Jack Carter and the Mafia Pigeon

by Ted Lewis

She gets into the lift and it’s her turn to press a button. The door slides to and Audrey folds her arms and leans back against the panelling, eyes closed, a dreamy expression on her face.

  “If I thought you had had her,” she says, “you know what I’d do to you, don’t you?”

  I’ve got a pretty good idea, but I don’t tell her I have.

  The lift stops and the door slides open and all we have to do is cross the hall and Audrey’s taking her room key out of her handbag. She unlocks the door, pushes it open and stands back for me to go in first.

  Compared to the rooms at the villa this one’s a matchbox. There’s just enough room for a couple of single beds and a fitted wardrobe. There’s a bathroom off to the left and between the single beds there’s a bedside table and on it there’s an ice-bucket with champagne sticking out of it. It has the atmosphere of the inside of a suitcase. Audrey follows me in and closes the door and locks it and puts the key back in her handbag. Then she goes over to the bed and sits down on the edge and leans across it and with a bit of a struggle pours two glasses of champagne and manages to manhandle mine over to me without spilling too much of it, but that’s immaterial as far as I’m concerned because I say to her:

  “You got anything else?”

  She looks at me. “You what?”

  “Anything other than that. To drink.”

  “What’s the matter with you then?”

  “I’m sick of the sight of it. I’ve seen enough this twenty-four hours to send me back to large browns.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “Yes. Now where’s the bleeding envelope?”

  Eventually Audrey tears her gaze away from me and puts the glasses down on the floor and reaches her handbag and opens it and takes out a long brown envelope and hands it to me. I tear the top off and slide out a small sheet of paper typewritten on both sides. I begin to read.

  Dear Jack,

  By now you will have met Joseph D’Antoni, the associate of our associates in the States, and also by now he’ll have told you his story. We left that to him rather than tell you ourselves for various reasons, one being that we wasn’t sure he’d make it there and if he didn’t well what was the point of spoiling your well deserved holiday, eh, Jack? Didn’t want you fretting did we? Anyway, as it transpires, he did make it, so now you know the story, what he’s told you. Only you don’t, as it happens and neither did we until today, so don’t think yourself a cunt for not sussing it because we didn’t either. You know we’re pushovers for a hard luck story. It seems Joseph didn’t tell us everything and that what he did tell us was cobblers anyway and the real story is he took some liberties and our associates don’t know exactly how much he already said but if he says anymore not only them but us as well will be in dead lumber concerning a certain side of our operation, because if the lot over the water go down the pan we not only lose considerable readies we might go down it with them, if you get our meaning. So our friends get in touch with us today and it comes up that you’re over there and them being not a little bit pissed off with us it’s their suggestion that we do something about it, it being convenient that you and he are both out there, so to speak. We know that you will get our meaning and we don’t have to tell you what sort of bonuses will be in order regarding this one. Any removal work that might come in necessary Wally will put you right on and we know you can take care of things without disrupting your well-earned holiday too much.

  Gerald and Les

  P.S. Let us know how things go when the phone comes back on again.

  When I’ve finished reading the letter I hold my thoughts in a kind of deepfreeze while I pick up the two glasses that Audrey’s set down on the floor and drink them dry, one after the other.

  Now I’ve worked for the Fletchers for nearly twelve years, and many events have occurred over those years, many strokes have been pulled by the two of them, some of them so bizarre that they wouldn’t bear chronicling. But over the years I’ve grown accustomed to those kind of strokes, because I’ve been put in so many times. I mean, there was once a time they sent me out to fit up Jimmy Madison by pulling a job that had all the hallmarks while Gerald and Les were treating him to lunch at the Club, the idea being that when the law came to Jimmy’s doorstep he’d think he had it cast-iron with Gerald and Les, only what they said they intended saying when Old Bill checked up, what that not only had they not had lunch with him, they’d never even heard of him, not even his old mum what bore him gloriously into the world, and that denial, together with the testimonies of various handpicked witnesses, would put Jimmy away and out of competition for at least until Millwall won the European Cup. Anyway that was the story I was told, but what was really on was that a member of Old Bill who was on the wages sheet had been indiscreet about how he spent his money; and so to scotch any impending investigation he’d been set to pull a few names out of the hat, Jimmy and the Fletchers being among them. So they’d got together and worked out that if the member of Old Bill was put on to the job, was tipped off about Jimmy, named him, then due to Jimmy’s alibi was made to look a right berk, the impending investigation would be speeded up by the vigour of the press. Which was all fair enough except that nobody put me in it, and as it happened a smart copper broke down a witness and I got put in it via a different route. I didn’t go down, because our brief was too good, but the point was, I could have done, and I wouldn’t have put myself in that position if I’d known all about the double shuffles the Fletchers were playing at with Jimmy.

