by Jack Higgins
‘I want Manton. Where is he?’
‘Is there perhaps something wrong, Mr Brady?’
‘There will be if you don’t get Manton down here fast.’
A party of three or four people, newly arrived, glanced at him curiously and the Italian stepped to a door marked Private and opened it.
‘I believe Mr Manton is at the bar. If you’ll wait in here, I’ll go and see.’
Brady moved inside and the door closed behind him. The office was little more than a cubbyhole, with a desk and a green filing cabinet taking up most of the space. There was a half-completed staff duty list on the blotting pad and he turned it round and examined it idly, noting a familiar name here and there.
The door clicked open behind him and closed again. When Brady turned, Fred Manton was leaning against the door, lighting a cigarette. He was a tall, lean man with good shoulders that showed to advantage in the well-cut dinner jacket. The blue eyes and clipped moustache gave him a faintly military air which went down well with the customers, many of whom nicknamed him the Major and imagined him the product of one of the better public schools.
Nothing could have been further from the truth as Brady knew well and he dropped the duty list on the blotter and looked Manton up and down, contempt and open dislike on his face.
Manton went behind the desk, opened a drawer. He held up the duty list. ‘Some people might say you’d been sticking your nose into things that didn’t concern you.’
‘You’re breaking my heart,’ Brady said. ‘Garvald – Ben Garvald. Where is he?’
Manton seemed genuinely surprised. ‘You must be getting old. Last I heard he was in Wandsworth. I thought everybody knew that.’
‘He was released yesterday. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you?’
Manton shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen Ben in nine years, not since the day he went down the steps for the Steel Amalgamated job in Birmingham or aren’t you familiar with that one?’
‘In detail,’ Brady said. ‘Garvald’s wheelman got clear away after that little tickle. We never did manage to run him down.’
‘Well, don’t look at me,’ Manton said. ‘I was at home that night.’
‘Who said so, your mother?’ Brady sneered.
Manton crushed his cigarette in the ashtray very deliberately and reached for the telephone. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I’m getting my lawyer in before I say another word.’
As he lifted the receiver, Brady pulled it from his hand and replaced it in its cradle. ‘All right, Manton, let’s stop playing games. I want Garvald. Where is he?’
‘How should I know, for Christ’s sake. This is the last place he’ll show, believe me.’
‘When we pulled him in for the Steel Amalgamated job, you and he were partners in a club on the other side of the river.’
‘That’s right. The old One-Spot. So what?’
‘Maybe Garvald thinks you still owe him something or did you pay him off while he was inside?’
‘Pay him off?’ Manton started to laugh. ‘What with – washers? After they pulled Ben in, your boys cracked down on the One-Spot so hard we went bust inside a month. I owed money from here to London. So did Ben if it comes to that, but he wasn’t around when the bailiffs arrived. I was.’
There was a bitterness in his voice that gave the whole sorry story the stamp of truth and Brady, facing the fact that his hunch had been wrong, swallowed his disappointment and made one last try.
‘You’ve got a place of your own upstairs haven’t you? I’d like to have a look round.’
‘Got a warrant?’
‘What do you think?’
Manton shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. Look all you want. If you find Ben, let me know. I could put him to work for two years and he’d still owe me money.’
‘My heart bleeds for you,’ Brady said and he opened the door.
Manton smiled, teeth gleaming beneath the clipped moustache. ‘Come to think of it, I could do with another man on the door in the spring, Brady. How long before you retire?’
Brady’s hand tightened on the door handle, the knuckles whitening as the anger churned up into his throat in a tight ball that threatened to choke him.
He took a deep breath and when he spoke, his voice was remarkably controlled. ‘Now that was a stupid remark for a smart boy like you to make, Manton. Really stupid.’
And Manton knew it. As his smile evaporated, Brady grinned gently, closed the door and walked across the thick carpet to the entrance.
The rain, which had drifted on the wind for most of the evening, was falling heavily now and he paused beside the old newspaper man who was swathing himself in a groundsheet. Brady picked up a newspaper and opened it at the sports page.
