On the Run

"Got plans," she muttered and swung the van into the corner. It creaked as it mounted the soft earth at the side of the road and Oliver gripped the dashboard.

"So what do I do when I get to Buenos Aires?"

Emma gave a grunt as she clearly didn't think Oliver would get to South America by himself. "Ask for General Bastos," she told him. "Everyone knows him and he will buy what you have."

"General Bastos?"

"General Bastos," Emma repeated with a sly smirk.

"And where can I find him?"

"Buenos Aires," Emma told him unhelpfully. "I am going to drop you off at this town," Emma told him and he squinted.

"Where?"

"Whitchurch," Emma replied, pointing to a traffic sign. "It's a small town but there is a station there," she guessed and Oliver grunted. He clearly had no idea what he was to do or where he was to go so being in the middle of nowhere made no difference to him or to Emma. "Look, if you don't want to do anything in Argentina, just wait until we get there and we can get a price together."

Oliver sniffed and Emma patted him on the knee. "How do I get to Argentina?"

"Get yourself a passport or hitch a lift. I don't know," she unhelpfully suggested. "But if you do it, you will have a great life. Maybe, you don't want to go there, but get yourself out of Britain where there's no extradition treaty," she told him. Emma just hoped he wouldn't be caught in the next four hours to give her a chance to get as far away from the Prutton brothers as she could. She wished him luck and watched as he dropped down ungraciously from the vehicle in a side street.

Emma sped away, watching him standing there alone, in her wing mirrors; she knew he would probably be caught and she would put good money on him being caught that day. He looked lost and he looked isolated.

Emma drove her van out of the town and onto a country lane. She stopped in a small layby and pulled two fake number plates from behind the seat, and then jumped down from the van; the road was quiet and she pulled out a screwdriver from her pocket.

The old number plates were rusted onto the vehicle, and she snapped one of the heads off the screws but she had come prepared and before any car came along the road, had swapped the number plates over to a set she had had made in Liverpool.

The number plates she had chosen belonged to a small builders not far from where she lived and knew that there would be no problem travelling on those plates; as long as she didn't look like someone who was criminal, the plate wouldn't flag up as lost, stolen or wanted.

Emma snapped the old plates in half and slid them under the hedge. If she was stopped for some reason she certainly didn't want the dirty number plates of a wanted vehicle to be found in her car. Of course, the Police could check the VIN number but changing the plates was a good first precaution, and she knew the name and address of the real owners anyway.

The Transit van started the moment she turned the key and she pulled out into the country lane, accelerating towards the motorway at Stoke. She was driving carefully as it would have not been good if a police officer had pulled her over for speeding and then arrested her; it would have been her being careless and she chastised people for being careless.

Instead Emma respected the rules of the road and approached the small town of Nantwich observing all the speed limits. Her stomach rumbled; she was hungry and decided to stop off in the town to buy something to eat preferring a small town to the service stations on the M6 motorway which would have been loaded with CCTV cameras.

Emma parked the van at the back of a supermarket car park and pulled her beanie hat over her hair, choosing to run inside and buy herself two sandwiches and a couple of cans of fizzy drink. Emma would soon be en route to the South Coast the moment she left the supermarket and had filled up her transport at the petrol station opposite.

Emma climbed back in her van and pushed herself into the seat, a police car had turned off into the car park and was heading her way. She closed her eyes and slid her keys into the ignition, watching as it drove past her.

Emma swore, and turned the key, waiting for the van to start when there was a loud bang, a whirring sound and metal grating on metal. Emma groaned, jumped down from her seat and opened up the bonnet, to see a grey belt flapping around. She tried to pull it, but the engine was too hot to touch and she recoiled to hear a voice behind her.

"Your cambelt's gone," a young police officer told her, and Emma's heart skipped a beat. "They aren't cheap to replace."

"I know," Emma said a little nervously and she peered around her at the engine.

"Yeah, you ain't going anywhere, love. You got AA?"

Emma bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah, I'll get a tow," she muttered and he nodded at her.

"You'll be OK then?"

Emma sighed, her heart was beating furiously and she nodded. "Yeah I'll be fine," she said. "Vans, eh? Cost a bloody fortune."

