Trickster

by Sam Michaels

  The big bloke grabbed Jack’s bag and rifled through it before pulling out a tin of tobacco.

  ‘You can have it, take it all,’ Jack offered, thinking that maybe this was just a street robbery.

  ‘That’s very good of you, offering me my own tobacco back,’ the shorter man said with a sneer.

  Jack’s heart dropped into his boots. They’d somehow found him, and now he was probably going to get the hiding of his life. He could offer little defence, but he thought he’d try. ‘Look, I’m really sorry, mate. I didn’t know who the stuff belonged to, and well… I chanced my arm. I’ll pay you back, every penny I made.’

  ‘Hefty, you know what to do,’ the man said, ignoring Jack’s offer.

  Hefty dragged Jack further along the street. He knew the area well and soon realised where he was being taken. An alley, in between two factories. His heart thumped hard. He hoped they wouldn’t be too brutal and at least leave him alive.

  *

  Norman heard Jack’s arm bone crack as Hefty yanked it up behind his back. The man screamed out in agony, but Norman thought it was no more than he deserved.

  ‘I’ve always wondered why didn’t you steal all of my tobacco,’ Norman said, his voice sinister. ‘But all or some of it, the punishment’s going to be the same.’

  ‘I… I’m sorry…’ Jack managed to groan.

  ‘You will be,’ Norman said, and slowly began to undo his belt.

  Hefty was still holding on to Jack from behind, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his head back to watch as Norman pulled his belt through the loops. Norman wrapped the leather strap around his hand as he smiled wickedly to himself, thinking it’d been a good thing he’d sharpened the buckle this morning. With a small nod of his head, Hefty threw Jack forward.

  The man landed on all fours and yelled out in pain again. He’d probably fallen on his broken arm, but Norman didn’t give a toss. ‘You’re already an ugly fucker so this won’t make much difference to you, but take this as a warning,’ he said, and swung the belt around and up so the sharpened buckle swiped across Jack’s face.

  Blood spurted, and Jack screamed, ‘My eye! My eye!’

  Norman looked down coldly at the man who’d had the cheek to steal from him. He could kill him of course, but at least the bloke hadn’t denied it. He shrugged. His wife had been very accommodating that morning, their lovemaking nice and vigorous, just as he liked it, and it had left him feeling mellow. ‘If you cross me again, it’ll be your family that suffers next time,’ he threatened, then spun round, leaving Jack crying and bleeding in a heap on the ground.

  Hefty followed him carrying Jack’s pigskin bag. Their work here was done.

  *

  ‘That was a lovely day out,’ Dulcie commented as she watched Oppo help Ruby with the pram over the doorstep. ‘We should do it more often.’

  ‘Yes, Georgina really enjoyed having her gran with us today,’ Ruby replied. ‘I couldn’t believe it when you had a go at that woman!’

  ‘The snooty cow was looking down her nose at me,’ Dulcie said haughtily.

  ‘You soon put her in her place though, missus,’ Oppo chuckled.

  Dulcie wasn’t listening. She’d noticed some drops of blood on the step, and more on the floorboards in the hallway. ‘Jack,’ she shouted, her stomach suddenly in knots. She heard a groan from the front room and rushed in to find her son lying on his back on the sofa with blood oozing from his face. ‘Oh my God, Jack!’ she screamed.

  It looked as if his face had been cut in half diagonally from under his ear to across the other side of his head. Dulcie flinched at the sight of his raw flesh, gaping open almost down to the bone. She couldn’t see his eye; there was too much blood. ‘What happened, Son?’

  ‘Baccy… arm, hurts…’ Jack mumbled.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you seen to.’

  By now Ruby had walked into the room with Oppo, and Dulcie turned around when she heard the girl gasp. ‘Get Georgina out of here, then bring me some wet towels… oh, and the bandages in a box under the sink. Oppo, look after Georgina,’ Dulcie urged.

  ‘Bad, feel bad,’ Jack groaned.

  Dulcie fought to keep her voice calm, but she was trembling. ‘I’m gonna patch you up, but I need to get you to the hospital or get Ruby to fetch the doctor.’

  ‘No, Mum… no docs. Whisky…’

  ‘Son, this is bad. You’ll need proper help.’

  ‘No… whisky,’ Jack repeated faintly.