‘Ben Garvald, Micky. Remember him?’
The old man’s voice was hoarse and broken, roughened by disease and bad liquor over the years. ‘Couldn’t forget one like him, Mr Brady.’
‘Has he gone in the Flamingo tonight?’
The old man ignored him, pretending to search for change in one of his pockets. ‘Not a chance. There’s always Manton’s private entrance, mind you, beside the staff door in the alley. There’s a stair straight up to his flat.’
‘Good man, Micky.’
Brady dropped a couple of half crowns into the old man’s palm, received a copper or two in change for appearances’ sake and moved away. At the corner of the alley which cut along the side of the Flamingo, he paused and glanced back. There was no sign of the commissionaire at the entrance and he moved into the narrow opening quickly.
There was a row of overflowing dustbins, and an old gas lamp bracketed to a wall illuminated two doors. One was marked Private – Staff Only. The other carried no sign and when he tried the handle, it was locked.
At the other end of the alley, he could see the main road and the sound of the late night traffic was muted and strange as if it came from another place. He checked his watch. It was a little after eleven and he didn’t have to return to the office till midnight. He went back along the alley towards the square, found a doorway, moved into the shadows and waited.
It was bitterly cold and time passed slowly. He leaned in the corner, hands thrust deep into his pockets, and time crawled, minute by slow minute, and no one came. He was wrong, that was the truth of it. You must be getting old. Manton had said that and maybe it was true. Was this all he had to show for twenty-five years?
A strange nostalgia gripped him. If only he could start again, go back to the beginning, how different everything would be. As if from a great distance, he seemed to hear voices. He took a deep breath and came back to reality with a start, realizing to his annoyance, that he had almost fallen asleep.
A man had moved from the shadows and stood beside the staff entrance lighting a cigarette. Brady recognized Chuck Lazer at once, and also remembered that the American was employed as a pianist at the club.
As the staff door closed on Lazer, Brady leaned back again, shivering as a cold wind moved along the alley, lifting the skirts of his raincoat. He was wasting his time, that much was obvious.
He lifted his wrist to examine the luminous dial of his watch and saw to his astonishment that it was ten minutes past twelve and at that moment the door to Manton’s private staircase opened and someone whistled softly. Ben Garvald moved out of the shadows farther along the alley, paused under the lamp and vanished inside.
Trapped by his own astonishment, Brady stayed there in the shadow for a moment, then pulling himself together, he went forward, a cold finger of excitement making his stomach hollow.
The door to Fred Manton’s private staircase was still immovable, but the staff entrance opened to his touch and he hurried inside.
Chapter 11
When Lazer opened the private door and Garvald entered, he found himself in a small square hall at the bottom of a flight of carpeted stairs. Lazer went first. At the top, he opened a door cautiously and peered into a narrow corridor.
‘What have we got here?’ Garvald demanded softly.
‘Manton’s private suite. His office is at the far end. He’s in there now, I’ve just been speaking to him. He wants me to take a couple of boys from the band and go up to Bella’s place to make with the mood music. Big party night.’
‘Anything special?’
‘Harry’s birthday.’
‘She must be getting sentimental in her old age,’ Garvald said. ‘Don’t tell her you’ve seen me. I’d like it to be a surprise.’
‘My pleasure.’ Lazer grinned widely. ‘Maybe you’ll be up there later on?’
‘Depends on how the cards fall. I’m staying at the Regent Hotel in Gloyne Street. If anything comes up, you can get in touch with me there.’
‘Will do.’ They moved along the corridor and the American opened a green baize door on the left. ‘This way to hell,’ he said as music and laughter drifted up. ‘Don’t do anything I would.’
Garvald went along the corridor and paused outside the door at the far end. For a moment he hesitated, waiting for some sound through the half-open transom. He was conscious of a movement behind him and turned quickly.
