The Lock

Chapter 3

Perry took a collection of silk flies round to Mary who sold them for him at the bar. It wasn't a roaring trade but a few quid was better than nothing.

"They're so pretty," Priscilla said, admiring one with iridescent blue-green feather wings. "You should make necklaces from them, Perry. They'd sell like hotcakes down the market. You'd have to take the hooks out though."

They wouldn't be flies then, Perry thought. They'd just be ornamental bits of feather and thread. As fishing flies, they had a purpose.

"At least you should sell them as lucky fishing flies," Priscilla continued. "Anglers are superstitious, aren't they? I bet they'd pay more if they thought there was a gypsy's charm on them."

Perry forbore to point out that he wasn't a gypsy. People got the idea that since he lived on a boat, he must have Romany blood. He didn't really know what his blood was, but he doubted it was anything like that. Not if King John, Bessie and the rest of the crew were anything to go by.

It had taken him three rounds to finally shake the two of them off last night, though he wasn't convinced that King John had taken no for an answer. The White Stag had been full of the usual crowd, and they'd been huddled around a little table in a quiet nook, with King John explaining the plans. It was almost like the good old days, except they'd never been good.

Perry had also felt uneasy when he spotted Damon across the room, though Damon didn't see him. There was only one reason someone like Damon would bother going drinking in a dive like the Stag, when he had free beer on tap in his sister's pub. Perry watched Damon meeting up with a tattooed bloke with dreadlocks and talking with him briefly. There was an exchange, and then they both left. It was crudely done, Perry had considered.

He tuned back into King John, still rattling on about his grand scheme. They'd been casing a jeweller of all things, in Witney. Old Owen could break the safe but they needed to get into the place.

There'd be all sorts of alarms, Perry had pointed out. It wasn't like the old days, everything was wired up now. Especially a jeweller's.

King John had dismissed these concerns. They had a new fellow called Colin who managed all that. An electronics whizkid, King John described him as. Colin had said the type of alarm was child's play to disconnect, and that had been enough to convince the others. Baubles were much easier to fence. The electronics trade, the Company's speciality, was declining. Cars all came with CD players these days and everyone wanted a brand new TV. Only a junkie would filch that gear now, the returns just weren't worth it unless you were desperate.

"There's no respect for anything older," King John had said, shaking his head sadly.

"No respect," Old Owen had echoed.

Either way, Perry wasn't interested in helping out. He was content with his situation. He could always do with more money - the boat was going to need a new engine come winter - but he wasn't desperate enough to get embroiled in one of King John's schemes.

"You'll have to find someone else." Perry refused to help. They must have been using someone else all these years.

"Like I said, we tried training up the boy. But he's not got your touch, Beck." The jeweller would be a major job for them and they didn't want to take any risks.

But Perry was resolute. "It's not for me."

Now he was rid of them, sitting peacefully by himself in the Boatswain, he found himself idly wondering how Priscilla might react if he gave her a diamond necklace. Likely she'd guess it was stolen.