  Ruby came back into the room with a bowl of water, towels and bandages. Dulcie glanced quickly at the girl. She looked deathly pale. ‘Get Percy’s whisky,’ she ordered.

  Ruby ran to the kitchen and was back seconds later. She handed Dulcie the half-filled bottle. Dulcie positioned her hand behind her son’s head, gently lifting it as she placed the bottle to his lips. Jack winced but gulped down large swigs of the liquid before Dulcie pulled the bottle away.

  ‘More,’ Jack said.

  She fed him more of the booze until the bottle was almost empty. Jack lay back, quieter now. Dulcie dampened a towel, and carefully dabbed at her son’s wound. He seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness.

  ‘I can’t fix this, Ruby. Get Oppo to run and fetch the doctor.’

  As quickly as she wiped away the blood, more seeped from his face. She held the towel over the wound, and silently cursed whoever had done this to her son. She’d find out who it was, and when she did, she’d happily swing for him.

  11

  1 December 1918. Three years later.

  It had been three weeks since the Great War had finally come to an end. Britain had defeated Germany and was still riding high on the wave of victory, though the country had paid heavy costs. Hundreds and thousands of men had lost their lives. Mothers were left without sons, wives without husbands, and children without fathers. Much had changed. Many women worked now, and several even had the right to vote.

  Fanny Mipple was now one of those working women, proud to be a florist. They were still skint, her children were still hungry and cold, and her husband still beat her. But he did get out of bed these days, if only to take her earnings and blow them on the horses. Her four eldest girls had left home, desperate to get away from their father, and though Fanny understood their reasons, they rarely visited her.

  Fanny stamped her cold feet and breathed into her cupped hands. Her fingertips were numb, but her palms were snug, thanks to the fingerless gloves Ruby had knitted her. She pulled her matching scarf over her head and shivered in the icy wind. December wasn’t her favourite time of year. She loved working on the flower stall in the summer, but it wasn’t as much fun in the winter.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ a posh-looking gentleman said. ‘I’ll take that wreath, and a bunch of mistletoe.’

  He was Fanny’s fifth customer of the day. Business was slow, but Mrs Wilcox never seemed to mind. The woman had purchased the stall and stock from Benny Cuthbert’s family when the old boy had dropped dead from a massive heart attack.

  Benny’s son, also called Benny, had disappeared eight years earlier. It was no secret that he worked for Norman Wilcox, and rumours were rife at the time. Some said he’d run off with one of Norman’s tarts and they’d taken a week’s earnings with them. Others said that Benny had blabbed to the Old Bill about a heist Norman was involved in. Either way, everyone knew Norman had something to do with Benny mysteriously and abruptly vanishing.

  Fanny reasoned that was why Mrs Wilcox had bought the stall. Apparently, she’d paid a lot more than it was worth. Guilty conscience, no doubt. Fanny didn’t mind. Mrs Wilcox had pretty much handed the stall over to Fanny to run. She earned a commission on anything she sold, so hoped business would pick up after lunch.

  *

  Billy’s power over the children in his street had increased with his age. Now, at nearly ten years old, his only friends were those who had passed his cruel initiation test to be in his gang. Many boys had tried and failed, and they were now on the receiving end of
Billy’s bullying. It was known that you were either part of his gang or you’d be viciously picked on. No-one dared challenge him, not even the older kids.

  Billy sat on a garden wall and encouraged Malc and Sid to smoke a cigar he’d pinched from his dad. Sid lit it and took the first puff but quickly doubled over as he began to violently cough. Billy and Malc laughed at the sight, then Malc said, ‘Give it here,’ and snatched the cigar from Sid. Malc took two long drags and held his breath.

  ‘Breathe out,’ Sid harped as he watched his friend. ‘You’re turning green!’

  Malc released the heavy smoke from his lungs and immediately threw up. ‘That’s disgusting,’ he moaned as he wiped his mouth.

  Billy turned his head away from the vomit. He didn’t mind the sight of blood, in fact, he quite liked it, but he couldn’t abide looking at Malc’s puke. As he looked down the street, he spotted the unmistakable overweight silhouette of Timothy Appleton ambling towards them with the sun setting behind him. ‘Look, here comes Apple-weighs-a-ton,’ Billy said, looking forward to teasing him again. He was one of Billy’s favourite boys to bully. As Timothy got closer, he looked up from the pavement and must have realised he was heading into Billy’s path. He quickly changed direction and crossed the street but not before Billy had noticed a look of absolute dread on the boy’s face, which pleased him immensely.

