We Promise Not to Tell

by Albert Able

  “I see, well in that case I will definitely get someone to watch over it for them.” Marcus tried to reassure him.

  Stan smiled; he had obviously made up his mind. “Alright, I’ll be there, don’t know about the others though.” Stan mumbled and moved away pushing his laden pram.

  “Better have them ready by half twelve. I’ll park by the bridge arch okay?” Marcus called after him.

  Stan gave a brief hand signal confirming the arrangement.

  “I did not know we had a mini-bus?” I asked Marcus as we walked back into the hotel.

  “Well actually” Marcus ran his fingers through his thick black hair “we don’t but Max Harris from the night club has, I’m hoping he will lend it to me,” he smiled “I’ll have a word with him” Marcus looked at his watch “In fact I’ll go down now.”

  Marcus did an about turn and I returned to the reception.

  Chapter 5 - Marcus

  Years later when we were writing this story I recalled that moment with Stan and Connie, mainly because I was beginning to realise that Connie was much more than just one of the reception team.

  Quite prepared to become involved in the heart of the hotel operation Connie clearly had all the qualities of a true professional and undoubtedly had a totally different level of ‘job satisfaction’ than the rest of the team.

  The next matter in hand however, was to persuade Max Harris to lend us his treasured Mini-bus.

  When I arrived at his office Max was sitting in his high backed leather chair; he listened patiently to the story in his usual po-faced silence. When I finished, he reached into one of the desk drawers and produced a set of keys, which he weighed carefully in his hand.

  “Do you really expect me to let you drive my mini-bus, around my manor, loaded with a bunch of tramps and in broad daylight?” A pained look of exasperation etched into his face.

  “Well…” I started to reply.

  Max raised his hand cutting me short as his expression changed and a rare smile replaced the scowl. “D’you know something, those men, are just you and me on a different road in this funny old life of ours. In many ways they are better than us, free spirits with a code of their own.” Max stood up. “I tell you what we’re going to do Marcus; first we get my driver Charlie and that big doorman Louis, to watch over their ‘stuff’ as you call it.” Max was always careful not to describe them as his bodyguards.

  “If Charlie is to act as guard” I interrupted “who’s going to drive the mini-bus?”

  Max smiled again. “That’s easy, I will.”

  The following afternoon we loaded Stan and his four mates into the mini-bus, leaving Charlie and Louis, the giant doorman, to guard their makeshift homes and precious possessions.

  “Nobody touches nothing, understood?” Max left a final instruction.

  “Don’t worry boss. I guarantee it’ll all be here when you get back.” Charlie guffawed.

  Louis just grunted agreement and stood feet apart with his enormous arms folded.

  No one could see into the vehicle, the heavily tinted windows saw to that. None the less, I laughed to myself as we drove through the lunchtime traffic to the crematorium. Just imagine what the newspapers would make of the General Manager of a prestigious London hotel, accompanied by his female receptionist, together with five bedraggled tramps and all being driven by one of London’s toughest gangsters!

  The Resident Chaplin conducted the briefest of religious ritual followed by some equally clinical civil formalities; it all seemed to be completed within a few minutes.

  “Oh and you can collect the ashes tomorrow afternoon if you want them, otherwise they will be scattered in the rose-bed.” The sallow faced Chaplin pointed to a tiny patch of neatly tended roses and vanished back into the building.

  The complete lack of sincerity of the whole proceedings made me embarrassed and angry. “No need, I’ll collect them.” I heard myself say testily to the indifferent Chaplin.

  Consequently, we were hardly out of the mini-bus before we were piling back into it again.

  As Max drove us away from the crematorium he asked cheerfully. “How about we stop at a pub and have a little drink, just to give Bill a proper send off?” Max looked into the driving mirror looking for a response to his idea.

  “I don’t drink, but the others do.” Stan replied, speaking for the first time since the funeral.

  “Well I wouldn’t say no.” One of the others enthusiastically accepted the offer.

  “In that case, this one will do just fine.” Max braked suddenly and pulled into the curb.

  ‘The Dog and Sausage’ a neatly painted sign announced. “I reckon Delia will be able to sort some thing out for us.” Max jumped out of the Mini-bus and headed for the entrance.

  The rest of the strange little troupe followed in silence.

  Max was already at the bar talking to a neatly dressed middle-aged woman. “Right now, Delia here makes the best steak and kidney pies in London, so is that okay for everyone?” It was more of a command than a request but there were no complaints.

  Delia smiled sweetly and scurried into the back and shouted to someone “Eight steak and kidney pies and better make it the fresh ones, the Governor’s here!”

  “So what is everyone having to drink?” Max winked at me but said nothing more.

  “Orange juice for me please.” Connie started.

  “Make that two,” I added.

  “Better make that three,” said Stan raising three fingers.

  Max turned to the others; they all ordered pints of real-ale.

  Max did not drink either and so added a further orange juice to the order. “Right now, I’m afraid I didn’t know Bill but I’m pleased to know some of his friends. So I just want to wish him and his memory a safe journey.” Max raised his glass. “Where ever he finds himself next.”

  The others responded in a mumble of respect and silence descended on the group again.

