Billy Rags

by Ted Lewis

  “Out of the house?”

  “Yes, out of the fucking house. I walked about in Epping without being collared. So why shouldn’t I walk about round here?”

  “Billy, that was different. This is London.”

  I took hold of her shoulders.

  “Look, love, there’s a little cut a couple of houses down over the road. Leads to some waste ground at the back where the kids play. I could go there. It’ll only be for half an hour. And I could take Timmy. I’ve never taken Timmy out to play in my life. It’d be great. The only risk would be in getting from here to the cut. I’d have to be bloody unlucky to be picked up between here and there.”

  “You’ve been unlucky all your life, Billy.”

  “Not this time I won’t be,” I said. “Not with little Timmy with me.”

  I looked at my watch and put my jacket on. Sheila zipped up Timmy’s anorak.

  “Going out, Mummy,” Timmy said. “Going out.”

  Sheila looked at me. There was an odd expression on her face.

  “What’s the matter?” I said.

  She shook her head.

  “Come on. What is it?”

  “Just a feeling. I don’t know what it is.”

  “About what?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Look,” she said, “just in case . . . just in case anything happens . . .”

  “What happens?”

  “If something’s wrong when you come, I’ll leave the bathroom window open. Wide. You can see it from over the road.”

  “And what sort of thing do you think’s going to happen?”

  “Nothing. I’m just saying. Just in case.”

  A warm breeze whipped the dead wasteland grass from side to side. Cloud shadows raced across the earth. Timmy clutched my hand and struggled happily through the tall grass.

  Halfway across the wasteland I sat down on an old brown drainage pipe and watched Timmy rush about and fetch the ball I’d thrown for him. I lit a cigarette and looked up at the sky and watched the clouds rush across the face of the sun. There was sun all the time in South Africa. But there was no way we could go, not yet. Buying the car had made a hole in the money. It would be another six months before I’d be able to move. Unconsciously I put my hand to my stomach and felt the money belt. Another six months of living like this. But the warm breeze on my face and Timmy’s cries made me feel better about things. I’d been lucky so far. Six months wasn’t so bad. It would be worth waiting for.

  I looked towards the opposite edge of the waste ground. There’d once been a row of houses there but at some time they’d been bull-dozed down. I could see the gleaming sunlit road and on the other side of the road a row of shops. The shops were only about a hundred yards from where I was sitting. I stood up.

  “Come on, Timmy,” I said. “Let’s go and get some sweets.”

  “Sweets, Daddy!”

  I took his hand and we walked over to the edge of the waste ground. The traffic was thin and there weren’t many people walking up and down in front of the parade of shops. We crossed over the road and went into the tobacconist’s.

  The shop was empty except for the man behind the counter. I asked Timmy what he’d like and he pointed to the Smarties. I took a bottle of lemonade from its rack and bought Timmy a lollipop as well as the Smarties and paid the man and Timmy and I left the shop and crossed the road.

  When we got back to the drainpipe again I sat down and uncorked the lemonade and took a great swig. It tasted beautiful, and it reminded me how lucky I was.

  When we got back to the end of the cut I looked across the road to the house where the flat was. The glance was automatic, without thought, instinctive. I expected to see nothing unusual or startling. Just a glance at the house I lived in, nothing more.

  So it took a minute or two for the fact that the bathroom window was open to register on my brain.

  When it dawned on me I went cold as ice. The bathroom window. Open. Sheila had said the bathroom window. Eventually I became aware of Timmy pulling on my arm, not realising why I’d stopped in my tracks.

  I knelt down and said:

  “Timmy, love, just stay here a minute will you? Daddy wants to have a look round the corner.”

  “Why, Daddy?”

  “I just want to have a look. Now you stay here. All right? Here, here’s your lollipop. Have a go at this.”

  I unwrapped the lollipop and gave it to him. Then I walked the few steps to tie end of the cut and looked round the corner.

  The front of the house was clear. Nothing. But down the road, on the same side as the cutting, about fifty yards down, there was a white Zephyr parked by the curb. There was nothing on it that said it was a police car. But I knew. And because the van was plain I knew it must be Tobin. And Ronnie had given me to him. Tobin was in the flat now, with Sheila, waiting for me.

  I turned away from the end of the cut and knelt down and said to Timmy: “Listen, mate, I want you to do something for me. I want you to cross over the road and go into the house on your own like a big boy. Will you do that?”