He glanced up at the Road tax disc and Emma rubbed her chin; she had put false plates on the vehicle but not changed the tax disc which had her registration number on it. She braced herself for him to shout, but the unobservant officer snorted and climbed back inside his police car, driving off towards the town.

Emma looked up at the sky, grabbed her lunch and loot, and ran off in the opposite direction.

Chapter VII

"Inspector," Jaroslav said with an air of rigidity to his voice. "Your men been everywhere, but they, they not find them yet. My house, it turned upside down but for nothing."

The Inspector nodded gracefully and moved a branch out of face as he walked down the path. "We thank you for your cooperation and patience," he replied automatically. "And that is true we have not arrested them but we know Oliver and Jamie Prutton were involved, they have disappeared, as you would have expected."

"And what about third person? Those statues, they worth many hundreds of t'ousands of pounds," the Ukrainian replied with an annoyed edge to his voice.

"We are looking at known associates. Did you have much to do with Oliver Prutton, sir?"

Jaroslav snorted and then shrugged. "We see him every day."

"He didn't mention Emma Wallis at all?"

The Inspector smiled to himself as Jaroslav tried to put on a thoughtful expression. "I no remember it," he told him. "She take my statues?"

The Inspector cleared his throat. "Oh no," he said quickly. "We don't know that. We just want to speak to her and we can't find her. She is a known associate of Jamie. We are combing through the CCTV taken from the main roads as we speak to trace movements."

Jaroslav scowled; he had spent twenty minutes with the Inspector and the Police had barely made any progress. "Like last time," he snarled. "You not find guilty man but go after wild goose."

Inspector licked his lips. "There is a dedicated team, Mr Doszak. We will get to the bottom of the break-in," he promised and was grateful to an interruption.

"Inspector," a stressed voice called from the end of the garden and Richard Williamson nodded respectfully to Jaroslav and bade the Ukrainian gangster goodbye. "Inspector," a breathless Sergeant cried, running up to his senior.

"What is it?" The Inspector turned to check Jarolsav Doszak was out of hearing range and pulled the young policeman to one side muttering quietly. "What?"

"You don't answer your Blackberry sir," he muttered in an annoyed tone.

"Of course not," the Inspector replied. "I'm at work. That thing stops me doing what I want to do."

The Sergeant groaned. "Those tyre marks," he told in him whispering. "They've come back and they reckon they are 185 in width but also quite deep so they reckon the vehicle was quite heavy. Worn a bit on the inside rim. And they think it's a Goodyear Cargo."

"Goodyear Cargo?"

"From the pattern yes, which means we are probably looking for a van."

The Inspector sighed. "A van on a robbery; don't shock me."

"No, but more than that. Emma Wallis. She has a 1991 Transit in her name. DVLA just confirmed it."

"Oh," the Inspector muttered with a grin. "Do they take 185s or whatever?"

The Sergeant sighed. "They do indeed."

"Put out an all forces alert, I want that van stopped."

"Done that sir. An hour ago. I sent an email to your Blackberry to tell you." The Inspector couldn't help but grin. "And we are coming through traffic cameras. It looks as though they headed for the motorway but I've got the Highways Agency looking further."

"Excellent. At least they weren't heading for the airport," the Inspector joked. "Well our airport. Might have been off to Manchester I s'pose." There was a hum from both of them. "Oh and anything on those cigarette butts?"

"Yeah, just got that back. The DNA on them is from a 'Aidy Hamilton,'" he told him.

"Don't tell me Aidy was involved. He's not into robbery."

A smile flickered across the Sergeant's face. "Ah well, we arrested him the day of the robbery for flashing some girls as he left a pub at nine and he was in court the day after. He was in the cells sleeping off too many beers when our gang did this place."

The Inspector smiled. "The crafty buggers."

"Quite," the Sergeant answered. "Got to admire the thinking though. And you guessed it was a trap."

The Inspector sighed. "Yeah. It was too convenient. But I reckon Emma is the mastermind. I know she's been involved in some other stuff but we've never been able to prove it, but she's professional. This is sneaky clever."

"And to leave matches from the Gold Lounge," the Sergeant added. "If Jaroslav had seen that, they'd be hell to pay."

The Inspector took a deep breath. "I think that was the point," he added. "They weren't for us, they were for Doszak."