A tall, broad shouldered man was standing watching him. He had long dark hair swept back over each ear, curling slightly at the nape of the neck and one good eye regarded Garvald unwinkingly. The other was coated with an obscene patina of cream and silver.
‘What’s a game, Jack?’ he demanded in a harsh voice.
Garvald looked him up and down calmly, turned without a word and opened the door. The room into which he entered was decorated in cream and gold and a fire flickered in a Queen Anne fireplace. Manton was sitting behind a walnut desk, papers spread before him. He glanced up with a start.
For several moments he and Garvald looked steadily at each other and then Manton sighed. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t do this, Ben.’
‘Come back?’ Garvald shrugged, opened a silver box on the desk and helped himself to a cigarette. ‘A man needs his friends after what I’ve been through, Fred. Where else would I go?’
The man with the wall-eye spoke from the doorway. ‘He couldn’t have got in through the club or the kitchen, Mr Manton, they’d have buzzed through. That means the side door. Shall I check him for a key?’
‘You do and I’ll break your arm,’ Garvald said genially.
Wall-eye took a sudden step forward, his face dark, and Manton held up a hand. ‘Leave it, Donner. He’d put you in hospital for a month and I need you around. Go back downstairs.’
Donner stood there for a moment, his single eye glaring ferociously at Garvald, then he turned on his heel and the door slammed behind him.
Manton went to a wall cabinet, opened it and took out a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He filled them both and toasted Garvald silently.
‘How did you get in, Ben?’
‘Now I ask you,’ Garvald said. ‘When did I ever need a key to open a door?’
Manton chuckled. ‘That’s true enough, God knows. You were the best door and window man in the business in the old days.’
He moved back to the desk and lit a cigarette, taking his time over it. ‘Why did you come back, Ben? There’s nothing for you here.’
‘Then why were you so anxious to keep me out? Sicking those two tearaways on to me in the fog outside Wandsworth yesterday was a mistake. Nothing on earth could have kept me away after that.’
‘Things have changed,’ Manton said. ‘It isn’t like the old days any more. The kind of money people throw around now, you can make more out of a good legitimate club than we ever did from the rackets. With the form you have behind you, Ben, you’d be bad for business. It’s as simple as that.’
‘They tell me you work for wages now, I never thought I’d see the day.’
‘If you know that, then you know who I work for,’ Manton said calmly. ‘Harry Faulkner – and he treats me just fine. I get a good basic plus a slice of the cake twice a year. More than we ever dreamed of making at the old One-Spot.’
‘When you were in partnership with me.’
Manton put down his glass and said deliberately: ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Ben. After the coppers picked you up for that Steel Amalgamated job, they shut the One-Spot up tight. It took me two years of working for Faulkner to pay off the debts. I don’t owe you a thing.’
Garvald grinned. ‘I didn’t say you did.’
Manton was unable to control his surprise. He stood behind the desk frowning suspiciously, and then, as if coming to a sudden decision, sat down, took out a bunch of keys and unlocked a drawer. ‘Oh, what the hell. So I owe you a favour.’ He produced a couple of packets of notes and threw them on to the blotter. ‘There’s five hundred there, Ben, that’s all I can manage.’
Garvald looked down at the money, a strange smile on his face, then he moved to the cabinet and poured himself another whisky. When he turned, his face was without expression.
‘No thanks, Fred.’
Manton jumped up angrily. ‘Then what do you want? Is it Bella?’
‘She is my wife, Fred.’
‘Don’t you mean was?’ Manton chuckled sourly. ‘That kind of talk’s going to get you nowhere. Bother her and Harry Faulkner will have you cut down to size so fast you won’t know what hit you.’
Garvald smiled. ‘And you telling me everything was so legitimate these days.’
Manton frowned, a puzzled expression in his eyes. ‘No, it isn’t Bella, is it? It’s the cash – the cash from that Steel Amalgamated job.’
‘Which went up like a torch with Jacky Charlton.’
‘Or did it?’ Manton said softly. ‘Maybe you’d already divvied up?’
‘An interesting thought, you must agree.’
