Trickster

by Sam Michaels

  Jack’s head shot up and he looked at his girl. ‘Did you hear that, Mum? She said Dad!’

  ‘I did. I knew she’d be talking early. She’s not just got her mother’s looks, but her brains too.’

  ‘Yes, Mum, she really has. My Sissy would have been so proud of her.’ Jack swallowed hard.

  Ruby thought it was such a shame that Georgina would never know her mother’s love, but at least she had a father who would never hurt her.

  *

  Later that day, Ruby had taken Georgina out for some fresh air, though Dulcie didn’t think there was anything very fresh about the air in Battersea. Jack had gone to investigate the feasibility of turning over a new delivery company that had recently opened. It had left Dulcie alone to wipe down the kitchen and she was now sat in a living room armchair enjoying the peace and quiet. She loved her granddaughter dearly, but she also made the most of the respite from her.

  Her peace was disturbed when she heard the stairs creaking and her husband moaning under his breath. Her heart sunk. She hated it when Percy woke up and got out of bed. Seeing him reminded her of how much she loathed the man, and what he’d done in the night was still seething close to the surface.

  When Percy appeared in the doorway she eyed him up and down with disdain. What little bit of hair he had was sticking up. His vest was stained with vomit, and his trousers, which weren’t buttoned up properly, had dried urine stains round the crotch. She found him disgusting and wished she didn’t have to share a bed with him.

  ‘I want some bread, toasted, and where’s my jug of ale, woman?’ Percy scratched his head and then his armpits.

  Dulcie noticed his eyes were bleary and he was swaying slightly, still under the influence from the whisky he’d consumed the day before. ‘In the kitchen,’ Dulcie answered with contempt.

  ‘Don’t just sit there, you lazy cow, get it for me,’ Percy slurred.

  ‘Get it your fucking self!’ Dulcie snapped, then turned her head away.

  She heard Percy fumbling around in the kitchen, then one of the chairs at the table scrape back.

  ‘Get in here and make me some toast,’ Percy shouted.

  Dulcie stormed into the kitchen with her blood boiling. How dare he order her around! ‘I told you, if you want toast, make it your fucking self!’

  ‘Don’t start, Dulcie, I ain’t in the mood,’ Percy said, then leaned forward and rested his head on his crossed arms on the kitchen table.

  ‘You ain’t in the mood? Well, neither am I after what you did last night! You’re nothing better than low-life scum,’ Dulcie snapped and, unable to bring herself to look at him any longer, she turned and glared out of the window into the backyard.

  ‘Huh, that’s rich coming from you… acting all high and fucking mighty when we both know you were quick to open your legs to all and sundry.’

  Dulcie’s eyes narrowed in anger. ‘Whose fault was that? I had no choice thanks to you and your drinking!’ Still, she stared out of the window.

  ‘Yeah, well, being married to you would be enough to drive any man to the bottle. I bet your precious Jack don’t know about his mother being a whore? Nah, course he don’t. I’m warning you now, woman, any more lip out of you and I’ll tell him you’re a fucking tart! Now, just make me some fucking toast!’

  It was the final straw and Dulcie saw red, her anger reaching fever pitch. Without thought she reached out to the stove and grabbed her heavy iron-based pan, swinging it swiftly round until it hit Percy’s head with a sickening thud. The force of the blow knocked him from his chair and he lay motionless on the kitchen floor.

  Dulcie still had the pan in her hand as she stepped forward and looked over her husband’s body. Blood was beginning to pool round his head. He twitched, then jerked, then stopped breathing. She stared down at his twisted face yet felt no remorse. Percy wouldn’t be able to tell her son that she’d been a whore. She’d killed him. Her secret was safe. No, there were no regrets, just relief.

  *

  Ruby had been gone for about half an hour when Dulcie heard the young woman call her name. She couldn’t bring herself to answer and glanced at her dead husband. Moments later, the kitchen door opened, and Dulcie heard Ruby gasp. She turned her head sideways and saw Ruby was staring at Percy spread-eagled on the kitchen floor, lying in a puddle of his own blood. Thankfully, Ruby must have left Georgina in her pram in the hallway.

