That Will Do Nicely

by Ian Campbell

  Pascoe took her arm and steered her to the end of Gerrard Street and into Soho market.

  "Do you know this part of London?" He asked her.

  "Isn't it where all the sex clubs are?"

  "Trust you to think of that. At least you're behaving true to form. I used to work near here, a long time ago."

  "What, in a sex club?"

  "You're closer than you think. I used to work in a photographic studio very close to one of the most famous sex clubs. The Windmill Theatre.., the one that never closed in the war."

  "And did they have those sorts of shows on there then.., the ones with the girls."

  "Of course, only it was strictly controlled by the Lord Chancellor of England. He invented a rule that female nudity was allowed on the stage as long as the girls didn't move. They called them 'tableaux'. Some of the best entertainers of our time started at the Windmill."

  "Such as?"

  "Most of the Goons and lots of other acts. Would you like to see it?"

  They turned and headed up into Shaftesbury Avenue and along to Great Windmill Street, threading their way through the crowds as theatre-land disgorged its patrons onto the streets. At this time of night it seemed there were as many people about as in the rush hour. The great theatre of the Windmill was now under the wing of Paul Raymond, as was the revue bar of the same name. Some of the front of house pictures on display in some premises caused even Sam's liberal eyebrows to rise. Pascoe wondered what a stroll through the Pigalle district in Paris would do to her.

  "There you are, you wanted to know more about me.., that's where I got my first job." Sam looked to where his hand pointed.

  "It's a sex shop! I knew it!"

  "It is now, but back in the sixties it was just a photographic studio. Satisfied?"

  "Not yet, but I think I will be ".

  "I think we'd better start heading back to the hotel. It'll be another long day tomorrow."

  They hailed a cab in Regent's Street and were safely back at the hotel by 11.p.m.

  Good Friday dawned, with uncommon silence. Gone, were the everyday sounds of London's traffic and the peace was only occasionally disturbed by the throb of a taxi's diesel engine. Even the usual cacophony of Liverpool Street station itself, was muffled, as British Rail operated its reduced Sunday service.

  Sam and Pascoe took breakfast in their room, knowing that while, for the rest of the world it was Good Friday ,a day of religious celebration, for them D-day had arrived. The day when the first of their travelers’ cheques would start hitting the streets. A day on which, while London rested and the City slept, a hundred or more Americans would be sowing the seeds of a bountiful harvest.

  They reached the office in good time. As they expected to be the only people in the building that day, the sudden appearance of Spriggs, the janitor took them both by surprise. It was a mutual shock and Spriggs was still recovering as Sam made the introductions.

  "Good morning Mr. Spriggs, keeping an eye on things for us?"

  "Mornin' Miss." Spriggs spluttered.

  "This is my boss, Mr. Guyton," and turning to Pascoe, "This is Mr. Spriggs, our janitor." Pascoe shook the old man's hand.

  "I expect we'll be the only ones working today Mr. Spriggs. Don't be alarmed if you see quite a few people about the place. We are expecting a few visitors," explained Pascoe.

  "Shouldn't be allowed if you ask me Sir, what with it being a holiday an' all." Spriggs muttered.

  "So you're a religious man Mr. Spriggs, I do so admire that."

  "I didn't say I was and I didn’t say I wasn’t."

  "When you referred to it being a holiday, and that we should not be working... I thought you objected because of your religious convictions - because of today being Good Friday... "

  "Well that may be as it may... "

  "Stop pulling Mr. Spriggs' leg Sir." Sam cut in, to stop an argument developing.

  "Yes, you are quite right Miss Fairbrother, we must not take up any more of Mr. Spriggs' valuable time. Thank you Mr. Spriggs. Happy Easter."

  Without giving the janitor time to reply, they unlocked and entered the office. Alarm key in hand, Pascoe made a bee-line straight for the control box, counting to himself as he did so, aware that he had only 30 seconds to neutralize it. Sam, oblivious to his concern, carried on talking.