  Now I know life’s cheap, and when you’re in my line of business you have a lot come your way you have to chew on hard and swallow but you do, as often as possible, like a chance to choose what’s coming at you, and on more than one occasion the Fletchers have put me in things where if I went down, not only would they lose the best Number One in the business, but—and this is what riles me—is they either don’t care they’ve got the best Number One in the business or they don’t know they’ve got the best Number One. Either way, they don’t care if they lose the best Number One, the geezer that’s kept them out the centre court more times than they’ll even know about. And it hasn’t exactly been unknown for me, as a matter of policy as far as the firm’s concerned, to see to transgressors from members of the opposition on a more or less permanent basis, the more or less depending on the degree to which your religious belief extends. Now obviously, unless warm emotion enters into those events, as it sometimes does, one would rather be watching the Spurs giving the Arsenal a pasting, but in those cases stoicism is always a comfort for both parties, as it were, but an even greater comfort at times like those is the knowledge that there but for the grace of God goes me; it’s not just the Fletchers’ necks I’m saving.

  But this, this is something else. Apart from what those bastards want sorted, what is stoking me up to the valve of ten is the way they’ve gone about it; not only that, but they think I’m the kind of cunt that’d believe the crap in the letter. Oh yes, I’m supposed to say to myself, I can see as how it would be, very unfortunate, Gerald and Les being put in lumber like that, and them only thinking as how they was doing somebody a favour, the way they often do. Naturally, under the circumstances, as I work for them, I’ll be pleased to do the honours then finish the holidays that they’ve been good enough to provide for me out of the kindness of their hearts.

  I walk between the two beds to where the champagne is and stock up my glass again.

  “What is it?” Audrey says.

  I sit down on the edge of the opposite bed and look at her.

  “You read this?” I ask her.

  “ ’Course I haven’t read it.”

  “Don’t flannel me. You read everything of theirs whether they know it or they don’t.”

  “Well, this time I haven’t, all right?”

  I light a cigarette.

  “And you don’t know what’s happening at the villa.”

  “Only that one of the Yanks is staying there, yeah, I know that.”

  “Well,
I’ll tell you why he’s supposed to be staying there, then I’ll tell you why he’s actually staying there. It’s better than Andy Pandy, because although it’s on the same intellectual level, there’s more twists to the plot.”

  Audrey looks at me as if I’m a drunken husband telling her nobody loves him at two in the morning when he should have been home for his fish supper at half past seven. So I wipe the look off her face by first telling her the events starting with my arrival at the villa, leaving out the bits concerning Tina. Then I avail her of the contents of the letter which she has just delivered unto me. When I’ve finished doing that I pour two more glassfulls of champagne and hand one of them to her. She takes it from me, and like me, after I’d read the letter, she downs it in one. After she’s done that she thrusts her glass in my direction and I fill her up again and when she’s drained that one she launches into a descriptive monologue concerning the latest strokes of Gerald and Les, putting into words the thoughts I’ve been having, only some of the words Audrey’s selecting do far more justice to the eggs than the rather mundane similes I’ve come up with in my own mind, but then the profession Audrey was in before she took up with Gerald afforded her a much greater command of the English language than I’ll ever have. When she’s exhausted everything she knows she stretches out her arm and I fill the glass for her. For a while after I’ve done that the room itself is full of silence, but outside in the darkness there’s the sound of a pneumatic drill going to work on the next hotel to be finished by the start of the season. It’s the least annoying thing about the whole evening.

  It’s Audrey who eventually breaks our mutual silence.

  “So what you going to do then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I say. What you going to do?”

  “What do you think I’m going to do?”

  There’s another silence. Again it’s Audrey who breaks it.

  “We’ve got a lot to come out of the firm,” she says. “When we make our move, I mean.”

  I don’t answer her because I don’t consider the question worth answering.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” she says. “When we upset the applecart we’re going to be set for life. I don’t have to tell you that. When we make our move, we’re not just worth a fortune. We’re worth a fortune each.”

  “I do know that.”

  “That’s good,” she says.

  “I’m glad you think that. So what you leading up to.”

  “Nothing. Except to remind you we’re not ready to move yet.”

  “That’s right. I am aware of that.”

  Audrey nods.

  “So?” I say to her.

  “So we can’t make that move unless you’re still working for them, can we?”

  It’s my turn to nod in agreement.

  “You’re right about that, too,” I tell her.

  She stretches her arm out for her glass to be re-filled again. I lift the bottle and when I’ve poured she takes a sip and lies back on her bed.

  “Well,” she says. “There you are.”

  I pour myself some more champagne.

  “Where am I, would you say?” I ask her.

  She closes her eyes and snuggles the back of her head into the pillow.

  “Well, it won’t be any sweat, will it?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “All right, they’re cunts,” she says. “That we know. They gone about things in their usual way, which is a piss-off. It makes me boil up, it really does. You know that. But on the other hand, we’re in business for ourselves. We can’t afford to move yet, the time’s not right. We can’t do anything now which gets in the way of what we’ve planned since we ever set eyes on each other.”

  “Which means?”

  “I know how you feel. I feel the same. I can’t stand it when I think those two think they got the nous to put anything over on you or me. You know how I feel about that.”

  “Yes, I know how you feel about that.”

  “At the same time, there’s something that ultimately makes me feel better, and that is the knowledge that they’re not; they’re not smarter. Ultimately it’s us that’s screwing them, and what will be delightful is their contemplation of that fact when they’re where they’re going to be when we’re where we’re going to be. That’s going to be all the fun, that knowledge, the knowledge of their knowledge.”

