'

  She sipped at her whisky. But out the corner of her eye, she saw Simpson approaching.

  He was fifty, bald and had eyes the colour of ebony. 'Lord Cornby wants to see you,' he said.

  'Go stuff yourself,' said Ruby.

  He grabbed her arm, squeezed. 'Not a clever move.'

  But Ruby always made clever moves. 'Get off me,' she shouted, attracting the attention of everyone in the pub. 'You can do what you like to me, but I'm telling you. Interfere with my kid again and I'm going to the police, you perv.'

  And if there was one thing to get a crowd baying for blood, it was that. Simpson withdrew quickly, leaving a trail of expletives in his wake.

  Which meant subtlety - as Ruby found out one morning when she was awoken by the mobile. 'Yes,' she said. To which a voice replied, 'look on the table.'

  Doing so, she immediately spied the jewellery - a necklace, half a dozen rings and the bracelet, all gold with encrusted diamonds. And at the same moment there was a knock at the door.

  'Ruby Slane,' came the voice. 'It's the police. Open up.'

  So that was their game - a set up, tipping off the police after planting stolen jewellery in the flat.

  The banging on the door became incessant, and Ruby recognised Inspector Matthews' voice - a cop who seemed to want her off his patch as much as Cornby did.

  'Just a minute,' she shouted, 'can't a girl get dressed?' And at that she took out a jiffy bag from a drawer, quickly scrawled her name and the address of the latest country house she was planning to visit, and placed the jewels in the bag, quickly sealing it.

  I can only imagine the detective's glee as he saw the jiffy bag on the table, more than aware that the proceeds from the heist had to be in there. But Ruby had already worked that out.

  'And it worked?' I asked as she told me about the affair. 'Of course it worked, Lorimer, it always does.'

  And sure enough, she watched him pretend not to see the bag, or at least not realise what was in it. But he did note the address and realised one thing. If she was sending the stuff off, he had the chance to bang up more villains than just Ruby. And although later, when she posted the parcel off, she couldn't see the surveillance, she was sure they were there. And so, too, the following morning as she hid behind a bush watching the house. Indeed, her nose could smell them waiting for the parcel to arrive. And when it did, they'd have Ruby and most likely her entire associates.

  However, Ruby was not to be so easily outdone. Waiting for the appointed time, she moved back from the bush, turned the corner and walked nonchalantly up the road.

  'Anything for me? Ruby Slane?' she said as she flagged down the post van. And with the jiffy bag safely in her hands, she had outfoxed the police once more. Not to mention gaining a tidy profit from Cornby’s silly games.

  I GOT YOUR NUMBER

  If Ruby Slane had one true quality it was her defence of minorities and the persecuted. Maybe it was the gypsy blood in her. After all, she had suffered enough discrimination in the past. So you can imagine her anger the day she went into Abner Sterne's shop and found him visibly shaking.

  'What's wrong, Abner?' she asked.

  Abner was well over seventy and a Jew. And he also happened to be the best fence in the business. 'Ah, Ruby, dear. Old Abner will be fine. Don't worry about me, girl.'

  Ruby forgot about the merchandise she was passing on. She sat on his desk, placed a hand on his cheek. Smiled. 'But I do worry,' she said. 'You're the closest thing I have to a father.'

  'You're a lovely girl, Ruby. But there's nothing you can do.'

  'Why don't you tell me and I'll decide.'

  So Abner told her.

  Later that day, at my flat, she said: 'Abner's having trouble with a group of fascists, Lorimer.'

  I, too, was immediately interested. 'Just what, exactly?'

  'Oh, you know. The usual thing. Shit through the letterbox. Hate mail: 'Get out of here, Jew.' And yesterday they even went to see him. Told him to move, or they'd wreck the shop.'

  I could see an anger growing inside her. 'You really hate this don't you?'

  'So would you, with my history.'

  'Your upbringing, you mean.'

  Ruby sighed. 'Not just mine. Mine was nothing.'

  'You could have fooled me.'

  'Really, Lorimer. You see, some of my family were in Germany in the 1930s. I remember hearing the stories. Jews, Gypsies. Anyone. Off to the concentration camps. I had a great grandmother who was gang raped continually for nearly a month. When she finally showed signs of pregnancy, they cut her open while she was still alive. Then she was killed piece by piece, in agony.'

  'So this really hits home.'

  'Oh yes, it does. And I'm not having it.'

  The next day I helped Ruby. It was easy finding out where the group was operating from. Like most right wing thugs, they were disorganised and based on violence.

  We followed them around for a couple of days. Got the measure of them. Realised there was only one who kept them all together; only one with a mind-set of political and racial hate. As for the rest, they were just along for the ride; a good excuse for a bit of bullying.

  'So what do you think we should do?' I asked Ruby.

  'Well, we could beat him up, warn him off, but he'd most likely enjoy it. We could let the papers know, but they'd love the publicity. And anyway, it would be difficult for Abner to operate with all that attention.'

  'Which leaves our options thin.'

  Ruby smiled then. I should have known she'd already have the answer.