  "Do we handle everything the same way as yesterday?"

  "I think we'd better. I don't really know how many people we'll get today, but if everyone who didn't come yesterday, comes today, we will only have to deal with about 40 people. He opened the safe and took out some cheques and divided them equally into two piles. One for Sam, the other for himself.

  "There you are," he said, placing her pile on the desk. Make them up into batches of $5,000, $10,000 and $15,000 ... then we can prepare the rest of the wallets and application forms," he continued, unaware that Sam's attention was elsewhere.

  "I'll be right with you, I'll just make some coffee." She appeared shortly, bearing two plastic cups, spilling a little coffee on to the carpet before handing one to Pascoe. "Are you going to be here with me all day?" She inquired.

  "No, there are a couple of things I must do."

  "Such as?"

  "Well the biggest worry is your car. I thought I would move it today."

  "Move it where?"

  "Somewhere outside the city."

  "Why bother?"

  "Because it's going to stick out like a sore thumb in the car park over the week end when everyone's on holiday and it's number plate leads straight back to you.

  "I see. You really don't believe in taking chances."

  "Not when I don't have to. It's already been there for two days, but only on its own for the night. If I move it now, we should be all right. I'll do it when I've finished the coffee."

  Pascoe had already decided where to leave the car and drove straight to Bromley South station, where he bought a weekly parking ticket for the station's car park. Although he knew the car would be a little more exposed than if he had driven it home to Canterbury, he also knew it would at least be safe from the prying eyes of the beat copper in the City. Bromley South had the double advantage of not only being fairly safe from the eyes of the law, but it was also within easy reach of the office. Although he had to wait the best part of an hour for a train back to Cannon Street station, he still made it back to the office by a quarter to twelve.

  Within a few minutes of his return, the office buzzer sounded and the two of them prepared to receive another client.

  "Good morning, Dallasbank. Can I help you?" Sam replied to the door buzzer.

  "It's Spriggs here, Miss."

  "Yes, Mr. Spriggs, what can we do for you?" The man was already becoming a nuisance.

  "It's not for me, miss. I've got a couple of policemen here to see you." The janitor's words hit Pascoe with sledge hammer force. The blood turned to ice water in his veins and he looked long and hard at Sam.

  "Don't worry Miss Fairbrother. It can only be routine. I'll see what they want. You'd better ask them for identification through the intercom."

  "How?"

  "Ask them to push their warrant cards through the letter box." Pascoe watched as first one, then the other card fell into the letter box. He picked them up and examined them briefly before asking Sam to open the door. The three men entered, the policemen towering over Spriggs.

  "Good morning gentlemen," welcomed Pascoe. "How may we help you?" He handed back their warrant cards and ushered the caretaker out of the office.

  "Just routine really, Sir. We saw someone entering the building a few minutes ago and with it being a public holiday, we thought we'd better make sure everything was all right."

  "Well, I'm sure Mr. Spriggs has explained everything to you. Everything's fine, except for having to work when everyone else is enjoying a holiday."

  "That's what we thought was odd, Sir.., working on Good Friday."

  "I suppose it does seem odd, but we're part of an American bank and our lords and m
asters in the States recognize only their own holidays. I never thought of it when I took the job; never crossed my mind, but now I am under contract to them, I don't have any choice but to make the best of it. Luckily, they still celebrate Christmas on December 25th!" The policemen, who also didn't enjoy the usual holidays, smiled knowingly; glad they weren't the only ones to have pulled the short straw on the holiday roster.

  "Well we needn't keep you any longer, Sir," replied the elder of the two as they made their way to the door.

  "Before you go..," Pascoe called out to them, "We will be working right through the weekend. Perhaps you could inform your colleagues."

  "Certainly Sir."

  As soon as they had left, Pascoe and Sam retreated into the inner office.

