The Hitman’s Hole of Cash

A little old man is burying cash in his garden…but why?

Gab is digging away while his wife sits inside, oblivious to his plan.

The Hitman’s Hole of Cash

 It was dark and he was tired.  Midwinter somewhere in Somerset, ice hard ground and a spade with a broken handle, Gab was trying to bury cash quietly so that her indoors couldn’t hear.

 

“Whaddya goin’ out there for?”  She’d whined as he’d pulled on an old overcoat with ripped seams sparingly patterned with a variety of stains including beer and grass.

 

“Dog crap.”  It’s all he needed to say.  She didn’t want to do it, old Missus ‘strong smells make me gag.’  A handy excuse to shut her up, he heard her turn up the telly and sighed with relief.  He didn’t need her looking over his shoulder tonight, nosy old bag.

 

Gripping the spade midway down the handle, Gab took a deep breath and attacked the surface layer of ice, gritting his teeth at the clanging of metal against stone.  He’d chosen this spot because it was not near the tree, the huge Elm reached out towards him in the dull light of the moon.  He imagined the branches becoming arms around his neck and shivered.  Drafty splits in the coat were letting in freezing air around his kidneys.  Wadded notes furled in strong elastic bands, hung heavy in the bag at his waist.  The earth moved reluctantly beneath the ancient spade.

 

“Buy a new spade for goodness sakes.”  Missus ‘I don’t want to move out of this chair’ said.  But she didn’t think to buy a new one for him.  Overweight and undernourished she was, he thought, with bitter humour. She’d got no fear of him knocking her off, not with this rusty old spade to dig her grave.  As he carried on digging he did mental calculations as to how long it would take to dig a hole big enough for her.  Love’s young dream, she’d weighed barely eight stone when he met her, gleaming black hair and wide green eyes, all she had now was a wide backside and missing teeth.  The voice once sweet and melodic to his ears now grated with gossip and nasty jibes.  This money would stay safe from her.  She never did anything but sit in the garden when the sun was strong enough to redden her face and tan her chubby legs. 

 

Gab stopped for a rest.  At nearly seventy his breath wasn’t abundant anymore, he imagined his lungs had shrunk to the size of tennis balls.  That’s how they felt on this night of bitter cold.  A lifetime of physical labour had left him with strong arms though; his forearms reminded his missus of lamb legs, tawny brown fresh from the oven.  Trust her to liken him to food, that’s all she ever got excited about these days – fortunately.

 

Squinting at the moon, Gab imagined how things could have been if he’d jumped ship in Freemantle and disappeared into the open plains of Australia.  He could have been anything there, no doubt the Navy would have tracked him down and slung him in the slammer had he tried any such foolery.   No, his fate had been sealed.  The Navy, then the second half of his lifetime spent on the land dreaming of the sea.  Gab had worked as an odd job man, hardworking and with limitless energy he soon made a name for himself; he’d taken on a mate to help, another ex Navy lad and the business grew into plumbing, painting, building work, at one point they even took on a gardener.

 

Not having a spare moment to spend the cash and with no expenses other than food and board, Gab soon had a tidy sum tucked away in the bank.  Then he met Millicent Rummell, his future wife who had a playful giggle and tiny waist.  Barely five feet high her head barely reached above his elbow.  It was like having a life size doll.  Millicent had her own cash so he didn’t have to spend much on her; fiercely independent she paid her own way.  At first Gab thought this would be a bar to romance.  Didn’t men pay the restaurant bills and for drinks in the bar so that they could sneak a kiss and cuddle on the way home after all?

 

It wasn’t a problem.  Millicent had a voracious appetite for sex and let him know it on their first date.  It was unheard of in those days for a woman to be so forward but her comments and shameless flirting had him blushing, interested and committed in nought to three months.  They married quickly; partly because Gab felt worried she might fall pregnant before they could tie the knot but mainly because he wanted God to forgive his lust and marriage made it instantly legitimate. 

 

Millicent fell pregnant a month after the wedding and Gab breathed a sigh of relief at his own due care and attention in the matter.  Millicent didn’t like being pregnant, lost her libido and whined all the time.  Gab fell out of love quickly and threw himself further into work to ignore her, no cosy couple counselling for them.  They named the first child after his father Victor; the second after her father George, the third Tony (after Antony Hopkins, her favourite actor), and the fourth Jensen because Millicent liked the name (a former boyfriend.)