  I tried to make conversation by asking Stan if he knew much about Bill’s past; I was greeted with a muttered “No” and all other attempts by both Connie and Max received a similar stubborn reply.

  The pies however, were devoured in a matter of minutes, as was the beer; Max did not invite them to second helpings of either.

  On the way back, Stan chose to sit in the front with Max. “He was a book keeper you know.” Stan blurted out suddenly.

  “Was he?" Max said with genuine interest.

  “We worked together for a few years.” Stan stared ahead his mind elsewhere.

  “Strange isn’t it how things turn out. First I lost my family and took to the road and almost one year later Bill got charged with having his hand in the till.” Stan seemed to relax a bit. “He didn’t do it of course; poor sod was set up by the bastards trying to take over the company. You see it was once a successful family business but none of the founder’s children was capable of running it. So when the old boss died Bill was left in complete control.” Stan shook his head in disbelief as he remembered.

  “It turned out that a rival company wanted to get its hands on the business and so they set about discrediting Bill making it easier for the family to accept the offer to sell.” Stan sighed and looked down at his hands.

  “Not having children of his own, Bill was so dejected by the family’s lack of faith in him, that after a failed attempt at taking his own life; decided to join his old friend Stan the road. We’ve been together ever since.”

  Stan stared ahead and stifled his emotions.

  “So I take it that means you are a book keeper or something as well?” Max asked Stan trying to change the sombre mood.

  Stan swallowed and turned to face Max. “Well actually I’m a Chartered Accountant,” he answered modestly.

  “Blimey” Max exclaimed genuinely surprised “well maybe you’re the bloke who could give me a bit of advice. I would not ask you to come and work for me of course; I understand you ‘Roadies’ have rejected all those conventions but perhaps you could
just give me some guide lines on a couple of little issues I need to sort out?”

  “Maybe” Stan replied but his mind was clearly still elsewhere for the moment.

  The following day Max volunteered to collect the tiny urn of ashes and was standing alone by the river, when Connie and I arrived at the agreed spot followed by the ragged group of tramps.

  Max solemnly passed the urn across to me, the others all looked towards me in anticipation and it was suddenly obvious to me that I was expected to carry out the ceremony.

  I looked at the expectant little group “When we first met you wanted to put Bill into the river” I glanced at the water running past a few feet away “well now we can do just that and quite legally.” I looked back at my motley audience for a sign of approval but no one met my eyes so I slowly raised the urn and scattered the contents into the swirling current. “Dust to dust and ashes to ashes.” I intoned, I could not think of anything else to say.

  “God speed Bill!” Stan raised a hand in salute sniffing back a tear as he turned, grabbed his laden pram and headed away from the group.

  We did not hear from him for the next week. Then late one morning Max walked straight into my office. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve got Stan outside the Club but he will not leave his bloody pram full of crap and I am not having it in the Club, he say’s that you or young Connie, are the only ones he’ll trust with it!”

  I couldn’t help laughing as I listened to one of London’s tougher gangsters being intimidated by a harmless old tramp.

  “And a very good morning to you Max!” I said trying to calm him.

  Raising one hand in an exasperated gesture, he acknowledged my greeting. “So I need your help… please.”

  I looked at my watch “Hang on I’ll get Connie.”

  We found Stan complete with overloaded pram, squatting near the entrance to the Club.

  “Both of my ‘Guardian Angels’ I am honoured.” Stan greeted us cheerfully and bowed deeply.

  Max however was getting irritated as he stood in the doorway of the Club. “So let’s get on with it, I haven’t all day to play games.”

  However, Stan was in no hurry. “May I leave my stuff with you Marcus?”

  “Of course” I replied, “I will take it into the hotel and lock it in the equipment store and I’m the only one with access!” I dangled the key. “If that’s agreeable with you?”

  “That’s fine” Stan agreed suspiciously “I’ll come with you” and he followed me to the large store at the rear of the hotel, pushed the pram inside and reluctantly released his grip on the handle. “You’re sure you’re the only one with a key?” He queried.

  “That’s for certain.” I smiled waving the key again to convince him and then led him back to the others.

  “Now can we get started?” Max raised his hands in exasperation.

  Connie placed a reassuring hand on Stan’s arm. “Don’t worry we will make certain everything is quite safe.”

  “Thank you my dear.” Stan smiled at her and patted her hand. “So now let’s see what your problem is.” Stan turned and followed Max into the Club.

  I learned the full details of Stan’s visit a few days later. It seemed that Max had never kept any proper records nor submitted any purchase tax returns, as it was known in those days. Nor did he have any wages or social security records. In other words, he had simply taken the entire gate and the bar sales; the great majority of which was cash and stuffed it neatly into a large fireproof safe. Almost all his bills for supplies and wages had also been paid cash.

  Max Harris did have a bank account, where the cheque payments, together with a token amount of cash were occasionally banked. But the story went deeper than the nightclub. Max had been dealing in every kind of lowlife deal for the least five years. The only thing he had apparently done was to keep his own social security payments up to date.