  "That was, to say the least, unexpected," commented Sam.

  "It certainly was. They must have almost followed me in. Still they were only doing their job, keeping an eye on the place. It's just as well I moved the car."

  "Where did you take it?"

  "Bromley South Station car-park - it's only ten minutes by train from Cannon Street and that's only a five minute walk from here."

  "Sounds fine to me."

  "How many people this morning?"

  "Fifteen so far and all except two took the maximum $15,000. The others took $5,000. What does that make the total?"

  "I think I put the piece of paper with yesterday's totals in the left-hand drawer."

  Sam opened the draw and handed him the paper and waited while he worked out the new figures and added them to the total.

  "That brings us up to $1,450,000 gross, or $1,232,000 net." He answered.

  "Whichever way you look at it, darling, it's a hell of a lot of money."

  "And if my thinking's correct, some more of it should start coming in tomorrow. We had better work out how to handle it... "

  “You don't really think handling it will be a problem?" Sam inquired.

  "You had better believe it. Imagine just one of our clients coming in to see us having changed all his money - say £12,000 in round figures. How long will it take to count it? Remember it will be in £50's and £20's mainly, with a fair sprinkling of £5 notes. Let's average it out at 600 £20 notes and we count it twice to be sure. I reckon that'll take the best part of 12 - 15 minutes. We'll need to have a ledger written up so that we can enter the amounts returned and check against the amount given.., not strictly necessary from our point of view, but it will make things look better to the clients'. If we allow three minutes for the ledger and the arithmetic, that comes to 15 minutes per person, or 34 hours of accounting. So you see, we're going to be busy for the next few days and we'd better keep things as simple as possible. I'll get the calculator and ledger in the morning."

  "We could use the file cards instead of the ledger." Sam suggested." And then we could write up the details from their application forms now."

  “Brilliant. That will save time. Have you thought what you are going to do with the money?" Pascoe's question floored her. She'd never thought she would have a problem handling money.

  "How do you mean?"

  "Each day from now on, you might have £100,000 or so in used notes as your share. Have you thought what you are going to do with it?"

  "We could leave it in the safe I suppose," she offered, lamely.

  "And if they catch up with us before we're clear then we'll lose everything. Great! I think we'd better take the money away each day and put it somewhere safe and accessible. That way, if things come to the worst, it'll still be there when we come out in a few years’ time."

  "I wish you'd stop talking like that... you're beginning to frighten me."

  "Sorry darling, don't worry. I've already given it a lot of thought and I'll explain everything tomorrow."

  Further conversation was cut short by the buzzer, as the first of the tail-enders arrived. By the close of business that day, the total number of clients had risen to 124, and Pascoe's calculations showed that they had put $1,398,250 into circulation. It was a pity that they had seemingly lost some 13 clients, but Pascoe put it down to natural wastage. If they had shown up and each taken the maximum amount, it would have added some $195,000 to the total.

  "It's six o'clock, darling. Time to close-up... " Pascoe called to Sam, "Not a bad day's work. For once, I think Good Friday's lived up to its name!"

  Easter Saturday started in a sullen mood, London was overcast with low cloud and in parts of the city it was already falling as fine rain, the sort that permeates every kind of waterproof clothing and soaks through to the skin in minutes. Londoners commented that it was typical 'holiday week-end weather’, while their trans-Atlantic cousins accepted it as being 'typical of the goddamn city'. In truth, it was more or less what the Londoners expected and most of the visitors would have been slightly disappointed had the weather been any better. After all, most American tourists had the Hollywood vision of Jack the Ripper's London in mind and still expected to find a city swathed in fog.

  About the time Sam and Pascoe were opening up the office, the Kennerlys from Columbus, Ohio were leaving the Waldorf Hotel in London's Aldwych. The area marked on their map for changing the cheques lay due north of the hotel, bounded by the Inns of Court to the east and the great main-line stations of Euston, King's Cross and St.Pancras to the north. The remainder of their area consisted mainly of Bloomsbury and a little part of Soho. Fortunately for them, it also included the British Museum, which was prominent on their list of places to 'do'.