  “Why, Daddy?”

  “Because Daddy’s forgotten to get something at the shop and he’s got to hurry before they close.”

  Timmy didn’t say anything.

  “Daddy won’t be long.”

  He put his lollipop in his mouth and sucked.

  “Can you do that?”

  Timmy nodded.

  “All right then, son,” I said. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  He nodded again and walked across the road. I watched him for a moment then I turned and ran back down the cut.

  I looked at the clock on the pub wall. A quarter to one. I’d been there since eleven thirty. After I’d crossed the wasteland I’d hailed a cruising taxi and had the driver bring me here, to a pub in Clapham, behind the common.

  Ronnie had put Tobin on to me. And Walter had put the pressure on Ronnie. It was no use getting hard with Ronnie. He’d done all he could. Knowing Walter he’d have used Ronnie’s wife and kids as stakes. And Ronnie loved his wife and kids, like I did mine. So it was no use getting hard. And in any case, I hadn’t the time. Sheila and Timmy had been taken. Sheila was in line for three years if they decided to stick it on her. I had to think. I had to clear my head and think. They’d taken Sheila.

  I went to the bar and bought another drink but that didn’t help. There wasn’t a thing I could do to help Sheila. All I could do was to concentrate on not getting myself caught. Because there was just a chance, just the one chance: Tobin might not press charges. He might let her go. So that she’d lead them to me. That was the only chance we had. But if Tobin pressed it—three years. She could get three years.

  I ordered another drink and went to the phone and phoned the flat. There was no reply. That meant they hadn’t got anyone staking it on the inside. They’d all be out in the street and the neighbouring houses, just waiting for me to show up.

  I put the phone down and went back to the bar and drank some of my drink. I swore to myself. This was it. If they let Sheila go, then we’d be off. Out of it. Whatever it cost. But to pay for it I had to take a risk. There was no other way. I had to put myself on show.

  I kept the Mini garaged in a lock-up a mile away from the flat. When the pub shut I took a taxi to the garage and went in and sat in the Mini and waited for the night. Then, at about seven thirty, I drove the Mini out of the garage and made for Richmond, stopping on the way to buy an evening paper. I found a nice quiet little pub and bought a drink and phoned Sheila’s mother. She told me that she’d got Timmy and he was all right, and that my lawyer had been in touch but as yet he didn’t have any news. Before she could get into her diatribe I cut in and I’d told her I’d phone again tomorrow. And I told her to kiss Timmy for me.

  Then I s
at down and looked through the flats in the evening paper. There were about a half a dozen likely-sounding numbers. All pricey, all flash, none of them the kind of place the law would be looking for Billy Cracken.

  I made the phone calls and arranged to go and see the four that hadn’t already gone. Twickenham, Barons Court, Fulham and Parsons Green.

  Three hours later I’d secured two of them. Barons Court and Fulham. The one in Fulham had a fire escape.

  Then I drove back to the garage and spent the night in the Mini.

  I phoned Sheila’s mother at six o’clock the next evening. But it was Sheila who answered the phone.

  “Billy! Are you all right?”

  “They let you go! The bleeders let you go!”

  “It was Tobin. He thinks I’ll bring him straight to you.”

  “I can’t . . . Are you all right? How was it?”

  “Not bad. I let Tobin think I was all folded up. Which is what he wanted to think. There’s a man outside me mum’s right now.”

  “Christ,” I said. “I was sick. I thought . . .”

  “I know. So did I until Tobin started. He’s barmy, Billy. He really wants you and he doesn’t care how he gets you. One of the other coppers wanted to do it legal, commit me for trial with a recommendation for a suspended sentence but Tobin said he couldn’t wait that long and as far as he was concerned I hadn’t even been brought in.”

  “Listen,” I said, “we’ve got to get out of this lot. We can’t last much longer if we don’t.”

  “But how, Billy? We haven’t the money. Especially now, now Tobin’s started up again. It’ll cost twice as much.”

  “Don’t worry about the money,” I said. “I’ll see to that.”

  “Billy . . .”

  “Listen, love, I’ve got to take a chance. If I don’t then Tobin’s going to get us. Sooner or later he’ll have us. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes. Yes I do. But . . .”

