Chapter 44 – A Story

The young prisoner cleared his throat. "Now, let me tell this story straight out. I won't hold anything back, as long as you don't go butting in with silly questions. When I was in the Army that's the way we did it, and I'm following the same lead."

Derrick cast a bleary look at his mate. "You are going to tell all?" He shook his head sadly. "Might as well. We're buggered anyway. Come on Mick."

"Ok. I was telling the doctor that I know Derrick here, through my dad. He's uh, off somewhere, just now," started Mick. "Anywhere, after I got out of prison, I needed a job. Derrick looked me up and we started doing odd jobs. Haulage, paintin', bit of landscaping, mostly down Falmouth way. But we managed to get by."

"Yeah," added Derrick. "As long as we didn't spend too much dough at the pubs."

Mick looked daggers at Derrick. "Derrick, let me tell it!"

Derrick held out his mug. "More tea?"

Louisa filled it and dropped in two lumps of sugar. "Milk?"

"No, I take it black," said the man and he was answered by shudders and horrified oaths. Pauline Lamb accentuated her feelings by poking a finger towards her open mouth and making gagging noises.

Louisa lowered the kettle. "Black. You're like my dad. He drinks it black, I mean."

Bert sniffed "To each their own, Louisa. Go on Mick."

Louisa dropped the kettle on the counter with a clunk and crossed her arms angrily. "I should throw the lot out," she muttered.

I touched her arm. "Don't let it bother you."

"Thanks, Martin." She looked up at me. "Been an odd sort of evening."

"Yes. It's been…"

"Interesting?"

"Confounding, I'd say." I sniffed. "Oh, God! Is that damp dog I smell?" I looked down and there lay Buddy curled up on the throw rug, apparently asleep. Poor little sod. Lord only knew what he'd been through the last few days. That thought stopped me from saying any more about Buddy, at least out loud.

Bert harrumphed. "If you two lovebirds would shut it, Mick can get on with his description, right?"

"Sorry," said Louisa and she squeezed my hand to keep me quiet.

Mick scanned the room. "Ok. So one night we was in this pub by Falmouth, the Fishermen's Net, I think it was. Derrick was having a killer night playing darts, taking shot after shot that were just smashing his opponents. I was polishing off a beer when this bloke slid up to me real quiet like, flashy dresser, soft voice. I thought he might be a poof. I mean, nothing wrong with that but not my style," he gave Morwenna an appraising look and she beamed at him.

Mick went on. "Well, this guy, said his name was Gilbert, and he told me there was this other bloke looking for two men. He'd seen our truck; it was a small lorry that Derrick inherited from his dad when he died. Seems there was a job of some sort, he needed doing, if we was interested."

Derrick drank from his mug. "We were."

"So this Gilbert slips me a mobile number. Derrick called it. And this fellow answered. He had a job."

Al blurted out "It involved digging holes."

"Eventually. You see… long time back, there was this bootblack millionaire. He'd gone barmy over King Arthur. Got into all that bit about the Round Table, Lady of the Lake, Excalibur, the Holy Grail. You know! Seems he started roaming around, all up and down the coast…"

Ari brightened up. "That's what I've read about. Rupert Saunders was the millionaire! He had relatives in Portwenn, and he kept trying to connect Tintagel with the village! Wow! I read his journals! Did you read them too? I'm working on a book!"

Mick gave Derrick a startled look. "No. We just… drove up here. You see this bloke, he told us that we needed to get a metal detector. So we did. We gave us some idea to look on the headland and at a few farms and we was supposed to look for buried… well," Mick cleared his throat. "Old stuff."

Bert laughed then got serious. "Old stuff? Like treasure?"

Mick shrugged. "The guy never really said. Just old stuff, maybe."

Derrick leaned back on his chair. "Yeah, old stuff. We didn't really know what we was supposed to be looking for."

"This man," asked Joe, "what did he look like? Who is he?"

"Don't know." Mick said. "We never met him. Only chatted on the mobile."

Joe laughed. "So you two morons just went all about, hither and yon, looking for a needle in a haystack! What a story! You expect us to believe you?"

Derrick looked at Joe with distaste. "Moron? Moron? Listen bright boy, if you are so smart, what in the bloody hell are you doing here? In this place? Why aren't you working for Scotland Yard, genius?" He sneered. "Stuff it!"

"You stuff it!" shouted the riled up constable.

Derrick rose from his chair and turned on Joe. "You stuff it!

Joe backed up towards the counter, grabbed a soup ladle from the sink and whirled on Derrick with it. "Listen you! I am an officer of the law! You are under arrest! Are you threatening me?" He waved the soup ladle about like a sword. "If I had my pepper spray…"

I sprang between them. "Stop! This is my…" I stole a quick look at Louisa. "Our home! Our home! Now stop or get out!"

Joe prodded once more with his deadly ladle. "Derrick, I'm putting my weapon down. Let's just sit down." He lowered the tool and spread his hands wide. "I am backing away from it!"

"Yeah," agreed Derrick and his face sagged. "Seems that bang on the head is acting up. Doc, you got any aspirin?" He slumped back onto his chair.

I stepped to him and looked at his face, which seemed a bit worn, more than before. "Here, let's put you on the sofa." I prodded him ahead of me, down the single step to the lounge, and pulled Alan up off the furniture. "Lie down." I had him take his shoes off and put his feet higher than his head on the end cushion.

"So Mick," asked Al, "what did you find out there? That was a hell of a hole you was digging!"

"Looked to me big enough for an excavation for the new town sewer!" laughed Bert. "But seriously…"

I wasn't really paying attention to the nattering fools around the kitchen table and went back to Derrick's concussion. "Lie still. Relax. Don't get upset. I should take your blood pressure." As I bent over him I nearly tripped over a muddy satchel, more of a Gladstone bag really, so I threw it out of the lounge where it plummeted with a clank to the kitchen floor.

"Hey!" yelled Alan. "I carried that bag down here and you just go flinging it about! You… tosser!"

Morwenna crouched over the dirty bag, where it lay in a lump, at the end of a filthy smear where my throw had spun it across the floor. "What's in there?" She prodded at the clasp, pried it open, and with shaking hands pulled something gleaming and shiny from it. "Oh, my God!" the girl shouted. "Is this gold?"

Note: I am again (and perhaps always) indebted to the readers of my paltry fictions, who continue to keep me on the straight and narrow. To Griffinstar. Yes. I know. Cell phone in the UK equals mobile… Thanks once more!