  Max was perfectly open with Stan and disclosed, without a flicker of an eyelid the source of his amassed wealth. “Left school at fourteen learned to add up but little else.” He sat behind his large oak desk. “You gotta learn to use your wits you see. You understand that, living on the street like you do, yea?”

  Stan nodded understanding.

  “Started by nicking a few things but quickly learned that was a recipe for disaster, all my mates were banged-up before they were twenty. That way wasn’t for me. I realised that you have to trade stuff to make money, so I used to buy and sell fruit and flowers, stuff like that but it don’t make no money with legit stuff. Eventually almost by accident, I found the way to make real cash. I had a girlfriend who was so red hot sexy, I used to get my mates to give her one to try to cool her down. Then I found a bloke who wanted to give me a few quid to have a go. She loved it, couldn’t get enough so I went into full time business pimping for her. Then she said she had a mate who needed a few bob and before I knew it, I had four of five of um on the go.” Max went on to explain that eventually he found that one of his girls had a drug habit and she wanted paying in ‘happy pills’. After that it didn’t take any time before he was pushing drugs on a significant scale.

  One of the consequences of his new profession was that other villains were being deprived of the trade Max was taking on, so they wanted a part of the action or for Max to pay for protection. However, Max was a hard man and had no intention of being pushed around. This meant that physical violence became a part of his daily life.

  Within two years, Max controlled a significant and well-defined area on the South side of the Thames. Opening the new Night Club under the Riverside Hotel, gave him the foothold he was looking for to expand his operation north of the river.

  “So you see I need someone to set up a pucker book keeping system that will keep everything hunky dory and also keep the bloody tax man away.”

  At first, Stan was quite shocked when Max opened the safe to reveal hundreds of thousands of pounds in cash; he was also fully aware that the possession of all this information now made him party to Max’s criminal activities and even more importantly perhaps, was the fact that the man standing just a few feet away, was quite capable of making him vanish without trace.

  On the other hand, Stan thought, what did he have to loose; after ten years on the road, he was more frightened of life than death.

  It was at that moment, as he stood before Max, that Stan experienced that exhilarating flush of energy that he had so long ago turned his back on. Now he wanted to get to grips with the challenge that Max Harris had set for him.

  Stan stood up straight, squared his shoulders and looked directly at Max. “I tell you what I can do for you but you will have to be prepared to accept everything I propose, without question.”

  Max started to retaliate but Stan raised his hand to stop him.

  “I listened to you without interruption and I have a very clear picture of your situation. So now, if you want me to organise your accounting I will but only on these conditions. First, we do not try to avoid paying any legitimate taxes. Second you will allow me to have complete control of the bank accounts that I will set up for you.”

  Max sat back in his chair aghast at the impudence of the scruffily dressed man facing him.

  “The result of my proposal, I am nearly sure, will guarantee that you stay out of prison, at least as a result of your accounting procedures.” Stan undid his scruffy old mack; he was getting warm in the close confines of Max’s subterranean office. “If you get caught peddling your illicit wares, that will be a different issue” Stan took his old coat off and held it in across his arm “and there is one other thing Max, I must have natural light and air, I couldn’t possibly spend any more time in this dungeon.” He turned away and headed for the door. “I’ll be up in the fresh air when you’ve decided what you want to do.”

  Stan left the confined office and started to walk across the dance floor towards the exit staircase.

  Open mouthed and dazed Max Harris stood up abruptly from his chair; no one had spoken to him like t
hat in many years.

  “So you think you can blackmail me, is that it? Now that I’ve shown you a couple of my little secrets?” Max shouted after taking a few steps after the departing tramp but Stan did not stop.

  Max Harris called out again; trembling with rage “You won’t last five minutes” he spat in low menacing voice.

  This time Stan stopped and turned, a serene smile spread across his face. “Do you really think that I may have something to gain from exposing your affairs to, shall we say the Inland Revenue or other authorities?” Stan’s expression suddenly changed to a scowl as he took a step towards Max. “Max Harris you can’t threaten me. I as good as died ten years ago when I lost my family and took to the road, so killing me would be to do me a service.”

  Max’s rage subsided as quickly as it had exploded. There was an uneasy silence for a few moments before he stepped forward, his ego fully deflated.

  “Oh God Stan I’m sorry.” Max shook his head in shame, at the same time moved closer to the defiant tramp, offering him a handshake. “I’ve been living in my own little world for so long; it’s too easy to forget about the rest of the world.” Max looked into Stan’s eyes “Truth is, I suppose that we are a bit the same, up until now that is, ‘cos there hasn’t been a soul in the world I could trust.”

  Stan’s soft expression slowly returned as he reached out and took the offered hand. “Yes it was the same for me too, until a few days ago when those two dropped into my life.” Stan indicated upwards with his eyes.

  The spell was almost broken when Max’s giant bodyguard appeared at the top of the stairs. “You okay Boss?” He boomed.

  “Yes, I think everything is just fine thank you” The reply was so unusually courteous that the suspicious bodyguard asked again.

  “You sure?” He peered anxiously at the two men.

  “Yep, I’m sure.” Max assured him.

  Over the course of the next few days, Stan planned and implemented a detailed set of accounting systems, which he considered would cater for all of Max’s complicated business activities.