There was a rush of footsteps in the corridor, the door was thrown open and Donner came in. He leaned on the desk, ignoring Garvald. ‘There’s a load of trouble on its way. That blasted copper, Brady.’
‘What’s he want?’
‘Our friend here. Jango’s stalling him at the bottom of the stairs, but I wouldn’t give him long.’
Manton looked at Garvald angrily. ‘What in the hell have you been up to?’
The big Irishman was already on his way to the door. ‘Search me, but I’ve got other fish to fry. Give him my respects, Fred. I’ll see myself out.’
As he disappeared along the corridor, Donner moved to go after him, but Manton caught him by the sleeve. ‘Let him go. He hasn’t been here, understand?’
He sat down behind his desk and lit a cigarette. A moment later, he heard voices in the corridor and Brady burst into the room, brushing aside a small, black-bearded man in a dinner jacket, whose black hair was close-cropped to his skull.
He stood at the side of Manton’s desk, his face swollen with passion, and spoke with a heavy Greek accent. ‘He came in through the staff entrance like a crazy man, boss,’ he said, one hand weaving an intricate pattern in front of Manton’s face. ‘When I tried to stop him coming up, he nearly broke my arm.’
‘Never mind this little squirt,’ Brady said harshly. ‘I want Ben Garvald. Where is he?’
Manton managed a frown with little difficulty. ‘Ben Garvald? You must be out of your tiny mind.’
Brady went round the desk in a rush and jerked Manton to his feet, one massive hand crushing the silken lapels of the expensive dinner jacket. ‘Don’t give me that kind of crap, Manton. I was outside in the alley. Someone let him in through your private door.’
For a second only, Manton lost control. He glanced at Donner with a frown and Brady laughed harshly. ‘I read you like a book, you pig. Now where is he?’
Manton pulled himself free and backed away. ‘I don’t know what all this is about, but I’d like to see your warrant. If you haven’t got one you’d better get to hell out of here before I call in some real law.’
‘You don’t frighten me,’ Brady said contempt-
uously.
‘Maybe not,’ Manton told him, ‘but Harry Faulkner will.’
But Brady had already passed over into that area where action is in command of reason. At the best of times, caution had never been one of his virtues.
He glared at Manton, his eyes bloodshot. ‘Ben Garvald’s here, I saw him come in and, by God, I’m going to find him.’
He swung round, shoved Jango to one side with a careless sweep of his arm and went into the corridor. He opened the first door on the left, switched on the light and found himself in the bathroom.
When he turned to walk out, the three men were standing in the corridor watching him. There was a slight, polite smile on Manton’s face. ‘Find anything?’
‘Maybe he thinks we flushed Garvald away,’ Donner said.
Brady ignored both remarks and opened the next door.
‘The sitting room,’ Manton said helpfully. ‘My bedroom next to it.’
Brady checked both of them without success and as he came out of the bedroom, noticed that a door at the other end of the corridor was standing slightly ajar. He moved to it quickly, pulled it open and looked down the stairs to Manton’s private entrance.
He turned, his face suffused with passion. ‘So that’s it.’
‘For Christ’s sake, boss, how long is this farce running for?’ Donner said, turning to Manton. ‘Can’t you give him a couple of fivers or something? Maybe that’s all he came for in the first place.’
A growl of anger erupted from Brady’s throat and he grabbed at Donner’s shoulder, pulling him round. All Donner’s pent-up rage and frustration surged out of him like a dam bursting.
‘You keep your bloody paws off me,’ he said viciously. He turned, catching the punch that Brady flung at him on his left shoulder and, at the same moment, moved in close, raising a knee into the unprotected groin. As Brady doubled over, the knee swung into his face, lifting him back. For a movement, the big policeman poised there in the doorway, clawing at the wall for support and then he went backwards into the dark well of the staircase.
Chapter 12
As the three men stood in shocked silence, crowding the doorway, there was a slight creak behind them and Ben Garvald emerged from the linen cupboard.