  Dulcie was sat at the table with the pan in front of her, and her voice was cold as she said abruptly, ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘No… oh no! What happened?’

  ‘I killed him.’

  Ruby quickly shut the kitchen door and leaned up against it. She didn’t ask Dulcie what had happened, but it didn’t take a genius to work out how Percy had been killed. Half of his head was caved in.

  ‘Bloody hell, Dul, what the hell are we going to do? You can’t just leave him there like that!’

  Dulcie offered no response. She heard Ruby take a few deep breaths, then say finally, ‘We’ve got to get rid of him.’

  ‘Yeah, but how? I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes trying to think of a way. We can’t carry him far, not without being seen, and you know what a nosy lot they are round here, especially Mary next door.’

  Ruby sounded remarkably calm when she answered, ‘In the yard, Dulcie. We’ll bury him in that loose soil next to the coal bunker. I’ll dig a hole, then we’ll bung him in it.’

  ‘Nope, that won’t do. I’ve already considered that, but the neighbours would see the digging and get suspicious. Mary’s one of them Catholics and is all Though shalt not kill. Gawd, if she found out, I reckon she’d be straight round to the police station, or even worse, the priest!’

  ‘We could chop him up and stick him in the coal bunker.’

  ‘Nice idea, but have you ever smelt rotting meat? He’d stink the place to high heaven.’

  Dulcie’s eyes followed Ruby as she carefully stepped around Percy’s body and pulled out a chair at the table. ‘What about Jack, surely he’d help?’

  ‘NO! Jack must never know that I did Percy in. He loved that man as if he was his own father, and I don’t reckon he’d take kindly to me killing him. We’ve got to sort this out without Jack ever finding out.’

  ‘How are you going to explain Percy’s sudden disappearance?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘I’ll just say he went out to the pub and never came home.’

  Ruby nodded. ‘Yeah, that would work.’ Then her eyes lit up like she’d had an idea. ‘I know… that old barrel in the yard, we could shove him in that.’

  Dulcie clicked her fingers. ‘Yes, but do you think he’d fit in it?’

  ‘We’d probably have to break his legs first to squash him down, but other than that there ain’t much of him.’

  ‘Bloody hell, that sounds a bit extreme!’ Dulcie said, turning her head in disgust.

  ‘Yeah, well, so is caving in his bloody head,’ Ruby snapped.

  ‘All right, point taken.’

  Dulcie stood in the back doorway and watched as Ruby tipped the barrel onto its side before rolling it towards her then standing it back upright. She fetched a large knife, and between them, they managed to prise off the lid. There were a few inches of dark, gloopy water in the bottom, but the barrel was intact and after a quick inspection, the women agreed it seemed fit for purpose. They lifted the barrel over the step and into the kitchen, then, in silence, dragged Percy’s body closer, leaving blood smeared across the floor.

  ‘Right, how are we going to do this, feet or head first?’ Ruby asked.

  ‘Let’s smash his legs, then stick him in head first. I can’t stand to look at his bloody face any longer.’

  The women baulked, but the job had to be done. With only a hammer, it was more difficult than Dulcie had first envisaged, and she cringed at the sound of the man’s bones breaking, but they finally managed it. Between them they then picked Percy up, and unceremoniously dumped him into the barrel, pushing and squeezing him down until they
could put the lid in place. It had taken a lot of strength and both women were exhausted, but they still had to nail the lid down before they moved the barrel back into the yard.

  At last, job done, Dulcie slumped onto a chair, whilst Ruby washed her hands at the sink.

  ‘Thanks, Ruby, I couldn’t have done that by myself. And I’m sorry for putting you in this position, but if he ever gets found, I won’t bring you into it.’

  They heard Georgina cry from the hallway. ‘It’s all right, she’s in her pram. I’ll see to her,’ Ruby said, leaving Dulcie to survey her kitchen, which was now a murder scene.

  There were still the copious amounts of blood to clean up, but Dulcie thought it was funny really. It seemed killing was easy. The difficult part was getting rid of the corpse.