  ‘Oi, fatty, where do you think you’re going?’ he called.

  Timothy ignored Billy, and this instantly infuriated him. In Billy’s head, it showed disrespect towards him, something he wouldn’t allow from the kids on his streets.

  ‘Pig face, come here…’ Billy yelled.

  Timothy began to run, but his large frame couldn’t move very fast. It amused Billy to see the boy’s fat thighs rubbing together as he attempted to flee. ‘Let’s get him,’ he said to his friends and they gave chase.

  It didn’t take much effort for them to catch up with Timothy, and when they did, Billy was pleased to see the rosy-cheeked boy was already crying.

  ‘Oi, lardy, don’t run away from me when I call you,’ he said, and jabbed his finger into Timothy’s pudgy chest.

  ‘I’m sorry, Billy, I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘Why’s that, got potatoes growing out your ears? Nah, course you ain’t. If you did, you would have eaten them,’ Billy said, and sniggered as his friends laughed. Then his smile disappeared, and he asked, ‘What’s the rush then, why were you running?’

  ‘Erm… me mum… she told me not to be late home.’

  ‘You live down that end of the street. You’re running the wrong way, fatso,’ Billy said.

  Then Malc added, ‘My brother reckons you must have got so fat ’cos your mother gave you all her war rations. Mummy’s boy!’

  ‘Is that right, are you a mummy’s boy?’

  ‘No, no, Billy, I ain’t,’ Timothy protested.

  ‘Yeah, you are. I’ve seen you holding her hand. Bet Mummy wouldn’t like you smoking, would she?’

  ‘No… no… she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Prove you ain’t a mummy’s boy then – smoke this,’ Billy said and indicated to Malc to give Timothy the cigar.

  Timothy’s hand shook as he placed it between his lips and Sid struck a match to relight it.

  ‘Smoke it, fat boy,’ Billy ordered.

  Timothy tried to inhale the pungent smoke but soon sounded like he was choking.

  ‘Give it here, wimp,’ Billy said and snatched the cigar back from him. Timothy was an easy target and Billy was bored of him already, but he hadn’t yet punished him enough for running away. Then he had a thought that appealed. ‘Hold out your hand,’ he instructed.

  ‘What ya going to do?’ Timothy asked, tears streaming down his face now.

  ‘Teach you a lesson. Next time I call you, you won’t ignore me and run away. Sid, hold his hand.’

  Billy took a pull on the cigar and looked at the end to make sure it was burning hot. Satisfied, he sneered at Timothy and blew smoke into the boy’s worried face. Then, ever so slowly, he lowered the cigar towards Timothy’s chubby palm. The boy realised what was coming and cried out in protest, which added to Billy’s pleasure. The cigar end was now just an inch away from Timothy’s hand. Billy held it there, prolonging the torment, then ruthlessly stubbed it into his skin.

  Timothy screamed and tried to yank his hand away, but Sid held tight and Billy twisted the cigar deeper. His nose twitched as he got a waft of burning flesh, and as he looked down at the injury, he smirked when he noticed Timothy had wet himself. ‘Go on, you fat sissy, you can run back to Mummy now,’ Billy said, pleased with the obvious terror he’d inflicted.

  *

  A couple of weeks later, Billy heard the Appletons had moved to a new house in a different borough. He thought it was a shame as he’d been fond of picking on the portly boy. Still, there were plenty more he could lord it over.

  *

  Since the war had ended, things had remained pretty much the same in Dulcie’s house, except Georgina was fast growing up and Ruby was now working part-time in Falk’s jewellery shop. The old man was on his last legs and his son, Ezekiel, was primed to take over, but due to his own business, couldn’t yet commit full-time.

  Ruby opened the safe and locked away two gold pocket watches, a sapphire pin, a diamond ring and three ornate gold scarf rings. Falk now had three professional thieves working for him, young lads, and good at what they did. The stolen goods were coming in fast, so Jack was being paid to do two trips a week to Falk’s cousin in Manchester. There, he’d exchange the London haul for the Manchester one, and the police were none the wiser.