* * * * *

Oliver looked around the small town where he had been dropped off and glanced over at the sign. He had the choice between a bus stop and a train station and nervously decided on the train station.

He briefly considered trying to steal a car, but he had no idea how to do it, and any attempt would probably give call for someone to summon the Police to come and arrest him. In short, he needed to get to South America without a passport, but had no idea how to do it. He didn't even have any friends who would be likely to help him.

The shadiest person he knew, and the person he might have turned to for help, was Jaroslav, but in the circumstances decided that it was probably a bit of a risky thing to try and do – asking the man who he robbed for help in getting away with it – and then try to work out who he could trust. He came with one name and one name only, Vicky Hambleton.

Vicky, the only girl he had ever liked was sure to be interested in seeing him and he knew she would help him. She had helped him with his Maths homework once and had flashed the intoxicating smile that had endeared herself to him when she had finished. She was kind and gentle, lusted after by everyone who went to the College and exceptionally good natured.

Vicky would tell him what to do, and what to do for the best, but she was in Aberdeen which was a long way from Whitchurch. This meant train travel or coach travel, and Oliver wanted a disguise. The small town was a little short on disguise shops, a serious omission as far as the desperate criminal was concerned, but he was able to purchase a hooded sweatshirt and a newspaper to hide behind and walked up to the little station to buy a ticket to Chester.

Oliver might not have been a criminal genius but he worked out that a ticket to Aberdeen from Whitchurch might get his remembered if the Police ever came to ask the ticket office about him and so he tried to blend in, buying a return ticket to the next town.

Oliver sweated buckets on the train, every single time someone moved and walked past him, Oliver twitched; he felt exposed and he felt like everyone knew who he was and was about to expose him. He tried to hide behind the broadsheet newspaper to make himself a little less obvious but he was nervous and almost leapt from the train the moment he arrived at Chester. He wanted to put some distance between himself and his fellow passengers.

Oliver was almost surprised when there was no Police officers waiting for him, and he got a ticket to go from Chester to Manchester. The old machine happily spewing out a ticket at him and he ran to go and catch the train.

This time Oliver tried to read the newspaper but there was obviously nothing about him; he knew he would be in the paper the following day but the raid had been discovered after the papers had been printed. He longed for his smart-phone that Emma had confiscated to check the news but he had nothing except the paper.

By the time Oliver reached Manchester he was worried again; the train had been packed and got progressively busier which meant he had someone next to him reading the news on their tablet. Due to his anxiety, he was almost hyperventilating and desperate to use the toilet when the female passenger read about the stolen statues and he gripped his bag tighter. He panicked that she knew that he was the thief and there would be Police officers waiting for him at Manchester.

Oliver could scarcely believe his luck when he reached the large station and it was busy with passengers not police officers and skipped down the platform. He wanted to get to Scotland and rationalised that a passenger making a long journey from the city of Manchester would not be considered out of place.

The machine refused to accept his money when he tried to put it in to purchase his single to Aberdeen, and so he queued up at the desk; he hated the automated machines anyway.

The coloured lady smiled at him when he got to the front of the queue. "Single to Scotland," Oliver said as his hands shook.

The lady smiled back and ran her fingers down her lips. "Which town, love?"

"Oh umm ..." Oliver panicked. If she did remember him, he didn't want her to tell anyone about Aberdeen, so where should he go? He needed to stay overnight anyhow and blurted out the first place he could think of. "Bleddingborough."

She laughed. "Edinburgh?"

Oliver nodded. "Yeah."

"Haymarket or Waverley?"

Oliver nodded. "Yeah. Umm. Yeah Waverley."

"Standard or First Class?"

"Standard," Oliver replied quickly; he didn't think he would blend into First Class

The lady pressed a few keys into her computer and looked at him. "You sure?" She had her finger over another button and he nodded before the price was displayed. Oliver fished in his pocket for some of the stolen money and gave her four £20 notes. She filed them away, gave him change and his tickets. "Have a safe journey," she shouted after him that made Oliver jump again.

He had twenty minutes so got himself a meal from the fast food restaurant and sat and thought on the platform; there was no way he was going to get to Argentina and he wondered if he would manage to get to Aberdeen. Every time he saw someone he was jumpy and worried and watched as a Policeman walked past him trying hard not to look suspicious.