  6

  The following morning, Dulcie tapped the side of her cup of tea as she stood staring out of the kitchen window. Her husband was just feet away from her, his corpse rotting in the barrel in her yard. Good riddance, she thought, and turned away in revulsion but with a feeling of victory. Her only worry was Jack. She’d lain awake for most of the night and hadn’t heard him come home.

  ‘You’re up early, love,’ she said as Ruby came into the kitchen looking dishevelled. ‘Couldn’t you sleep either?’ she asked, though after what they’d done yesterday, she thought it was a stupid question.

  ‘No, not much. Georgina’s still out for the count. Any tea in the pot?’

  Ruby sat at the table whilst Dulcie poured her a cup. ‘About him,’ she said, throwing her head towards the kitchen window. ‘We can’t change what we’ve done, we just have to keep a cool head.’

  ‘I know,’ Ruby replied. ‘To be honest, Dul, it ain’t really bothering me. I know I should feel scared and guilty or something, but I don’t feel anything. That ain’t normal, is it?’

  ‘Depends on what you mean by normal. Let’s face it, you’ve hardly had a normal life. Already at your tender age, you’ve seen and experienced things that would turn the mind of any of our brave young men on the front line. I suppose it’s hardened you.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. It’s not like Percy meant anything to me. I hardly saw him really. I wish it was my dad in that barrel though.’

  Dulcie was quite surprised to hear Ruby mention her father. The girl hadn’t spoken about him since she’d been on the streets. ‘If he ever darkens my doorstep, I’ll get meself another bloody barrel and I’ll make sure he ends up in it too, right alongside that stinking husband of mine.’

  Ruby gulped her mouthful of tea down then laughed. ‘I bet you would and all,’ she said with a wicked smile. ‘I didn’t hear Jack come home last night?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry, he’ll be up to one of his tricks somewhere. But when he does come home, we’ll have to make out we’re worried about Percy. We’ll say he went out last night and we ain’t seen him since.’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ Ruby agreed.

  Just then they heard the front door open, and the women exchanged a knowing look. Dulcie trusted Ruby. The girl had proven she could keep a secret; after all, she’d never mentioned about Dulcie’s former line of work. Jack walked into the kitchen, and she noticed her son looked weary.

  ‘Blimey, what are you two doing up at the crack of a sparrow’s fart?’ he asked.

  ‘We couldn’t sleep, love. Percy went out last night and he ain’t been home since. You haven’t seen him, have you?’ Dulcie asked, feigning concern.

  ‘No, Mum, but I wouldn’t worry. You know what he’s like. He’s probably passed out under a bush somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, probably. You look knackered. What you been up to?’

  ‘Mum, you know better than to ask me questions like that. How’s my girl?’

  ‘She’s fine, still asleep by all accounts. Why don’t you go up to my room and get your head down for a few hours?’ Dulcie suggested, hoping to get rid of him. She had no remorse for what she’d done to Percy, but she felt a twinge of guilt when she looked at her son.

  ‘Yeah, I will. And don’t worry about Percy. He’ll show his face soon enough.’

  He won’t, Dulcie thought, we’ll never see his ruddy face ever again. God forbid, but if anyone did see him, she knew she’d be for the gallows.

  *

  Despite being up all night, Jack tossed and turned in his mother’s bed, unable to sleep. The night before, in the cover of London’s blackout, he’d been about to break into a warehouse when he’d heard a policeman’s whistle. He’d had it away on his toes, knowing that at any minute, the Old Bill would be swarming, like woodlice coming out of the skirting boards. Luckily, thanks to the German air raids, the darkness had aided his escape and he’d evaded being caught, finding himself hiding in a small lock-up next to the Thames.

  Though he’d been unfortunate in turning over the warehouse, he’d discovered crates of what must be stolen Cope’s tobacco in the lock-up. He couldn’t believe his luck! He’d left it how he’d found it but had taken twenty-five crates and hidden them directly behind the back of the building. He chuckled to himself. No-one would think to look so close to home – his plan was genius! Whoever owned the stash wasn’t likely to search behind the lock-up. They’d expect the tobacco to be long gone by now, and the theft was unlikely to be reported, not when it was already knocked-off gear.

