by James Green
‘You gave me to them, George?’
The threat was not in the words but the way they were spoken as Jimmy moved slightly away from the bar. George recognised the threat immediately and also moved slightly away from the bar.
‘You were with me on it, Jimmy, so credit where credit’s due.’
Suddenly there was a knife in George’s hand. ‘Easy, Jimmy. I don’t face down in here, there’s people watching I can’t let down.’
‘You do what you have to, George. So will I.’
Jimmy moved forward, watching the blade. George feinted with the knife but it was his boot to Jimmy’s leg that was meant to do the damage. Jimmy wasn’t expecting that but although the boot took him painfully on the shin, he had stepped close enough to avoid any real damage. His left arm took the blade as it slashed across but his right fist travelled hardly any distance as it hit George on the lip, just under his nose.
George’s eyes flickered and he vaguely felt his mouth fill with blood from inside, the upper lip split wide against his gums. It stopped him long enough for Jimmy to hit him again in the face and then stand back and hit him hard in the solar plexus, just below the heart. It was all over. George dropped the knife and sagged. Jimmy hit him again on the side of the head and George began to fall. Now it was a formality. Holding George up with a cut arm wasn’t easy but Jimmy didn’t want him on the floor. He wanted to make a point very clearly to the people quietly watching. Methodically he hit George, no hurry, hard in the gut to fold him over, then his back, break some ribs but avoid any important organ. Hurt him, hurt him badly, but no permanent damage. It was a message. It had to be enough but not too much, George was his friend.
George fell to the floor when Jimmy was finished. Jimmy looked at the left sleeve of his jacket. Blood had begun to run from under the cuff onto his hand and on to the floor now that the arm was hanging at his side. He looked around at the silent faces. At each door were large men. No one had come in, no one had gone out, everyone had sat very still. From George’s table a thick-set man of middle height got up and came across. When he reached Jimmy he turned to the room.
‘Show’s over.’
People looked away and kept their eyes down. The men on the doors went back to their tables. A few people got up and left hurriedly, most returned to their conversations, but quietly and without the laughter. The thick-set man took Jimmy’s arm gently, lifted it and looked up the sleeve.
‘You’ll live, son.’
‘I intend to.’
‘Good boy. That’s the style.’
He turned to the others at his table.
‘Harry, Len, take George to casualty. Tell them he was done over by a gang of Teddy Boys, take his wallet and say it was stolen. Get them to tell the police, make it all natural. Say it all happened in that alley by The King George, that’s nice and appropriate.’
He turned back to Jimmy smiling. ‘The King George, I like that. Come on, I’ll take you to another casualty. We’ll say a couple of razor boys tried to steal your wallet but they didn’t get anything.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Son, you’ve made your point. Everybody in here except me has forgotten your name and now everyone knows you weren’t involved in George’s little outing, but you’re cut, you’re losing blood, and you’ll need stitching up. I heard you had talent, brains, and were careful. Don’t make me revise my opinion.’
Jimmy nodded. He was getting light-headed. ‘All right.’
The man turned. ‘Get the car, Richie, and give me a bar towel, Jack, a clean one. I like you, Jimmy, but I don’t want you all over my upholstery.’
He took the bar towel, wrapped it around Jimmy’s arm, and they went outside. They waited a few minutes until a big white Jaguar was driven up and stopped beside them. They got in and the car moved off. The man spoke to Jimmy.
‘You’re a natural, Jimmy, a mechanic. There’s plenty of roughhouse yobs out there who can beat someone up, but they don’t have any science and you can’t teach them. They get excited and overdo it, or they get some punishment and take fright. You’re different. It could be a job for you, a profession. You’ve got educated hands.’
Jimmy remained silent.
‘How much did George say you’d get?’
‘Hundred quid.’
The man laughed.
‘I like you, sunshine, so I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Keep me company for one night and I’ll give you twenty-five quid.’
Jimmy looked at him.
