Dawn Of The Mummy

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“Keep your fuckin’ eyes on the road!” Scrapper demanded, reaching over and slapping Jeremy across the back of the head.

“Ow, that fuckin’ ’urt,” moaned Jeremy, gripping the wheel tighter to prevent the van swerving into a different lane.

“Ha, that was funny,” Sara chimed in. “Smack him again.”

Scrapper smiled at his girlfriend and raised his hand as if to comply with her wish.

“Leave it out, Scrapper – we want to arrive there in one piece.” Phil turned around in the passenger seat and looked back at his mate. He knew that Scrapper would do anything to impress Sara, even though he always claimed that he was in full control and did only what he wanted when he wanted to do it.

Phil knew better than to antagonise his old school friend but, by the same token, he was not prepared to sit back while Scrapper used Phil’s cousin Jeremy’s head as a punch bag. Especially when he was the one driving.

On top of which, he had promised his aunt that he would look out for his cousin, even though Jeremy was a bit of a wimp and completely wet behind the ears. They had never exactly been close as children, and in fact, the more he saw of his cousin, the less he liked him.

But this was different.

This was a job, and they needed a driver with a clean license at short notice, and Jeremy was the only one who fit the bill.

Scrapper glared back at Phil, evidently deciding whether or not he was going to take exception at his instruction to leave Jeremy alone.

Phil could tell by the way his mate’s eyes narrowed, that he was giving the matter due consideration. It would not be the first time Scrapper had lashed out at one of his own. But Phil had known him long enough to accept that it was usually the drugs talking, so he did not take it personally.

When the pair had been banged up in Feltham Young Offenders Institution, Scrapper had looked after Phil, and saved him from a beating-up on more than one occasion.

The fact that it was Scrapper who had led to them being locked up in the first place made no difference to him. Phil knew he was already a long way down the wrong road so, as far as he was concerned, he would have ended up behind bars sooner or later.

Since then, they had both been extremely lucky not to end up in prison. Phil was all too aware of that fact, although Scrapper believed it was down to his ingenuity that they had never been caught thus far.

Billy “Scrapper” Watson was a small-time crook, and purveyor of an assortment of narcotics. He had made several connections in the underworld over the years and believed himself to be a hard-man and gangster who commanded respect and loyalty from others in the same fraternity.

In reality, Scrapper was anything but.

The “contacts” he had made were strictly low-level crooks, not the type that he aspired to be, but the simple fact was that Billy would not have known a serious criminal if he tripped over one.

He had let it be known over the years that he had earned the name Scrapper because of all the fights he had been in, whereas, in reality, it was given to him in school because he was made to work weekends in his uncle’s scrap-metal yard.

Usually, Scrapper relied on Phil as his bagman, and the two of them made their money carrying out odd jobs around London for whichever villain required their assistance.

Scrapper made it a habit not to ask too many questions, preferring to build up his reputation by never turning down an offer. Although this philosophy did not always sit well with Phil, he usually went along out of loyalty rather than commitment.

Their latest job was a little unusual in that it involved making an out-of-town collection, hence the need for a driver. Scrapper had never learnt how to drive, and Phil, who usually did the honours, was midway through a six-month ban for speeding.

Sara was not an option. Although she had finally passed her test after the seventh attempt, she could not handle anything bigger than the pink Mini her father had bought her and, even then, she had already crashed that three times in as many months.

So Phil had enlisted his cousin Jeremy for the night.

Up ahead, Phil saw the sign for Lewes. As they approached the turning, he could tell that Jeremy had not noticed it, by the fact he was not indicating, so rather than spark another outburst from Scrapper, Phil pointed it out to his cousin.

“Next left,” he said.

“Oh, right,” replied Jeremy, switching on the windscreen wipers. “Oh crap, why is everything in this van the wrong way round?”

Jeremy corrected his mistake before Scrapper noticed.

As they took the turning, the sign stated the town was only two miles away.

Phil turned in his seat. “Do we head straight into town?” he asked Scrapper, who was too busy making out with Sara to acknowledge the question. “Scrapper!” Phil shouted.

“What?” replied his mate, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

“I asked you how far down the road do we go?”

Scrapper looked at the instructions on his phone.

“Er, about half a mile, then there’s a turning for some place called Narrow Loft. We take that, then we drive past a petrol station, and it’s the next turning on the right. Got that, dummy?” He was addressing Jeremy, who was too concerned with the lack of street lights since they had left the motorway even to notice.

Once more, Phil stepped in. “Jeremy, look out for a turning for Narrow Loft. I’ll direct you from there.”

Jeremy nodded, still concentrating on the darkened road ahead.

When they finally reached the petrol station, Jeremy began indicating for the next right.

The road took them along a gravel drive that led to a remote farmhouse a couple of hundred yards away. The farmhouse was in darkness, which Phil presumed meant that the owners were out or else they had already gone to bed, which, given the hour, was not unlikely.

“This is it,” announced Scrapper, hitting the redial on his phone. “Pull over and turn off the engine.”

Jeremy complied and they waited for Scrapper to receive his orders.

After a couple of minutes, another vehicle approached them from the opposite direction.

The car stopped directly in front of them, and a tall, dark figure emerged from the passenger seat. He looked around suspiciously, as if expecting police officers suddenly to burst out from the fields that surrounded them.

Once he was satisfied, the tall man walked around to the boot of the car and removed a black holdall, which he carried over towards the van.

“Move, dickhead!” yelled Scrapper, shoving Jeremy from behind towards his cousin.

Phil, realising what his mate was trying to do, opened his door and slid outside. Pulling his seat forward he called back to Scrapper.

“Get out my side, it’ll be easier,” he insisted.

Scrapper left Jeremy alone and crawled over Sara to exit on the passenger side of the van.

Once outside, Scrapper walked over to meet the tall man, swinging his shoulders from side to side as he went in an effort to look more imposing.

As the others watched, Scrapper held out his hand to shake the stranger’s, but the tall man did not bother to reciprocate. The two men exchanged a couple of words, then the stranger held out the holdall, and Scrapper took it from him.

The tall man immediately turned his back on Scrapper and walked back to the car.

Scrapper stood and watched as the car reversed back up the road until the driver found a convenient spot to make a U-turn.

For a moment, Scrapper watched as the rear brake lights of the vehicle disappeared into the distance, then he turned back and climbed back into the van.

Phil jumped back inside and slammed his door.

“Right then,” said Scrapper, holding on to his prize, “we’re going to Vauxhall. Make it snappy!”