  ‘I’m off now, Falk,’ Ruby called. The old man was snoozing in a comfy chair behind the counter.

  He opened one eye, yawned then said, ‘All right, Ruby. Tell Jack I need him here first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Will do,’ Ruby chirped, before closing the shop door behind her.

  She said a quick hello to Fanny as she passed her stall, then hurried home. It wasn’t the cold weather making her rush, it was the desire to see Georgina. She enjoyed working in Falk’s shop, especially earning her own money and contributing to the household expenses, but she desperately missed the child.

  It didn’t take long for her to get home, and when she walked in, the warmth from the coal fire felt welcoming. ‘Where’s my girl?’ she called and took her coat off then hung it over the bannister post.

  Georgina came running from the front room. ‘Wuby, Wuby!’

  Ruby picked up the girl and kissed her rosy cheek. ‘What have you been doing with your gran today?’

  ‘We made a pie!’ Georgina answered with gusto.

  ‘Wow, I can’t wait to taste it,’ Ruby said, and carried the child back into the front room.

  Dulcie was in her armchair, but Ruby noticed the woman looked tense. ‘Is everything all right, Dul?’ she asked her.

  ‘No, Ruby, not really. Georgina, go and play with your doll’s house again, there’s a good girl.’

  Ruby sat on the sofa and waited for Dulcie to explain what was wrong.

  ‘Jack’s on about us moving, you know, to a bigger house.’

  ‘What’s so bad about that?’ Ruby asked, confused.

  ‘Percy,’ Dulcie answered, her voice low and flat. ‘If whoever takes over this place digs up the garden, well…’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell, they’ll find the barrel.’

  ‘My point exactly,’ Dulcie said. ‘I’ll have to pretend I’m a stubborn old cow and flatly refuse to move.’

  ‘Pretend?’ Ruby giggled, but Dulcie’s face didn’t crack into a smile. ‘Yeah, well, Jack ain’t normally one to defy you, so it could work,’ she added seriously.

  ‘He wants to ask your opinion too.’

  ‘I’ll say I’m happy here and I love sharing with Georgina, but I suppose he’s getting fed up with kipping on the sofa. We could suggest putting a single bed in the living room. We could throw cushions on it during the day to make it look like a sofa.’
r />   ‘Yeah, good idea. I’ll also say that in his line of work, if we start being flash with money and moving to a bigger house, it could arouse suspicion about where the cash is coming from. Bloody pain in the arse, he is, getting ideas above his station,’ Dulcie tutted.

  ‘Talking of which, where is he? Falk wants him to do a run tomorrow.’

  ‘I dunno, love, he never said where he was going. But if he’s off to Manchester tomorrow, that’ll keep him busy and out of my hair.’

  Georgina came running back into the front room. ‘My dolly bwoke,’ she cried.

  Ruby took the broken doll. ‘Don’t worry,’ she soothed, ‘go and get your coat and hat on. I’ll take you up the shop and you can pick out a new one.’

  ‘Weally? Thanks, Wuby, I love you.’

  Ten minutes later, and Georgina was singing a Christmas carol as she trotted along the cobbled street with her hand in Ruby’s.

  ‘That’s a nice song. Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Gwanny sang it to me when the pie was in the oven.’

  Ruby was just about to ask Georgina to sing it again, but as they turned a corner, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, terrified at the unexpected sight of her father walking towards her. She wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction, but fear rooted her to the spot.

  His hands were stuffed deeply in his pockets, and his cap pulled low on his face, but he looked up and their eyes met. There was no mistaking him. He stopped in front of her, then lustfully eyed her up and down. ‘Well, well, fancy seeing you here. You’re looking good, Ruby,’ he drawled.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ Ruby snapped, trying to hide her fear.

  ‘Don’t be like that, Rube, ain’t you got a kiss for your old dad?’

  Ruby felt sick. Her whole body trembled, and she felt weak at the knees.

  ‘Who’s this little one? Hello, treacle.’

  Ruby gasped in horror. Treacle. That’s what her father used to call her, but at the time, he’d have his filthy hands all over her body. She shuddered at the disgusting memory. ‘Don’t you dare talk to her!’