In The Soup

Chapter One Ask and It Will Be Given

Chapter One

Ask and It Will Be GivenAbove the stately doors of the Courtney family Bank in the old market town of Burnham, the following engraved text can be seen, welcoming customers as they enter the premises: 'Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.' Matthew, Chapter 7, verse 7.

The late Lord Courtney, who founded the bank, meant this to refer to normal opening hours, but Foxey Fred and his gang couldn't wait for such formalities. After his abortive attempt to swindle the villagers in the nearby coastal resort of Snuggleton near the Sea with his dodgy development scheme and his subsequent failure to recoup his losses by relieving Ed Newman, a visiting American security expert, of the contents of his safe, Foxy Fred was in urgent need of putting his plan 'B' into operation – namely, relieving his Lordship's customers of their hard earned cash.

He squinted up at the clock and rubbed his hands with satisfaction. This time nothing could go wrong, he told himself, his beady eyes gleaming with anticipation. At last he could get his own back on that damn shop boy William Bridge for scuppering his plans. Thanks to Bernie and his backhanders, he was now safely inside the Bank, making sure everything was going to run exactly as he planned. Luckily, everyone would be either in the pubs, it being Saturday night, or at home watching the box, so they had the place to themselves.

Clive would be arriving with the getaway car at any moment, bringing Jed, his faithful safebreaker and his sidekick, Smudge, ready to bust the safe when he gave the word. Mavis, his scatterbrained wife, would stay safely out of the way in the car where she could do no harm, standing by to act the part of a courting couple with Clive, in case any passer-by became suspicious.

Everything had been worked out to the last detail. All he wanted now was that magic ingredient every self-respecting burglar needs to ensure the success of his business venture, viz, a supply of dynamite to open the safe, or as it is known in the trade – soup.

The air in the bank was already tense with expectancy. But as the seconds ticked by with no sound of the getaway car, his irritation at the delay began to be felt. Catching a muttered hint of what was to come, his fixer Bernie clutched at his arm nervously, already beginning to regret his involvement in the enterprise.

“Dynamite? What do you want that for? Are you mad – d'you want to blow the place up?”

Fred shook his hand off impatiently, wishing he'd never got involved with Bernie in the first place. But now that he was, he had to do the best with what was available, and restrained himself.

“Calm down, Bernie. Everything's going to be all right. You'll get your cut all right – dammit, it's costing me enough getting into this place, as you should know.”

He spoke sourly with bitter feeling. After losing a big slice of his money to the man in question in wasted bribes after their previous attempt to get his dubious housing scheme passed by the council ended in failure, he didn't want a repeat of the anguish it had caused.

“Wait a minute, Fred,” said Bernie, starting at the sound of voices outside, “you promised to pay me in advance. After all the trouble I've taken to get the pass keys you can't go back on your word. It was a gentlemen's agreement.” His voice rose in injured outrage.

But Foxey, who wouldn't know what a gentlemen's agreement was, unless it was photographed, signed and witnessed by one of his shady solicitors, wasn't listening. “Listen, that's them now.”

Reassured that his plan seemed to be back on track again, he spoke feverishly, while his eyes strayed towards the entrance, willing the others to appear.

“Now, there's nothing to worry about. Once we get the dynamite…I mean soup,” he corrected himself hastily, “you'll be able to have the biggest blow-out this one-eyed town has ever seen. When I say 'blow-out',” he laughed nervously, wiping his forehead, “I mean 'spending money' of course - more than you'll ever need”- or deserve, he added to himself, beneath his breath.

“But 'dynamite' – why do we need dynamite,” Bernie repeated, his voice rising an octave, “when we've got the keys?”

“Sshh, that's only to get into the vault, thick head - we've still got the big one to bust.”

“You mean you're going to use dynamite to open that thing?” Bernie's eyes opened in widening horror as he took in the murky outline of the safe in the background.

“Calm down,” Foxey cautioned, then relaxed as a head appeared at the entrance. “It's all perfectly safe, once it's treated – as long as you don't throw it around too much,” he joked, hiding his apprehension.

“Ah, there you are. Where have you been, lads?” His remark was directed at Clive, his smooth talking assistant, who hurried across, anxious to report - for once almost at a loss for words.

“Just coming, there's been a bit of a hold-up. Your missus couldn't find the soup.”

“Couldn't find it?” Foxey swore. “I told her – it's in the flask in the boot, where we put it, dumb head.”

“Nothing to do with me, boss.” Clive backed defensively and gulped. “Ask her yourself – here she is.”

A worried face appeared at the door, and Mavis scurried over towards them, clutching a shopping bag.

“The soup – where is it, and where's Jed?” Foxey hissed.

“Let's see, where did I put it? I know it's in here somewhere,” she said, getting all flustered as she rummaged inside her bag, “where could it be?”

“Watch it, careful how you handle it,” Foxey warned fearfully, as various articles started spilling out of the bag, causing the others to retreat at the rising note of panic in his voice.

“Ah, here it is.” With a note of triumph, Mavis held up a can with a flourish. “Sorry, I couldn't find that silly old special soup you wanted, so I got tomato instead. Now, where did I put the can opener?”

“Tomato…tomato? What are you talking about – where's the flask, the one with the red ribbon I told you about?” howled Foxey, unable to believe his ears.

“Oh, that one,” beamed Mavis. “I knew you'd be wanting a hot drink afterwards, so I got Smudge to put it under the bonnet to warm it up – such a nice lad, do anything for me, he would. Ah,” as she started turning the can opener, “this should do the trick.”

“You got him to warm it up under the bonnet…” breathed Foxey faintly, his face drained of colour. “Is he… still there?”

“Oh yes,” said Mavis brightly. “I got Jed to move some old drunk round the corner, while Smudge looked after the soup. Such a nice lad, he deserves to go up in the world, he really does. That reminds me, that drink should be hotting up nicely by now.”

The rest of her remark was lost in a vivid orange flash outside that lit up the windows of the august establishment, bursting the heavy doors wide open, and causing the soup to spray out in all directions, drenching Foxey and Bernie from head to foot, as the force of the blast lifted them off their feet.

“Oh dear,” Mavis whimpered, dabbing helplessly at the dripping mess, “what did you put in that drink?”