‘Nice, that.’ Devlin leaned on the doorway. ‘Carroll Gibbons from the Savoy. He plays the grand piano, that man.’
George looked him over coldly. ‘And what do you want?’
‘A moment of Jack Carver’s valuable time.’
‘What’s it about? Mr Carver don’t see just anybody.’
Devlin took out a five-pound note and laid it on the table.
‘That’s what it’s about my old son, that and another one hundred and ninety-nine like it.’
George put the newspaper down and picked up the banknote. ‘All right. Wait here.’
He brushed past Devlin and knocked on the other door, then went in. After a while he opened it again and looked out. ‘All right, he’ll see you.’
Jack Carver sat behind a walnut Regency desk that looked genuine. He was a hard, dangerous-looking man, his face fleshy, the signs of decay setting in early. He wore an excellent suit in navy worsted tailored in Savile Row, a discreet tie. To judge by outward appearances he could have been a prosperous businessman, but the jagged scar that ran from the corner of the left eye into the dark hairline and the look in the cold eyes belied that.
George stayed by the door and Devlin glanced around the room which was furnished in surprisingly good taste. ‘This is nice.’
‘All right, so what’s it about?’ Carver said, holding up the fiver.
‘Aren’t they beautiful, those things?’ Devlin said. ‘A work of genuine art, the Bank of England five-pound note.’
Carver said, ‘According to George, you said something about another hundred and ninety-nine. That came to a thousand quid when I went to school.’
‘Ah, you remembered, George?’ Devlin said.
At that moment, a door opened and Eric entered wearing a clean shirt and fastening his tie. He stopped dead, astonishment on his face that was quickly replaced by anger. ‘Here, that’s him, Jack, the little squirt who spilled coffee down me.’
‘Oh, an accident surely,’ Devlin told him.
Eric started towards him and Jack Carver snapped, ‘Leave it out, Eric, this is business.’ Eric stayed by the desk, rage in his eyes and Carver said, ‘Now what would I have to do for a thousand quid? Kill somebody?’
‘Come off it, Mr Carver, we both know you’d do that for fun,’ Devlin said. ‘No, what I need is an item of military equipment. I hear you’re a man who can get anything. At least that’s what the IRA seem to think. I wonder what Special Branch at Scotland Yard might make of that titbit?’
Carver smoothed the fiver between his fingers and looked up, his face blank. ‘You’re beginning to sound right out of order.’
‘Me and my big mouth. I’ll never learn,’ Devlin said. ‘And all I wanted was to buy a radio.’
‘A radio?’ For the first time Carver looked puzzled.
‘Of the transmitting and receiving kind. There’s a rather nice one the Army uses these days. It’s called a twenty-eight set, Mark Four. God knows why. Fits in a wooden box with a carrying handle. Just like a suitcase. Very handy.’ Devlin took a piece of paper from his pocket and put it on the desk. ‘I’ve written the details down.’
Carver looked at it. ‘Sounds a fancy piece of work to me. What would a man want a thing like that for?’
‘Now that, Mr Carver, is between me and my God. Can you handle it?’
‘Jack Carver can handle anything. A thousand, you said?’
‘But I must have it tomorrow.’
Carver nodded. ‘All right, but I’ll take half in advance.’
‘Fair enough.’
Devlin had expected as much, had the money waiting in his pocket. He took it out and dropped it on the table.
‘There you go.’
Carver scooped it up. ‘And it’ll cost you another thousand. Tomorrow night, ten o’clock. Just down the road from here. Black Lion Dock. There’s a warehouse with my name over the door. Be on time.’
‘Sure and you’re a hard man to do business with,’ Devlin said. ‘But then we have to pay for what we want in this life.’
‘You can say that again,’ Carver said. ‘Now get out of here.’
Devlin left the sound of George closing the door behind him. Eric said, ‘He’s mine, Jack, I want him.’