Free Give The Devil His Due by H G White Page B

might be trying to phone and I wouldn't want to miss his call.
           Apart from dog food, I didn't have much in. I made myself beans on toast. Had another little chuckle to myself wondering if Mrs S-W was having the same, but with thicker toast. Beans were a no-no for me during the day. They played havoc with my insides and I’d have to sit in the cab doubled-up, not wanting to offend my passengers. Night-time was different though. I was in the house on my own so who cared?
           The evening came and went. In bed by about 11.30, I hadn't heard from Neil. By the same time the following night there was still no communication.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Wednesday 5.30 p.m.

I made my working day short so I could be in the house in case Neil was trying to make contact. I’d been at home most of the day and had heard nothing. I went through my usual evening routine. At 8.47 p.m. I was just about to give Phil a call when the phone rang. It was Neil.
           ‘Will, mum said you needed to speak to me about something urgent.’
           I hadn't said urgent; I'd said important. But that didn't matter, he was on the line. I decided to just blurt it out. That way at least he'd heard it before he could hang up.
           ‘Neil, there's a job and a place for you to stay here for as long as you want.’
           Silence ...
           ‘Look Neil, I know you're probably ringing from a payphone. Give me the number before the money runs out so I can call you back.’
           Neil sheepishly read the number on the payphone to me. I dialled and Neil picked up immediately.
           ‘Peachy told you, didn't he?’
           ‘Yes, he’s worried about you. Just tell me where you are, I'll be there in less than 3 hours, we can be back here by about 2. There's plenty to eat and you can get a decent night’s sleep.’
           Silence … again.
           ‘Neil.’
           ‘I’m outside Mile End tube station.’
           ‘Right. Get your stuff together. I’m on my way. Look out for a red taxi, hackney number 487 on the doors. I’ll be there anytime after 11.’
           I hung up before Neil could answer back, not wanting a debate about it. I let the dog out for a pee. I’d probably be gone 6 hours or so. Dog back in the house, I left. No need to fuel up, I’d already made sure the cab had a full tank.
           With my foot virtually to the floor, anybody seeing me go past must have thought Martin Sedgely was at the wheel. I was very lucky not to be pulled by the fuzz. For most of the journey up the M4, I was motoring at just under a ton, had to slow down a bit on the Severn Bridge but apart from that my speed didn’t drop until I was near the outskirts of London.
           North and south London were strangers to me. But I’d had friends on the Isle of Dogs, an uncle that used to live on the edge of Brick Lane and a grandmother who had lived in Romford, so travelling through London on an east-west axis wasn’t anything new.
           At around 11.30 p.m. I pulled up at Mile End tube station. My heart sank; no sign of Neil. I switched on the hazards, jumped out of the cab and locked it. Entering the station, still no sign. There were no benches to sit on; probably none until you got down to the platforms, but you‘d have to buy a ticket to get anywhere near those. Ticket machines and a few people milling about were all that met the eye. Most of them the worse for wear; Neil wasn’t here. I felt very low and started to enter panic mode. What should I do? Phone Peach? Go down to the platforms? Should I go back to the cab and drive around the East End looking for Neil?
           I walked back out of the station back to the cab and unlocked my door, disconsolate. I thought I heard Neil’s voice. I turned round. Neil was crossing the road towards me, carrying a black refuse sack. He looked awful, his trousers were filthy and the