‘No, it’s not your arse I’m after. I just want to look you over. You may be someone I’ve been looking for and a pony is nothing to me.’ And, as if to prove a point, he pulled a thick roll of bank notes from his inside jacket pocket. In the half-light of the street lamps as they flashed past he counted out twenty-five pounds and stuffed the money into Jimmy’s jacket pocket.
‘Just come to The Hind any night in the next two weeks and sit at my table for an evening. That’s no problem is it?’ Jimmy didn’t reply. He turned and looked out of the car window, but he didn’t take the money out of his pocket. The man smiled.
‘There you are, not too difficult. By the way my name’s Denny, Denny Morris. And Jimmy, when you come, you buy your own drinks. I’m generous but I’m not that generous,’ and he laughed and sat back and the Jag purred all the way to the hospital.
George was OK, thought Jimmy. He had really understood just how OK when he had gone to visit him two days after their turn up. Jimmy’s arm, with the wound stitched and healing, was still in a sling. George had smiled when he saw him walking down the ward and his first question had been, ‘How’s the arm coming, was it bad?’
‘You should know, George, it’s your work.’
‘I’ve never used a knife seriously before, Jimmy, but you’ve got to carry something. I’m glad it was only your arm. A novice like me might have really hurt you by accident.’
‘It’s only a few stitches. Losing the jacket was worse, and explaining to Mum.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I said a drunk did it falling into me and breaking a glass into my arm.’
George started to laugh but stopped immediately and grimaced. ‘Bugger it, laughing kills you,’ and he paused for the pain to ease. ‘Even your mum can tell a knife cut from a glass one.’
‘Not through a sling and bandages.’
‘What about your jacket?’
‘I threw it away. I told her it was ruined.’
‘That’s all right, I’ll get you another one. Something a bit flash, maybe a leather jacket, a smart one.’
Jimmy was surprised. ‘No need. How are you?’
‘I’m all right. Broken ribs and a lot of bruising but only the lip shows, nothing else that anyone except a girlfriend will see and no internal damage to speak of. It was an ace job. I’m only sorry I got it instead of watching it. Denny said you worked me over like a pro even with only one hand operating properly. He was impressed.’
Jimmy sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his hands. ‘I can’t say sorry, George, you know I’d do it again if I had to.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. I knew I’d have to take a smacking one day. That’s how it goes. You earn a bit, learn a bit, and move up a bit. I’m glad they said we put on such a good show. I don’t remember much after my mouth filled with blood. I know it all hurt like fuck but I can’t say I really remember it.’
‘Why did you give me to them? It wasn’t necessary.’
‘Not to you, maybe, but it was to me. Any number of cocky young fuckers tell stories about what they’re going to do but the likes of Denny Morris judge you by the company you keep and what you do. That little job was just something to do, to talk about. I didn’t know how much the old idiot left overnight, but I knew it was there and the way we took it, well, it was done like a real job, properly done. As it happens it was small change, not a couple of hundred, but it might have been. And you, Jimmy, people have noticed you. For me to get yo
u alongside and get you to stick your neck out, well, that was what it was all about, really. I knew how you’d feel when you found out I was putting your name about and the blade made it look right. I wanted you to do a good job,’ George smiled, but stopped straight away and held a hand to his lip. ‘And now I’ve got the bruises and cracked ribs to show how well you did it. We’ve done all right, Jimmy, we get taken a bit more seriously now by the right blokes. We didn’t earn much, but we learned a lot and we moved on a lot, don’t tell me Denny hasn’t spoken to you?’
Jimmy nodded.
‘And offered you something?’
He nodded again. ‘I think so.’
‘Fucking marvellous, on board in one go. You’re a natural, Jimmy, I’ll do OK in this trade but you could go right on up.’
Jimmy was not getting excited.
‘Think about it, think about the money you’ll have. You’ll never marry that girl of yours with what you get on the buses, and nobody waits for ever.’