  The Kennerleys had agreed between themselves that they would not alter their sight-seeing plans and would only change their cheques when the opportunity arose.

  Bob Kennerley was the first to spot a Bureau-de-Change in High Holborn. It was little more than a glorified newsagent/tobacconist. Its grandiose claim to being a Bureau-de-Change consisting of a dingy rate board, equipped with equally dingy rates, leaning against its outside wall.

  "Excuse me," Kennerly asked the bureau’s Indian proprietor, "Do you take travelers' cheques?"

  "Would these be in your excellent dollars?” responded Rashid, the proprietor in an accent reminiscent of Peter Sellers in "The Millionairess".

  "That's right. Is there any limit to how many we can change?"

  "No, no. None at all. None whatsoever!" The request was music to Rashid’s ears. The more dollars exchanged the more commission he would make.

  "Well I'd like to change three hundred bucks if that's all right with you and I expect my wife will do the same... "

  "Certainly, Sir... no problem at all," said Rashid, his mind calculating that he stood to make more than £50 from the deal.

  "Excuse me again," asked the American, "But will there be any banks or change-places open tomorrow?"

  "No, Sir. All such places will be closed until next Tuesday, because of the holiday... but if I can be of humble service to you..," offered Rashid, lowering his head obsequiously, as he visualized future profits.

  Kennerley reflected that perhaps it would not take quite as long to change all the cheques as he had thought. He didn't mind waiting the several minutes it took for Rashid to retrieve the money from a secret place at the back of the shop, as it meant one less transaction that he would have to make. They left the Indian's shop, each having changed $ 500 and foraged further into the area around High Holborn.

  The district was littered with similar places and nearly every small shop, no matter what its primary business was, had an exchange rate-board displayed outside it. They made six similar transactions before they even reached the British Museum.

  Chapter 10

  The money changers

  Kennerley reflected that perhaps it would not take quite as long to change all the cheques as he had thought. He didn't mind waiting the several minutes it took for Rashid to retrieve the money from a secret place at the back of the shop, as it meant one less transaction that he would have to make. They left the Indian's shop, each having changed $ 500 and foraged further into the area around High H
olborn.

  The district was littered with similar places and nearly every small shop, no matter what its primary business was, had an exchange rate-board displayed outside it. They made six similar transactions before they even reached the British Museum.

  At the Change Alley office, two more people had turned up to collect their cheques and a third visitor, a Mr. Dwight Chambers had arrived bearing cash, having exchanged all of his. The young man from the mid-west was a student at U.C.L.A and related how easy it had been to change his cheques. Pascoe recalled that Chambers had been one of the first people to collect the cheques on the Thursday and realized the student must have devoted all his waking hours to changing them during the first two days of the holiday. Chambers explained that his area had included central London and he had concentrated on the main railway stations. He had found three separate Bureau-de-Change in Victoria Station alone and had managed to change $1,000 at each of them. This sum was far in excess of what Pascoe had asked the clients to do, but congratulated him on his efficiency and didn’t remind him of the $300 limit to be cashed at each outlet. As it was a 'fait accompli', he thanked him for his co-operation and handed over the commission fee.

  "There you are Mr. Chambers," said Pascoe," £1,080 Sterling, which at current rates is the equivalent of $1,350... not bad for a couple of day's work!"

  "Hell no, like taking candy from a baby." He replied, thumbing through the money, taking pleasure feeling the bills. "Just let me know if I can help again."

  "We will Mr. Chambers... if the need should arise. It's good to know we can count on you." Pascoe turned to Sam," We do have Mr. Chambers' address and telephone number Miss. Fairbrother?"

  "Certainly, Sir. Everything's on file."

  Pascoe showed the American out.