  All he had to do now was return but with transport. He couldn’t shift all the crates by himself, though he was reluctant to involve anyone else. He didn’t have an issue with sharing the profits. It was more a matter of who he could trust, especially as he didn’t know who the tobacco belonged to in the first place. After all, he didn’t want to step on the toes of any of London’s gangsters and end up as a body floating down the river.

  He heard his daughter’s cries from Ruby’s room, followed by light footsteps running up the stairs. It was pointless trying to sleep, so he slung the blankets off and threw his legs over the side of the bed. His mum had a mirror on her dressing table, and Jack caught a glimpse of himself. Gawd knows what Sissy had ever seen in him, he thought, looking at his ears sticking out at right angles to his head, and his wonky nose. There wasn’t a day that passed when he didn’t miss his wife.

  As he opened the bedroom door, Ruby was coming out of hers with Georgina in her arms. The child was now pacified and when she saw her dad, she beamed with delight.

  ‘How’s my little princess?’ Jack cooed and tickled his daughter’s ribs. ‘’Ere, I’ll take her, Ruby.’

  He walked down the stairs but had to squeeze himself round the pram in the hallway. That’s when it came to him: the ideal transport for the baccy. No-one would suspect a pram! He walked into the kitchen and though he was vaguely aware of his mother talking to him, her words fell on deaf ears. His mind was turning over the finer details of how using Georgina’s pram could work. He’d have to open the crates, then fill the pram with the tins and cover them over with the blankets. It would take several trips, but that’s when he realised the flaw… A bloke walking around with a pram might look a bit suspicious.

  ‘Are you listening to me, Jack?’ Dulcie asked.

  ‘Ay? Er… yeah… no, sorry, Mum. What did you say?’

  ‘I said, would you like a bowl of stew? I’ve got loads left over from the other night.’

  ‘It’s a bit early, but yeah, go on then,’ Jack answered, his mind wandering back to the pram idea.

  Ruby pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. He found himself inadvertently staring at her as he realised a woman pushing a pram wouldn’t be given a second glance. Ruby fidgeted nervously in her seat, and Jack realised it was because he was looking at her. She was still untrusting of him, but after what a man had done to her, it was understandable. The thing was, despite this, could he trust her?

  Jack contemplated more about her. As far as he was aware, she didn’t have any friends and always seemed to be hanging round the house. In fact, she’d been very loyal to his family and had done a smashing job with Georgina. At the end of the day, she was unlikely t
o grass on him; after all, he was the one who provided for the household and fed and watered her.

  *

  Norman Wilcox surveyed his lock-up and wondered what cheeky bastard had the audacity to turn him over. But he couldn’t understand why only some of the crates were missing. Surely, if someone had the front to break into his place and steal his tobacco, they’d have taken the lot. Oh well, he was grateful for small mercies, but he if he ever found out who did this, he’d make sure they paid for it with their blood.

  ‘Why are you looking so shifty, Hefty? You ain’t trying to pull a fast one on me, are you? I hope not, remember what happened to Benny Cuthbert?’

  ‘Yes, guv, no, I wouldn’t do nuffink like that.’

  No, Norman doubted Hefty would try and rip him off, but the man was dim, and he could guess why Hefty was nervous. ‘Or did you leave the fucking door unlocked again?’ he asked.

  Hefty was jigging from leg to leg and fumbling with his cap in his hands. ‘No, guv, I… I… I dunno what you mean?’

  ‘Nothing, Hefty. I don’t mean anything. Get this door fixed and then I want the rest of the crates moved to Livingstone Road. Sling Joan out, use her room, then make sure you padlock it. As soon as you’ve done that, get yourself off to Wandsworth.’

  ‘Yes, guv, but what should I do with Joan?’

  ‘Just tell her to pack her things and to get the fuck out of my house.’

  ‘But… I… erm… I don’t think Joan will like it,’ Hefty said fretfully.

  ‘No doubt, so if she gives you any lip, give her a slap. The fucking whore is well overdue one anyway.’