 

Gab knew that they weren’t all his except for the first, Victor had his father’s eyes and quick humour, muscular arms and a desire to work hard.  He didn’t like school but preferred to earn cash gathering apples and pulling weeds for old folk in the area where they lived, he grew honest and strong.  George had red hair, a lisp and a propensity to extreme laziness, Tony grew wiry, athletic and moody in the extreme, and Jensen unsecretly dressed in girl’s clothing from a young age.

 

Millicent favoured the latter three sons and saved her sharp tongue for Victor as her resentment and loathing of Gab increased with his apparent lack of affection for her.

 

They should have split but they didn’t.

 

The hole didn’t have to be wide but it had to be deep, very deep.  Despite the cold night air, Gab felt beads of sweat on his brow.  Shadows kept obliterating the moon, so for minutes at a time Gab would shovel blindly then his busy figure would be highlighted in silvery shafts of light, streaks of his ashen hair glittered and his eyes fired with determination.

 

If Millicent could see his endeavour, his wish to hide the fruits of his labours from her, how hurt, furious, curious would she be? 

 

Gab finally threw the spade to the ground, ran the back of a hand across his forehead, unhooked the moneybag from his belt and slung it into the hole.  A night owl hooted, Gab’s heart flickered, breathily he leant forward to reach for the spade but a crushing pain enveloped his chest, his breath rasped as his eyes rolled and he fell across the spade catching his left ear, blood spilled into the earth as Gab lay gasping for breath.

 

“I fell asleep.”  A weary Millicent told the ambulance men.  “I lost all track of time.  The last thing I remember was him saying he had to clear up after the dog.”  Her fingers absently stroked their Yorkie’s head.  “It was past midnight when Joey here woke me, and led me off to find Gab.  Good dog,” she muttered absently at the whimpering pint size pooch.

 

Gab didn’t make it to hospital; he died on the rug in his living room.  The first thought Millicent had, and she fleetingly felt guilty for it, was ‘hopefully he won’t leak.’  Later it came to her she’d read about bodies leaking somewhere.  Perhaps it was shock, she’d read a lot about that too in newspapers.  Millicent didn’t know who to phone first, she should have phoned Victor but felt worried he’d be too upset, being the closest to his father (and in truth his only natural son), she thought of phoning George but wasn’t sure if he would bother to phone back if she left a message on his answer phone.  Tony would likely blame her because everything was always someone else’s fault and what on earth would Jensen be wearing?  Thoughts flooded her mind then flitted around unable to rest and give her a solution.

 

“Have you got anyone you want to contact dear?”  The taller of the two ambulance men leant down and touched her shoulder.  “I’m sorry, it was, er well quick anyhow.  You’ll need to call an undertaker.  Erm, do you have one you’ve used before?”

 

Millicent sat gazing at Gab’s body spread before her, his eyes were only half closed which made her think he might be fooling around, that would be typical of him, always bating her.

 

Seven days and five hours later, three figures clad in suits of varying expense, helped pallbearers lift their father’s economy coffin into the local church.  Gab had left simple instructions that his funeral involve a short sermon, three hymns including ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, and two other obscure ones because it amused him to think of people trying to follow the tune and failing.  That was his sense of humour.  Only Victor got it, he wasn’t the type to chuckle but it did raise a wry smile upon his weary features as he watched the tiny congregation’s confusion.

 

Jensen arrived late.  The family heard the clatter of stiletto heels and winced at the realisation he’d actually worn them to church.  No one dared look round.

 

The Wake was held at home, aside from the sons, two of their wives and two grandchildren, three neighbours and Howard, one of Gab’s oldest Navy friends no one else attended.  In truth, Gab and Millicent had made few joint friends over the years on account of their unloving, unsociable relationship.

 

A month passed, then one early spring day full of low lying mist and chirping hopeful blackbirds a stranger came calling at Millicent’s front door.  A small oriental man with a bent back and bow legs tapped at the letterbox with some gusto.  Getting no reply he hammered his fist on the peeling paint with strength no viewer would have thought him capable of.