  There were some looks a woman gave which really told you what they were thinking. As she sat in the bar, this skinhead moron beside her, his hand caressing her leg, he no doubt took the look for animal lust. From across the bar, I knew only too well she was forcing down bile. But Ruby had a job to do, and do it she would.

  I hope you'll excuse me if I don't go into the details of what he did - of what she let him do - as they sat there. But eventually they walked off upstairs; to one of THOSE rooms. Although by that time, I was already up there waiting ...

  The next day, we went round to see Abner.

  'Hello people,' he said, 'nice to see you.'

  'And you, Abner,' said Ruby.

  'And what can I do for you, children.'

  Ruby smiled. 'I just thought I'd let you know your troubles are over.'

  'They are?' said Abner.

  'They are.’

  'But you didn't use violence? I couldn't stand it if you used violence.'

  'No Abner,' said Ruby. 'No violence. I just think he will have lost all his cred with a number tattooed on his forehead.'

  Abner never stopped laughing for a week.

  A VAN LOAD OF TROUBLE

  It was always the same when Captain Dick was ashore. Always the blo
ody the same. I'm not normally a jealous type, but there was something about him I just didn't like.

  'Well it sounds like jealousy to me,' said Ruby.

  But could you blame me? There he was, late forties, over six foot and broad, a huge head of black hair and beard, crazed eyes, scar down the cheek and that pathetic white captain's hat. After all, he only had an old sloop, falling to bits and hardly seaworthy. But there he would go, sailing around the world, financing his lifestyle with the most blatant smuggling I've ever known. And of course, he had a Ruby in every port.

  The last time he came, so did Ruby. Quickly. Mightily. Decisively. She just sat on his knee in the bar and writhed, Captain Dick with one hand holding a bottle of rum and the other disappearing up Ruby's skirt. And those eyes, fixed on me, daring me, pleading with me to react. But knowing I'd have no chance. No chance against him. And no chance of a future with Ruby.

  The next morning Ruby looked knackered. ‘What does that creep do to you?’

  ‘You don’t want to know, Lorimer, you don’t want to know.’

  ‘He’s just a bloody caricature. He’s not real. God, I bet he even has a tattoo of an anchor.’

  ‘Yep,' said Ruby, pouting. 'And it gets bigger by the minute.'

  It was too much for me. 'So what does he want this time?' I asked.

  'He has merchandise he wants to get rid of.'

  'What, exactly?'

  ‘Designer clothes. Thousands of pounds worth. And he wants to land it tonight.'

  So once again Ruby was caught in one of his smuggling operations. And of course she always obliged. After all, we DID end up rich every time Captain Dick was ashore.

  By nightfall everything was, of course, ready. It seems twee to talk about deserted coves, the waves washing the sand by a full moon. But the simple fact is such smuggling still goes on. After all, you don't stand a chance getting designer clothes through customs - just a little too big to hide, even in a truck. But it was always a risky business. And to make sure there were no hiccups, we always turned up at least four hours before the transaction.

  Bit by bit we covered the area, checking every hiding place for customs men. They were crafty sods, the Knock. But not, I must say, as crafty as we could be. And it was clear we'd have to prove our craftiness that night.

  'Anything?' asked Ruby as we met just off the beach after our sweep.

  'There sure is,' I said. After all, I'd nearly stumbled upon the hidden car, the guy inside with binoculars, sweeping the area.

  I told Ruby about it but it didn't seem to worry her. Captain Dick would either come or he wouldn't. And that would be decided by his sonar. If there were boats around, they'd be after him. If there weren't, then he knew they'd only be after the network on land. And that, he knew, was their problem, the transaction going ahead with no interference, and the goods followed inland.

  It was about three o'clock in the morning when he came, so it was clear they were only after us. The speedboat came in fast, crashing up to the shore, Captain Dick and two others jumping out. Ruby immediately backed her white van closer to the boat and within less than a minute it was full of merchandise. And with a wicked smile from Captain Dick, the boat sped away and Ruby hit the accelerator, driving the van to the road and away.

  From the bushes I watched the car start up and follow. And also knew it was now my turn.

  It was half an hour later that Ruby suddenly gunned the engine and disappeared round a corner into a wooded lane. Catching the Knock on the hop, we knew we had maybe ten seconds for the switch. And as my white van came on to the road, Ruby's screeched to a halt behind the trees.

  Later, the operation complete, we celebrated. She celebrating a good deal; me celebrating the fact that Captain Dick was gone for maybe another year.

  'So he does it like this?' I asked as I speared her.

  'Something like,' she said. 'Although he doesn't smell quite as bad as you.'

  I knew what she meant. I smelled alright when I parked the empty van. But as the Knock swarmed, and I disappeared down the adjacent manhole, I knew a shower would be needed. After I'd got my own back on Ruby, of course.

  REVENGE IS STICKY

  Woman is weaker than man. I told her that. But Ruby never seemed to realise it.

  'Don't nag,' she'd say. 'Look, Lorimer, I can look after myself.'

  Until the day came when she couldn't.

  It was an old and trusted scam. The girl picks up a guy. Girl takes guy to bed after passing keys and cards through window to boy. And then girl keeps man happy while boy rips him off.

