The Legacy ~ Part 2 of 3

The Legacy ~ Part 2 of 3

Part 1:

By Len Morgan

  I had hoped Elaine would soften and join me, after a few weeks, even for a few days.   But she adamantly refused to set foot inside the place, and so my lonely monastic existence continued without remission.  

I plotted, planned, and schemed, increasing my stash; it’s harder than you'd think even when your activities are not illegal.   I was neither producing forgeries nor passing off reproductions as being originals.   The duplicates are as authentic as the originals.   When I realised this I began buying and selling things at auction.   Then somewhere around my fortieth day, I heard that a number of rare Victorian cash boxes had been discovered at a local tip, and had been sold on through the local antiques market.   I reasoned it would only be a matter of time before they were traced back to me, so I destroyed and disposed of the two remaining boxes.   I placed their contents in identical plastic bags.   Unfortunately, they were not identical enough; I wound up with four stacks of money, £120,000.  Ok?  I admit it, I started to panic; it was all getting out of hand.  So I purchased an incinerator and burned two stacks, you wouldn't believe how long it takes to burn sixty thousand quid!   Duplicates are bad enough, quadruplicates plus those I had already put into circulation, cash had become far too rich for me.   So, I went back to antiques, a game I’m familiar with.

Several weeks later, a delivery van arrived at the front gates with the rest of my personal belongings.   Not only was Elaine's job too important for her to miss, she'd invited Jerry, a friend from her health club to move in with her.   It was then self-evident that I had neglected her.   So, on Saturday I drove home to surprise her.   Elaine had neglected to tell me that Jerry was a 6ft 6" muscle-bound ape suffering from acute testosterone poisoning.   She was apologetic; she explained that she had needs…

Another week passed and I reached my lowest ebb, I visited the Slater's Arms, where I’d become a regular, for my usual two to three pints in convivial company.

Laura and her friends were out on a hen night.   She was a student at the local polytechnic; her course was applied aromatherapy, physiology and massage.   We started chatting, one thing led to another, so I invited her back for coffee and some hands-on experience…   She came around six or seven times in the next two weeks, that was when I noticed the stash of cash I kept in the top drawer of my dresser was dwindling.   I asked her outright if she’d been helping herself, she didn't deny it.

“But, if you need money, all you have to do is ask,” I said.

"What do you think I am a prostitute?” she yelled, slamming the door behind her as she left.

It was two more lonely weeks before I met Dawn.   She was the proprietor of a select local antique shop.   I purchased a few incomplete and damaged sets of china from her.   I placed the good pieces in the box and smashed the damaged pieces, hey presto I had complete and matching sets.   This effectively doubled their value overnight.   I explained I had contacts in the trade who were happy to acquire pieces for me or purchase the incomplete sets from me.   Within the week she was supplying me with some quite rare singles, and one-offs.   By then, we both knew we had something special going between us but, with women, you’re never really sure if 'the something' is the same for her as it is for you.   She wanted me to go home with her, so I had to explain the stipulations of Perry's will.   She then offered to come home with me instead.   She got up for a drink in the night and found all my priceless china.

"Why do you keep it in there," she asked, curiosity piqued.

"Who would think to look for valuables there?" I asked.   A week later somebody broke-in during the day.   When I returned home the cupboard was bare.   It was then I noticed the shelves were later additions, so if I removed them I could get larger pieces inside.   Such as Tables chairs and motorbikes.   Dear grandpa had some very interesting furniture and it wasn't cheap.   As a precaution I had all the locks changed and installed a sophisticated alarm system, at the suggestion of the local crime prevention officer.   I found several of my stolen pieces at Dawn’s shop, when I confronted her she asked me to leave.   That was when I decided I could make it on my own.   

Ten days to go, and I was coasting, then Laura arrived at my front door in the early hours.   I told her to go away and leave me alone.

"I need your help Clive, It's a matter of life and death!" She sounded distressed so I opened the door.   Laura stumbled in, stoned out of her skull, closely followed by a heavy set 'man-cum-mountain', reminiscent of Jerry.

"Hi babe," she said in a false theatrical voice.   I just looked at her.

"I owe this guy, and I need a loan?"

"Whose he?"

"The names Percival Fitzroy Hammond, Fitz to my friends, you can call me Mr Hammond."

"How much," I asked.   I had already decided to pay him off.

She gave a silly laugh and hesitated, immediately I knew it would be a lot.

"Five K?" she said quickly in a whisper.

"Five thousand?" I said incredulously.   "I don't keep that sort of money in the house, not since you were here last," I said.

"What about your fridge?" she asked.   Her face puckered and tears slid down her cheeks, filling her slightly parted lips.   "He's going to kill me Clive," she whispered, looking so vulnerable.   "You’re my last hope.   Please?” she begged, trembling like a fawn.

"I was burgled, it's empty," I said.

"I ain't got time fer dis shit!   Are you gwina cough up?   Where’s dis box yoo talknabout?"  He yelled producing a telescopic police baton.

"Sit Down!   Chill,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.   I emptied my pockets how much do you have," I asked.

"Whas dis," he began.

"You’re in my home, am I likely to run off with the contents of your wallet?   Where would I go," I asked.  

He removed a fat wallet from his inside breast pocket and laid two-fifty on the table,

"Is this a scam?"He eyed me suspiciously, taking a packet of white powder from his jacket and placing it beside the money, on my 'fifties' glass coffee table.

"What's that," I asked.

"Snow," he said.

"What’s it worth?" I asked.

"Wholesale, a thousand."

I picked it up together with the cash, "Coffee or tea?" I asked moving into the kitchen.

"Whiskey!" he answered, "I never allow non-alcoholic beverages to pass my lips."

I returned ten minutes later with five packets of powder, £1,750 in cash, a bottle of Glenfidich, and three glasses.

"This is the best I can do on the fly," I said.

He eyed the powder suspiciously and tested it, "How'd ya do dat," he asked.

I tapped my nose conspiratorially.

"I aksed yo a question!" he snarled.

"I aksed you first," I said, glaring right back at him, with a mean attitude to match.

"It’ll do," he said deliberately, "But, we ain't finish, by a long stretch."   He stood up and they left.

"Thank you sweetheart, I'm forever in your debt," she said kissing me clumsily.

"Just don't come back," I replied, "I don't need this aggravation."   Even as I uttered the words, I knew the flood gates were about to open, just a matter of time I thought.

"He loves me really," I heard Laura tell Fitz, as I reached for the phone.

.-…-.

   Next morning Hammond's face stared back at me from the front page of my newspaper, large as life.    He was dubbed ‘Public Enemy No. 1'.   He had been apprehended the night before carrying two pounds of pure Heroin with a street value of half a million pounds. 

To be continued/...

Part 3:

Copyright  Lern Morgan