by Ted Lewis
diamond on top of the glass table. Then I get up and pour myself a drink and look at the case again.
“So how long do we wait here?” Con asks me. “I mean, I know we’re on a hiding to nothing but I don’t fancy lying down on my back with my legs in the air like a naughty dog.”
I look at my watch. It’s almost seven. I go over to the phone and dial Danny’s number. Con swears and turns to the drinks and the dialing tone rings twice and then Audrey picks up the receiver at the other end.
“Have you done what I asked?”
“Yes,” she says. “The boxes are at my flat.”
“And?”
“There’s almost thirty-five thousand.”
I think about that for a minute or two and then I say, “All right, so put fifteen of it in a case and either Con or Peter’ll be round to collect it in about half an hour.”
“What for, for Christ’s sake?”
“I might just need it,” I tell her. “There’s something come up but if that blows then the only thing I can do is try to use the money.”
There is a short silence.
“All right,” she says at last. “But—”
“No buts. Just do it. Just go back to the flat and do as I’ve said.”
“And then what happens?”
“Depends. You made the other arrangements?”
“Yes. We can be on our way to Ireland at half an hour’s notice. And while we’re on our way he’ll be fixing up the second leg.”
“Right. So just do as I’ve said and wait for me to get in touch.”
“How long will that be?”
“Christ knows,” I say, and put the phone down and the minute I do that Con says, “Look, don’t you think it’s time we got well out of it? Christ, everything’s fucked up now. So why are we hanging about?”
“You’re not hanging about,” I tell him. “You’re going straight over to Gerald’s flat and picking up a suitcase and bringing it straight back here. It shouldn’t take you any longer than three-quarters of an hour.”
“Fucking marvelous, isn’t it?” Peter says. “I get a walloping for trying to sort out my own corner and now he’s getting us to fetch and carry so he can get out himself.”
I go over to Peter and brace him.
“Listen, you mug,” I tell him, “when I decide to get out of it you’ll be the first to know. Because I wouldn’t leave until I’d seen to you.”
Peter backs off and turns round and makes himself another drink.
Con puts on his coat and while he’s fastening the buttons he indicates Peter and says, “Do I have to take him with me?”
“No, he’s got to stay here and look after the girl. She still in the bedroom?”
Con nods and I go over to the bedroom door and open it and the smell that sweeps into my nostrils makes me think of the last time I smelt this particular smell, last night at the club when the spade stripper was up in the clouds. And now Lesley is that way too, half sitting, half lying on the bed, her back propped up against the wall at the top end of the bed. Smoke drifts idly round her while she stares straight ahead at her reflection in the two-way mirror. I look at her for a minute or two and she takes no notice of me whatsoever.
I close the door again and say to Peter, “You hear what I said?”
Peter moves his head slightly to show he heard me.
“The idea is that both you and the girl should be here when I get back. Right?” Peter nods again. I take the black case off the table just in case Peter should open it and get about twenty thousand ideas.
“I shan’t be long,” I tell him. “Remember what I told you earlier, at Eddie’s.”
“How could I ever forget?” he says.
• • •
I walk up the steps of the redesigned bar on Waterloo Station. It’s all carpets and ice if you want it and soft lighting and smart colours but it still hasn’t lost any of the British Rail tradition; it still manages to give the impression of dirt and unemptied ashtrays and tat. It always will, whatever they do.
I buy a drink and go and stand in the full-length plate-glass bowed window that juts out over the passing throng below. The tannoy system is impressing the Christmas spirit on the crowds by dribbling out “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” but judging by the expressions on the faces, the music is wasted. The closest to the togetherness of Christmas this crowd will get is with one shared thought: why doesn’t every other fucker get out of the way?
But I’m only interested in one probable member of that crowd, a member yet to join it and from where I am I’ll have a perfect view as I look down at the back of the bookstall at the people meandering through from one side of the stall to the other.
I look at my watch. In five minutes he should be there, sweating for Eddie’s arrival, looking round him like a child who’s lost his mother. I light a cigarette and keep my eyes on the bookstall and in a moment or two he rounds the corner and looks all about him, searching for Eddie. I put my glass down and turn away from the window and walk towards the stairs.
When I get through the swing doors I go off at a tangent to the bookstall and make for the platforms. Then I make an about turn and approach the bookstall from the blind side and pass through the open part and push past the browsers and then I’m at the other side and almost directly behind Mallory, so close that he couldn’t miss seeing me if he were to turn round. Which is what he does.
The features of Mallory’s fat face seem to slip as if the skull beyond the flesh has turned to powder leaving nothing to support an expression. I get to him straight away and put a grip on him and immediately start walking away from the bookstand.
Mallory’s a big man and though he’s not as big as I am he would be difficult to shift if he didn’t want shifting but now he’s as limp as a bowl of tripe and he doesn’t even realise he’s moving and as we walk I say to him, “Come for your Christmas box, have you, Derek?”