Jimmy didn’t answer. Bernadette would wait and they’d marry on what they had if they had to. But George was genuinely trying to help, it was clear in his voice and manner. He was being a friend in the only way he knew how.
‘Open that drawer, will you?’ George nodded to a drawer in a small cabinet beside his bed. Jimmy stood up and opened the drawer. ‘See the keys, they’re the keys to my flat. Why not use it while I’m in here? I don’t know how you’ve managed before but no need to rough it while my place is empty, no need for a double bed to go to waste for no reason.’
George just took it for granted that Jimmy and Bernadette were already having sex. Jimmy pocketed the keys. ‘Thanks, George. I’ll be going now, take it easy.’
‘What else can I fucking well do? But when I get out I’ll want my bed back quick, so get cracking, eh.’
Jimmy nodded and left the ward.
Bernadette had listened to his awkward suggestion of using George’s flat and surprised him by quietly agreeing. The only thing she had asked was whether he would be able to manage with his arm. Jimmy had given the same story to Bernadette as he had to his mother and she, like his mother, had accepted it.
Jimmy had been pleased and puzzled by the way Bernadette had agreed. He had expected to have to persuade, argue and cajole. It was as if she had been expecting it and already decided to agree. Bernadette was a mystery. A good Catholic herself, she was prepared to commit this grave sin with him, for him, and he guessed that made him a bad Catholic.
Once he had asked and she had agreed he had become aroused and agitated. He had never had sex before and suddenly it had become the most important thing in his life. Now, on a Thursday afternoon like any other, their world was going to change for ever.
Thursday was Jimmy’s day off and the day the Post Office closed for the afternoon. Bernadette and Jimmy were walking along the street together. They didn’t hold hands as they usually did and there was no conversation. This was a special day for them both.
When they were in George’s bedroom and undressing they were both hesitant and awkward. The sight of Bernadette naked had thrilled and excited him as nothing else he could ever remember. His own arousal and nakedness in her presence created sensations of embarrassment and elation which almost made him dizzy. Bernadette had patiently waited for him to lead. At first he was too hurried, he wanted to look at her, touch her, feel her, and penetrate her all at once.
‘Let’s get into bed,’ she had said after Jimmy had fumbled, groped, and pushed clumsily.
Once in bed after much ineffectual pushing and some pain she helped Jimmy to enter her. The sex lasted hardly any time at all and after it Jimmy had lain heavily upon her, surprised at the suddenness of the climax. He now felt spent.
‘Roll over, Jimmy, you’re heavy.’
Jimmy had tried to be gentle and romantic but the difficulty at penetration had reduced him to little more than animal effort. Sex, he felt, was marvellous but it wasn’t beautiful. They had lain in bed and talked about their future and then come together once more, more easily but no more romantically. Then they dressed and left the flat to walk back to Bernadette’s house.
‘Will I get pregnant now?’ she asked eventually as they walked along.
‘I suppose so, we did it twice.’
Both had learned about sex in the school of ignorance and sin. Once was a risk you might get away with, twice made it a certainty.
‘Will we get married, Jimmy, before anything shows?’
Bernadette’s question was not a demand nor was it in any sense a weak plea. Jimmy understood it for what it was, a powerful statement of what she would do. Bernadette would have her baby, married or not, she would accept the rejection and humiliation that would inevitably be inflicted on her by family and community. She would shoulder the awful responsibilities, financial and social, of an unmarried Catholic mother with an illegitimate child. She would become poor, despised, and rejected, she would sacrifice her whole life to that new life inside her, begun because Jimmy needed sex. Her question was more of a statement of what she would do, how she would work out her guilt for the awful sin she had just committed. The question was telling Jimmy all of this, but it also told him that he was free to do as he wished, marry her or not as he chose. The sin was hers, she could have, should have, said ‘no’. The woman gave Adam the apple. Jimmy was free to go to Confession and carry on, there was no new life in him. Jimmy was a man, it was different for men.
‘Yes, Bernadette, we’ll get married, it’s all I’ve ever really wanted. We’ll get married soon.’