If the Police would offer him freedom in exchange for his bag of loot he would take it like a shot and then he could go back to his old life. He just didn't know how to get that and do that without Jaroslav getting hold of him.

* * * * *

"Hiya mate," Jamie called out and released his grip on his old friend. He had acquired a knife from a local supermarket as he knew it wouldn't take too long for Jaroslav to catch up with him and had surprised Ian walking in his own garden.

"Fuckin' hell," Ian cried as he turned to face Jamie. "I thought ya were gonna fuck me up."

Jamie grinned at his old cellmate. "I was," he muttered and he looked at the bag he was carrying. "Ah, so ya been nickin' again." Jamie nodded and looked at his friend wearing just his underpants. "I saw it on the news."

"I need a false passport," Jamie said in a low voice.

"I bet ya do."

"Look, I know it's been awhile but ..."

"Fuck off, I ain't got those contacts no more. And I don't want the pigs comin' 'ere and fuckin' me up. I got me bird knocked up and I is straight now."

Jamie sighed and looked at him. "I stopped ya from getting an arse-full inside," he told him firmly, gesturing wildly with his hands. "I stopped Bubba tearing you a new arsehole. Ya owe me."

Ian sighed. "I got a nice flat 'ere and a crap job but I ain't doin' the shit I was doin'. I can't get ya a passport. And I don't want ya in me 'ouse."

Jamie took a deep breath and looked at Ian. "Can I stay for a night? It's fuckin' evenin'. Can I kip on the floor."

Ian sighed and groaned. "One night, man. But ya bad news."

"I got me-self a blade. I'll be fuckin' bad news if ya say no." Jamie was exasperated and he had travelled all the way to Telford to meet his cell mate for two years who had been released nine months before he had been only to find he had genuinely gone straight.

It had taken him ten minutes to find his old house and then another half-an-hour to find his new flat, all for nothing. Ian groaned at the insistent criminal and took a deep breath. "Ya got yourself twelve hours mate. I got me bird comin' over tomorra and I ain't havin' ya around."

Jamie nodded and waited for Ian to open his back door to follow him inside. "If ya want a passport then ya need to see Dave in London."

"Dave?"

Ian gave a smile. "The nutter on the cell opposite. Short hair. Hangs around in the East End gangs."

Jamie grunted. "Ya serious?"

"He's got contacts, ya know what I'm saying? And well ya ain't gettin' one 'ere," he was told forcefully and Ian flicked the television back on.

Jamie looked at him and glanced up at the noticeboard. "Fancy a pizza?" Ian gave a half-hearted laugh and nodded. "I got cash." Jamie reached up and pulled down a menu and opened it up.

"Yeah. OK. And grab a few tins from them as well," Ian asked and Jamie picked up the phone to order two pizzas and eight cans of lager.

* * * * *

"We are sorry for any inconvenience," the tannoy announced and Emma swore loudly at the screen on the crowded concourse. A few people turned to face her and she shrugged, shaking her head. Why did British Rail need to fail the day when she needed to get out of the town; it wouldn't be long before they looked at the abandoned van and worked out that the plates were fake. She glanced outside the station and saw a bus pull up. It wasn't her preferred choice of transport but turned to speak to the harassed station master. "Is there a bus station in this town?"

He nodded, and pointed towards a map on the wall. "Yes, but it's at the other end of the town. Just follow the ring road 'round. And buses stop outside." She smiled and thanked him.

Emma gripped her bag and walked out of the station into the town that had turned distinctly overcast and started following the ring road around the supermarket and towards the bus station on the north side of the town centre. She had only been on her own for an hour and was already having problems getting out of Cheshire; she expected Oliver and Jamie to be picked up within days but she wanted to get down to the South Coast before they were arrested. As it was, she was still within fifteen miles of them and the moment they were found, the Police would look in neighbouring towns. She needed to get out quickly and walked past the supermarket car park where he van lay abandoned.

Her blood turned cold as she looked over the car park, the Police officer was standing next to it and talking on his radio; surely they hadn't worked out that it was her van and not her neighbour's vehicle already? Why was the Police officer so interested in her? Was he trying to be helpful? If so, he was being decidedly unhelpful by poking his nose into her affairs.