  “Yes, that’s true as well.”

  “Well, then, looking at it sensibly, what’s the odds? Some months from now, we’ll be laughing. I mean, it’s not as if you’re coming new to this kind of thing. For instance, I remember the night you had to go out and top Tony Bridges because of the liberty he took and that amount of money what was missing from what happened in Wembley that time. Before you went to report back to Gerald and Les you stopped off on the way and gave me a right seeing too, and after you’d done that you had five minutes kip and then had a shower and went off to tell the bastards how things had gone.”

  “Yes, I remember that.”

  “Wasn’t any sweat, was it?”

  “Tony took a big liberty.”

  “I know, and so did this one by the sound of it.”

  “It’s not personal, like with Tony.”

  “So fucking what? You won’t lose any sleep. And there’ll be no danger. Nobody knows he’s on the island. It’s better than Epping Forest up there for getting rid. Never find anything in a million years.”

  “Well, that’s all right, then.”

  “ ’Course it is. It’s worth wearing, just this once.”

  She stretches her arm out for another refill. She’s still flat on her back, her eyes are still closed. I pour her champagne and she takes a sip and then waves her arm about until she’s located the bedside table. Then she puts the glass down and puts her hands to the waistband of her skirt and unzips the zip and raises her bum and wriggles out of her skirt. After she’s done that she unbuttons her blouse and eases that off her and she’s left lying there in this silk slip with lace trimmings that she often wears when we’re getting at it. Then she draws her knees up and the sound of her tights is like static electricity.

  “So now we’ve settled that,” she says, “why don’t we settle the other business what we’re supposed to be meeting about.”

  There’s more static as her knees part, revealing the black underwear beyond the lace edging of the slip, and whatever I’ve said or thought about Audrey in the past, one thing has always been constant, that being that the prospect of sinking one with her is never better than the actual act, and the familiarity of that act has never bred contempt, rather it has re-enforced the memory of how good it’s going to be when it’s got down to, which, in my experience, is a rare experience. And no one knows this better than Audrey. Audrey, in fact, would get along extremely well without any of the considerable brains she has in her head, just on the strength of what she could achieve in the wide world by the use of her body. But for once, and only once, she’s going to be surprised and disappointed. I reach for the phone on the bedside table and pick up the receiver. The sound makes Audrey open her eyes.

  “What are you doing?” she says.

  Nothing happens at the other end of the phone.

  “Eh?” she says.

  “I thought I’d just phone Gerald and Les and tell them how much I’m enjoying my holidays and thank them for the arrangements they’ve made for me.”

  Audrey sits up on the bed.

  “You what?”

  I put the phone down and pick it up again. Still nothing.

  “I said what you doing?” Audrey says.

  “I know. And I told you.”

  “You’re joking.”

  I don’t answer her. She reaches over and tries to grab the phone off me but I push her away and she bangs her head on the wall at the top of the bed.

  “Christ,” she yelps, but I’m not interested in any of that, all I’m interested in is getting through to those eggs in London and telling them all t
he things I’m really looking forward to telling them. But of course the crack on the head makes Audrey come back strong and it’s only a matter of seconds before we’re thrashing about on the bed like a couple of kids fighting over who has the teddy bear. Now normally this kind of behaviour would be good warm-up stuff for things to come but not now, because I’m so stoked up everything that is not the phone call is superflous, so I try and stop the proceedings by fetching Audrey one round the ear-hole but the effect that has is only to intensify her activity; at the moment she is concentrating on trying to do irreparable damage with her knee to that part of my body which she loves best. I give her another one but only to similar effect so I take hold of both her wrists and straddle her and pin her down that way and wait for her to come to terms with the fact that there’s no way she’s going to be able to do anything about the situation. So for a while I stare down at her and she stares up at me and nowhere in her expression can be found a trace of the memory of eight happy years. After a while she says:

  “I always thought Gerald was the most stupid bastard I ever met. Which was why I married him, his stupidity being an asset as far as what I intended doing. Then I met you, and it became what we intended doing, me thinking you were smart, as it were. But now it looks like I was wrong. I did Gerald an injustice. He’s not even as stupid as I am, thinking how smart you were.”

  “Listen,” I say to her, “I’ve eaten their shit for long enough. Of all the strokes they pulled on me, this is the biggest. And this time I don’t swallow. If they want D’Antoni seeing to, they can get their fucking rowing boat out and come over and see to him themselves. By which time I won’t be here. I’ll be paddling at Cleethorpes with a hankie on my head.”

  Audrey shakes her head.

  “You berk,” she says. “You bleeding berk.”

  I let go of her wrists and cock my leg and swing off the bed and pick the phone up again and still there’s nothing but a stem reply so I smash the receiver down and pour myself some more champagne.

  “I mean,” Audrey says, “not only are you prepared to fuck up the whole of our remaining lives, you’re going to do it by speaking your piece via the hotel switchboard. Jesus. I must have been mad, that’s what I must have been.”