"Higgins, Jack - Violent Enemy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Higgins Jack)

'Hello, Jigger/ Rogan said.

In that single moment, the smile died on Jigger Martin's face and he swung his legs to the floor. 'The bastards,' he said. 'The lousy rotten bastards.'

Rogan stood looking out through the small barred window and Martin produced a packet of cigarettes from beneath his mattress and offered him one. 'What are you going to do now, Irish?'

Rogan blew out a cloud of smoke and laughed harshly. 'What do you think, boyo? What do you think?'

As the gates closed behind them, Dwyer was conscious of a very real relief. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him, and he took out his cigarettes.

He offered one to Vanbrugh who was driving, his face dark and sombre, but the big man shook his head. When they reached the crest of the hill, he braked, turned and looked down at the prison.

Dwyer said softly, 'What do you think he'll do, sir?'

Vanbrugh swung round, all his pent-up frustration and anger boiling out of him. 'For God's sake, use your intelligence. You saw him, didn't you? There's only one thing a man like that can do.'

He moved into gear and drove away rapidly in a cloud of dust.

CHAPTER TWO

DURING most of September it had been warm and clear, but on the last day the weather broke. Clouds hung threateningly over the moor, rain dripped from the gutters and when Rogan went to the window, brown leaves drifted across the courtyard from the trees in the Governor's garden.

Behind him Martin shuffled the cards on a small stool. 'Another hand, Irish?'

'Not worth it,' Rogan said. 'They'll be feeding us soon.' He stood at the window, a slight frown on his face, his eyes following the roof line of the next block to the hospital beyond, and Martin joined him.

'Can it be done, Irish?'

Rogan nodded. 'It can be done all right. It took me just over two hours last time.' He turned and looked down at Martin. 'You'll never make it, Jigger. You'd break your bloody neck halfway.'

Martin grinned. 'What would I be wanting to crash out for? Nine months and I can spit in their eyes once and for all. My old woman's got a nice little boarding house going in Eastbourne. They won't see me back here again.'

'I seem to have heard that one before,' Rogan said. 'Can you still work that trick of yours on the door?'

'Always happy to oblige.'

Martin took an oidinary spoon from his bedside locker and went to the door. He listened for a moment, then dropped to one knee.

The lock was covered by a steel plate perhaps six inches square, and he quickly forced the handle of the spoon between the edge of the plate and the jamb. He worked it around for several minutes and there was a slight click. He pulled and the door opened slightly.

'Now that's one thing that always impresses me,' Rogan said.

'There's thirty years' hard graft there, Irish. The best screwsman in the business.' Martin sighed. 'The trouble is I got so good they could always tell when it was me.'

He pushed the door gently into place and worked the spoon round again. There was another slight click and he stood up.

'There have been times in my life when I could have used you," Rogan said.

'You don't want to start consorting with criminals at your age, Irish.' Martin grinned. 'An old lag's trick. Plenty of cons in this place could do as much. These old