Involuntarily he holds the briefcase he’s carrying to his chest and with my free hand I take it from him and we walk off the station and past the taxis and round the corner to where I’ve parked the car. All the while we’re walking Mallory doesn’t say a word and he doesn’t take his eyes off my face, as if I’m somebody he’s known a long time ago and is desperately trying to recognise. I open the passenger door and guide him in and close the door on him and then I walk round to the other side of the car and get in myself.
I light a cigarette and when I’ve done that I say to him, “I can’t understand you, Derek. I really can’t. I mean, it isn’t as though you weren’t on a good screw, was it? I mean, you can’t say you’ve not been looked after, can you?”
Mallory is still looking at me as if I’m Marley’s ghost. His mouth opens and closes but no words come out. There is just the sound of the air from his lungs rattling the phlegm at the back of his throat.
“What can they do for you that we couldn’t?” I ask him. “I mean, what more could they fucking well do? It’s not the money, so what? Provide more birds that’ll let you pump them up while you’re wearing their knickers on your head? Do me a favour. Nobody could have looked after you better, not that way. No, it couldn’t be that.”
Mallory’s mouth begins to open again but before he can complete the action I smash him so hard that his head bounces off the window and he finishes up with his face on my shoulder.
I push him away and take hold of him by the throat and I say into his face, “You fucking chancer. You fucking poxy chancer. You nearly fucking done the lot of us, didn’t you?”
I let go of him and sit back in my seat and draw on my cigarette and look out of the window at the snowy scene. Mallory puts his hands to his face and leans his head against the dashboard. Eventually sounds begin to issue from between his fingers and I realise he’s trying to talk to me.
“No choice,” he’s saying. “No choice. Th
ey made it quite clear, quite clear what would happen if I didn’t. My wife, children. You understand that, of course you do.”
“All I understand is what’s happened during the last twenty-four hours,” I tell him. “That’s all I understand.”
“I . . . ”
“And all I want to know now is where Jimmy’s being kept. The rest you can keep to your fucking self.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know that,” he says.
“Oh, yes.”
He lifts his head from his hands and looks at me.
“Honestly,” he says. “I don’t know. I’d tell you, I really would.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, starting the car. “You’ll tell me all right. No fucking danger.”
I put the car into gear.
While we’re driving back to Crawford Street, Mallory keeps telling me how he’d got no choice and how he doesn’t know where Jimmy is and I just let him get on with it and it occurs to me that for a lawyer he seems to have a very limited vocabulary.
Then eventually he gives up and the closer we get to Crawford Street, the more Mallory seems to take notice of the surroundings and at one point he says, “Where are we going?”
“Does it matter?” I say to him. “Does it really fucking matter, Derek?”
I park the car a way down the road from where the flat is and before we get out I say to Mallory, “Now you know as well as I do that there isn’t any point in trying to make a break, even if you’d got the legs for it, because you know all that would achieve would be to make me irritated and you don’t want that, do you?”
Mallory shakes his head and so I pick the black case off the back seat and get out and lock the door and walk round and let Mallory out the other side.
While we’re walking along, I notice Mallory glancing at the black case.
“Not really worth it, was it, Derek,” I say to him. “Not really worth it at all. Twenty grand? Jesus.”
We’re getting close to the corner where Lesley’s block is and the closer we get the more difficult it seems to be for Mallory to put one foot in front of the other.
“Come on, Derek,” I say to him. “Gee up. Not much further now.”
We round the corner of the pub and get to the stairs and begin to climb them. I ring the bell. The sound echoes up and down the empty stairwell. I lean against the wall and look at Mallory. Under the yellow light his face looks more like a dead fish than ever.
I wait a minute or two and then I ring the bell again. There is no sound from behind the door. I ring the bell a third time and while I’m doing that I hear footsteps as someone down below turns in from the street. The footsteps stop and I take my finger off the bell and grab Mallory by the arm and shove him away from the door and up onto the next flight of stairs. I take my shooter from its holster and listen for the footsteps to start again. When they do they’re very soft, very slow, and I listen to whoever it is stop when they’re far enough up the stairs to see that there’s no one outside the door to the flat.
And precisely at that moment the door to the flat opens and I hear Peter’s voice say, “What the fuck are you playing at?”
And then I hear Con’s voice answer, “Who rang the bell?”
And then I step into view and say, “Bang!”
Con is a few steps from the top of the flight of stairs. In one hand he is carrying the case he’s just picked up from Audrey and in the other he is holding his shooter. Peter is framed in the doorway. He’s not wearing his jacket and one of his cuffs is hanging loose and, for him, his hair is a mess and sweat is shining on his forehead.
“Jesus,” Con says.
“No,” I say. “There’s two days to go till then.”