Bernadette thanked God in her heart. They would marry, the child would have a father, there would be some small disgrace at such a quick marriage but not humiliation and rejection. The sin could be forgiven, life could go on.
Three days later Bernadette’s period began, regular as clockwork.
SIX
Paddington, February 1995
Eddy Clarke walked back to Bart’s with Jimmy and then drove to Paddington Rolfe Street police station. He went to Inspector Deal’s office and knocked.
‘Yeah.’
He went in.
‘I’ve found out who Costello is.’
‘And told him he’s surplus to requirements?’
‘He knows you want him out, Boss.’
Deal put down the papers he was reading and gave Clarke his full attention.
‘You told him to go or what?’
‘I thought you might want to hear what I found out before you turned push into shove.’
‘Why, is he armed and dangerous?’
‘He’s not armed.’
‘All right, Sergeant, tell me all about Mr James Costello.’ Deal sat back in his chair and listened.
‘He was a copper, a DS, worked out of a north London nick. He retired about three years ago and left London, disappeared.’
‘So what?’
‘Well, his retirement was one step ahead of something, and it was serious. It was connected to the death of a villain, Denny Morris.’
‘And?’
‘If you ask me, no one wants him back. You’ll be in good company, Boss, the cream of both sides of the street will want him gone.’
‘And if we move him, if I move him …’
‘Some very important people would notice.’
‘So why shouldn’t push become shove? Seems to be the right result for everyone.’
‘Well, I don’t know any details, of course, but if you’re going to get him out you might want to know just what it’ll take before you start. Maybe you should talk to someone who knows the whole story.’
Deal considered. ‘He doesn’t look much to me. But …’
‘It might be a story worth knowing, something to show how well you know the town.’
‘All right, Eddy, it might be worth making a phone call to set up a meet. Anybody special I should talk to?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Boss, it was hard enough to get what I got. You know how people clam up when it’s something
in the family.’
‘Eddy, I asked who I should talk to.’
Clarke thought for a moment. Deal could do things with a duty roster that other people did with their boots in a cell.
‘Flavin would be your best bet, DI Tommy Flavin. He grew up in the same neighbourhood as Costello, they became coppers round about the same time. He’ll know all there is to know. If he doesn’t tell you, nobody will.’
‘Then I’ll talk to Flavin.’
‘Don’t mention my name, Boss. The Internal boys at A10 never got involved on this one but it could still be sensitive in high places.’
‘Don’t tell me the procedure, Eddy. I know how things go.’
‘Sure, Boss.’
Clarke left and Deal sat thoughtfully in his chair. It was an expensive chair, it was leather and well padded, it swivelled and rocked, it had little wheels so you could move about in it. He liked his chair. He turned round in it, slowly, until he faced the office window and rocked gently. After a few moments he turned and picked up his phone. A voice answered.
‘Sir?’
‘Get me DI Thomas Flavin. I don’t know which nick he’s at.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ replied the voice.
Deal put the phone down and turned to the window again. Costello wasn’t important. He might have been something once, but three years out of it changes a man, after three years you’ve lost touch. He wouldn’t be a problem but was he worth the effort? Who, exactly, would notice if he bounced Costello? The phone rang. Deal spun round and picked it up.
‘Thanks, put him on.’ There was a pause.
‘Hello, Joe Deal here, Paddington …’ He laughed. ‘No, not Paddington Green, nothing so grand, the other one …’
He laughed again. It was a good joke, he’d remember it. ‘That’s right, Rolfe Street, the one with the bike sheds and outside toilets. Listen, a sergeant here, Eddy Clarke, gave me your name, Tommy. I want to talk about someone who’s turned up on my patch. That’s right, Costello. You’ve already heard. No, it’s not part of an investigation, it would just be something between you and me. I like to stay in touch with who’s who. When? Tomorrow is fine. What about Bertani’s? No, it’s a bar-bistro. Where then? What time? Good. See you tomorrow, Tommy.’