  'I don't know why you don't just give him a mickey,' I used to say.

  'But Lorimer, I do want to enjoy my work,' she'd reply.

  The slag.

  Of course, she never had any moral problem with the heist.

  After all, they were always rich and always perfectly prepared to cheat on little wifey and anyone else who got in their way. But you had to be careful they were not too wise. Which this particular guy happened to be.

  I guessed so when, half way through the burglary, a couple of heavies turned up at the house.

  'Shit,' I said as I dived out the window, just managing to escape in time. And my immediate thought was Ruby.

  Quickly, I phoned her on the mobile. And when I didn't receive an answer I got worried.

  And justifiably so.

  They found her, unconscious, by the roadside. Her clothes were ripped to shreds and she had been beaten up.

  'Oh, Ruby,' I said as I visited her in hospital, 'I warned you. Why can't you ever listen.' And when I found out she'd also been raped I don't think I'd ever been sadder in my entire life.

  She was released nearly a week after. But it was a different Ruby who came home.

  'I'll look after you,' I said. 'I'll look after you.' But it was as if I wasn't there. I'd never known Ruby like this - so vacant, so down, so disconnected.

  On the second day of her return home, Inspector Matthews turned up.

  'What do you want?' I said, annoyed by his presence. 'Get her while she's down; that it?'

  Matthews turned his fat girth towards me. 'No, Lorimer. You've got the wrong idea.'

  He looked at Ruby, just sitting there. 'Ruby,' he said. 'I don't care what you've done in the past. This is a crime, and you don't deserve that. Tell me who it was. Tell me and I'll put him inside for years.'

  Yet I knew she'd never do that. Even rape. We didn't, did we? So I watched Ruby sitting there day after day as the wounds healed - on the outside at least.

  It was the tenth day after her release that I came back from some shopping to find she had gone. And I think the two days she was away were the worst of the whole episode. Deep down I guessed she had some mental scars to fix - not for a minute did I think that Ruby would top herself or anything like that. And I have to admit, I was right.

  She came back. She always did. And as she walked into the flat, it was with a renewed energy, the old Ruby, the beautiful, vibrant Ruby I knew and loved.

  'So you're alright?' I asked.

  'Of course,' she replied.

  'So we carry on?'

  'What else.'

  She paused. Took a deep breath. 'I'm not some little victim, Lorimer. I was for a while. But then I realised the pointlessness of it all.'

  'So you forgot?'

  'Did I hell! I got even.'

  It was with relish that she sat down and told me. It was with delight that she described the way she drugged him. And her eyes lit up as she described the scene when he came round - the wooden hut, him lying naked on the floor, the chain super glued to the offending weapon, and combustible material all around.

  'But you didn't set it on fire?' I asked.

  'I did.'

  'Leaving him chained there? Oh God, Ruby, you mean you burned him alive?'

  Her eyes burned as she looked at me.

  'Oh no, Lorimer, I never do violence,' she said. 'I left him a knife.'

  DON’T CROSS ME

  Ruby hat
ed violence. 'There's no need for it,' she'd say. 'If you've got to do a job, then do it peaceful. Violence is for sickos. Either that, or the last option of bad planning.'

  I can't say that I'd always stuck to this philosophy. But certainly I had since working with Ruby. But Max Phillips?

  Well, he was what Ruby would call a sicko. And she was more than disturbed by the thought of working with him.

  That first meet didn't go well. Max was tall but skinny with dark hair, dark stubble and dark eyes. His entire face was a reflection of his dark mind.

  'That moron is almost as bad as Simpson,' said Ruby, referring to gangster, Cornby's right hand man. 'Thieving would almost be honourable without the likes of them.'

  But Ruby had no option. Funds were low of late, and she needed to stock up on the old paper stuff.

  'I need you to get down the ventilation shaft,' said Phillips. Ruby paid attention. 'It's not wide enough for a man, and kids are unreliable. But you're perfect. And at the other end you have to take off the door to the vault.'

  'And what will you be doing?' asked Ruby.

  'Me and Lorimer will go in the front end of the warehouse, masked. Round up the guards, Tie 'em up. And by then you should have got through to where we want to be.'

  Ruby thought deeply. 'Okay,' she eventually said, 'but one condition.'

  'What's that?'

  'No guns.'

  Max Phillips held up his hands in shock horror. 'Ruby. Me?'

  And so, the job was on. Hopeful profit would be over five hundred grand split three ways. The warehouse was in one of thousands of non-descript industrial estates, and the vault was in the back. While Max Phillips and I bluffed our way in at the front, Ruby climbed the back wall, prized off a hatch and shimmied along the vent. Breaking out into an ante room, the small explosive would soon dispatch the vault locking mechanism. After all, it wasn't the world's greatest security system. However, unbeknown to Ruby, things weren't going quite as easily at the front.

  Getting in was no problem, but Max wasn't to be messed around. He was also a liar. The sawn-off shotgun came straight out. Butting one guard unconscious, he pointed the weapon at the other two. Barked out his orders. Covered them while I tied them up.