I lean back and take Mallory’s arm again and draw him into sight of Con and Peter.
“But maybe you can make do with this.”
They both stare at Mallory and then a great smile breaks out on Con’s face.
“Well,” he says. “The George Best of the legal profession. Nice to see you again, Mr. Mallory.”
Peter turns away and goes into the flat and I tell Con to bring in Mallory and I follow Peter through because I want to find out what’s going on.
Peter is at the dresser, making himself another drink and the bottle is rattling slightly on the rim of the glass.
“She still in the bedroom?” I ask him.
He nods but he doesn’t look round from what he’s doing.
I begin to go over to the bedroom door and Peter says, “Well, she tried to get well out of it, didn’t she?”
I stop walking towards the bedroom door and I turn round to look at Peter.
“You what?”
“She tried it on, didn’t she? Said she wanted to go to the karsi. So I follow her out into the hall and she goes into the bathroom and I tell her to leave the door open but I don’t get a chance to make sure it stays open because as soon as she’s through it she slams it and throws the bleeding bolt, doesn’t she? So I give the door a kicking and it gives but by that time she’s standing on the karsi seat and halfway out the flaming window. And there isn’t no flaming fire escape, is there? I mean, that would have been right handy, wouldn’t it, her all over the back yard? So I pull her in and start to show her the error of her ways but she gives me a push and I lose my footing and fall in the bleeding bath and by the time I get out of it she’s down the hall and out the front door. She’s almost on the street by the time I get to her. So then I bring her back up here and by that time I’m well pleased. I mean, you can imagine.”
Con and Mallory are now standing behind me, at the corner of the screen.
“Yes, I can imagine,” I say quietly. “And then what did you do, Peter?”
Peter takes a sip of his drink and then looks at us all in turn, looking for a reflection of his reason.
“Well, I gave her a seeing to, didn’t I?” he says. “Same as anybody would.”
I look at him for a few moments. Then I turn away and walk over to the bedroom door and open it and the minute I open it there is a broken sound that is hardly loud enough to be called a sob.
At first I can’t see her. Then I hear the sound again and I realise it’s coming from the far side of the room, beyond the bed. I walk round the bed end and Lesley is lying
on the floor between the side of the bed and the wall. She has her face buried in the remains of her sweater. There are three or four bruises on her back but that is nothing to what I find when I turn her over. Her bottom lip is split completely and three of her top teeth are missing. One side of her face is the colour of charcoal and will soon be turning deep purple. She draws her knees up to her chest and tries to turn back to the position she was in before. I let go of her and stand up. Con is standing behind me and he looks down at the girl for a moment then he turns round and strides for the bedroom door. I hurry after him but I’m not quick enough to stop him taking hold of Peter and start putting a few on him. I drag Con off him and stand between the two of them.
“There’s no time,” I say to Con. “If there was time for that he wouldn’t have come back from Eddie’s.”
It takes a minute or two but finally Con manages to relax himself. I turn to Peter who by now is looking at his reflection in the long dark window and straightening himself up.
“Fucking bog Irish,” he says. “What about a few choruses of ‘Mother McChree?’ ”
I shake my head and as I do that there’s a scream from the bedroom and I go through and see Mallory standing at the end of the bed and instead of Lesley being curled up face down she is shuffling herself across the carpet and into the corner and staring at Mallory as if he’s about to take up where Peter left off. Mallory stoops down and stretches out a hand but she screams again and wriggles like a spitted eel and Mallory pulls his hand back as if he’s just been burned.
He straightens up an
d away from her and looks into my face and says, “Did it have to take that much?”
I don’t answer him.
“Or did you need the practice?”
“Getting brave in your old age, aren’t you, Derek?” I say to him. “And believe me, it is your old age.”
Mallory sits down on the end of the bed and at the same time Con comes into the room carrying a sponge and a towel.
“A good-looking piece like that,” he says to himself as he crosses the bedroom to where Lesley is. Mallory also seems to be talking to himself.
“She must have given you the lot before you got that far,” he’s saying. “There was no reason for her not to. No reason. She’d already got what she’d been offered.”
Con is now kneeling next to Lesley and beginning to go to work on her like a trainer and although she’s
staring at him the way she stared at Mallory she seems to be accepting Con’s ministering. But my observation of this touching scene is beside the point. What I’m concentrating on are the words that are coming out of Mallory’s mouth.
“Hang on,” I say to Mallory. “What are you going on about? Peter gave her the seeing to.”
“Of course,” Mallory says. “That’s why he’s here.”
“She tried to get out of it. You heard what happened.”
Mallory’s hearing seems to start functioning again.
“What?” he says.
“The girl made a break. Peter brought her back.”
Mallory looks at me and I look at him and I get the weird feeling that Mallory’s expression is a precise mirror image of my own because his jaw is low with disbelief and his eyes are reflecting my own furious concentration.