 

Millicent had been moaning on the phone to a friend about how she had to do ‘bloody everything’ now.  She ignored the knocking at first thinking it was probably kids but with the more determined hammering she excused herself and rushed to answer.

 

“Halo, my name is Philip Jones.”  The man extended his right arm to shake hands in greeting.  “You mus’be Millicent?”  Philip Jones’ words were high pitched with the tinny quality of a very old man’s voice box.  “I very good friend of Gab an’ I her he pass away.  I very sorry to her this.” 

 

Millicent stared at the little man’s sucked in features.  His eyes twinkled with good humour as his words spluttered and spitted between yellow stubs that once were teeth.

 

“I make Gab promise, once he save my life.  I drowning off coast of Indonesia an’ he dive in, save me with no thought his own saf-ety.  I tell him, one day, I return favour.  Howard from Navy days, he tell me of Gab’s sad departure from this world.”  The little man’s arms swung about him as he talked in some excited dance of emotion.  “I promise Gab, one day I help him, or his fam-ily, to thank ‘im for save my life.  Now I am here, I wan’ you tell me, what you need me to do.” 

 

Millicent carried on staring, her mouth open and her eyes narrow.

 

“I see you speechless, heh heh.  Is ok.  You think I could come in for cup o’ tea, I come long way you know. I live near Nottingham.”  With this, the tiny frame pushed past the gaping Millicent and headed for the kitchen.  “I ‘ungry too, any cake or biscuit.”

 

The heirloom clock passed down from Millicent’s great Aunt ticked four o’clock and still Philip Jones talked.  He couldn’t be stopped apparently.  Millicent now knew about his extensive family, his wayward daughter, his series of beautiful wives, how Gab had gotten him drunk after saving his life, what his favourite meal was (fish and chips), his arthritic knee, his slow moving bowel, the strange weather patterns of Nottinghamshire, intolerant neighbours, his hatred of frogs and other small hopping creatures, how meals on wheels let him down frequently, grandchildren he’d lost count of, the corns that gave him trouble, and of course, how handsome he’d been in his youth.

 

Millicent yawned pointedly, but still he went on.

 

“I will have to stay for dinner of course.”  Philip informed her, his head on one side in appeal, as if he would not take no for an answer.  “I have bag in my car, I can stay overnight here, yes?  Gab would want me to stay.”

 

By now, Millicent felt incapable of argument and only wished the man quiet.

About 2am in the morning Millicent woke.  A light flashed across the curtains and then disappeared.  She could hear a shuffling, not in the house but it appeared to be coming from outside.  The air felt cold above the blankets heaped upon her stout body and she didn’t feel inclined to move herself but hearing the sound of metal on stone she had a sudden thought of ghosts.  Could it be Gab? Wrapping the top blanket about her shoulders she shuffled to the window and peered between the curtains to see the tiny figure of Philip Jone’s on his knees by the large Elm.  He appeared to be scraping earth around with a spade; shiny metal glinted in the moonlight.

 

Philip Jones fingered the piece of paper in his pocket.  He’d kept it even though he didn’t need to because he remembered every word written upon it.  “Philip, my old mate” it read “in my garden by the large Elm tree there is the money I promised you.  This should see you right.  I’ll be gone when you come but make sure the job is well done.  You know what I mean.”

 

Millicent’s rasping voice growled in the little man’s ear, he swung round lifting the spade to shoulder level and smacked the blade of the spade into her left ear knocking her sharply sideways to the ground.  The impact broke her neck with such swiftness Philip congratulated himself on retaining such fighting prowess.  Her spinal cord snapped and the shock killed her.

 

Having retrieved the cash, Philip Jones carried on digging until the hole became big enough to bury the body.  He may have appeared frail but he remained as strong as any ox.  Later in the kitchen he counted the money then read Gab’s letter again.  “She’s (Millicent) given me a life of misery, only one of my son’s belongs to me, she nags and whines and I can’t stand it any longer.  I’ll disappear for a while and leave you to do the deed.  I know it’s a lot to ask old pal but a life for a life.  Just for pity’s sake burn this letter as soon as you have read it.” 

 

Philip lit a match and in moments the letter was gone.