  “So I’ve got to take a chance. I’ve got to get us out of it.”

  There was a silence.

  “What are you going to do?” she said at last.

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to fix something up. It might take time. But I’ll tell you what I want you to do. I want you to stay put until I tell you. I’ll phone you at the weekend. And don’t worry. I’ll be all right. You’ll hear from me at the weekend.”

  “For God’s sake be careful, Billy.”

  “I’ll be careful, love,” I said. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be careful.”

  After I’d phoned Sheila I went and had another drink. This time I actually enjoyed it. Sheila was safe. With Timmy. But I had to get us all out of it if we were to have any chance of ever living properly together again.

  I downed my drink and went back to the phone. I dialled a number and waited. At the other end a receiver was picked up and a voice said:

  “Yes.”

  “Could I speak to Jimmy?” I said.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “A mate of his.”

  “All his mates are here.”

  “One of them isn’t.”

  I heard Jimmy’s voice in the background asking what the fucking hell the performance was all about.

  The voice told him some joker was on the other end of the line saying he was a mate. Then Jimmy said well for Christ’s sake ask him his bleeding name.

  The voice came back on the line.

  “Now look here, Jokey, let’s be having you. Jimmy only talks to names.”

  “I’ll give you one. Benny Beauty.”

  “Do me a favour. Are you out of your tiny mind?”

  “Just tell Jimmy Benny’ll hear that he wouldn’t talk to a mate of his. Benny won’t always be where he is now.”

  The voice started to explain that bit but Jimmy must have got sick of the game and the next voice that come on the line was his:

  “All right, cunt. What’s your problem?”

  “Christ, Jimmy,” I said. “It was never so difficult to get to you in the old days.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Billy. And don’t say my name.”

  “Jesus. I’ve been hearing it all over the place during the last few days.”

  “But not reading it in the papers, eh?”

  “Hardly surprising.”

  “Not really.”

  I heard Jimmy clear whoever was in the room with him out of it and then there was a pause while Jimmy frantically tried to work out how to phrase the question that was scurrying around in his brain.

  I saved him the trouble.

  “Don’t worry, Jimmy,” I said. “I’m not after a bed for the night. There’s no danger of you ending up like Ronnie.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Leave it out, Jimmy. You know what I mean. I’m not after any embarrassing favours. Except maybe one. But nothing that’ll put you out on a limb.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I want putting in something. Doesn’t have to be one of your tickles. But it has to be in with a safe firm. No ex-associates of Walter. No arse-lickers. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. But everybody’s heard about Ronnie. They might not want to wear anything with you.”

  “Maybe not. But you know as well as I do, Jimmy, the scene changes. There’s plenty of young tearaways out to make a name who don’t give a stuff about people like Wally. They’d be glad of the experience of working with Billy Cracken. And you know who they’d be, Jimmy. That’s all I want you to do for me: just put me in with a firm that’s about to go.”

  “You’re taking a big chance, Billy. You know that. You can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

  “Let’s face it, Jimmy, I’m taking a chance talking to you. You could do yourself a bit of good here and there if you turned me over.”

  “I’m no Walter lover, Billy. You should know that.”

  “I know. I know what he did.”

  There was another silence. Eventually Jimmy said: “All right, Billy. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I can’t promise anything.”

  “I know.”

  “Phone me back Sunday.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy. I’ll do that.”

  I spent the following two days and nights at the flat in Barons Court. It was strange to wake up in a bed and find myself without Sheila and Timmy. The flat was lifeless and depressing. Only the rumpled bed and the few bits of multi-purpose crockery gave any sign that someone was living there. I spent my time on the phone to a few contacts I had, getting the current gen on what it would cost to get us out of it and what was available over the next month or so. When I wasn’t doing that I sat around reading the papers and when I wasn’t doing that I’d break up the monotony of prowling round the flat by doing my exercises. I’d neglected them over the last few weeks.

  On Saturday I phoned Sheila. She told me she was being followed everywhere. She wasn’t bothered by it. She said she got a lot of satisfaction out of the fact that the law thought any minute she was going to lead them to me.

  On Sunday I phoned Jimmy.

  “How’s the job hunting going?” I said by way of a kick-off.

  “Not bad,” Jimmy said. “I’ve got something that might interest you. If it’s a goer, that is.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  “There’s a firm in Finsbury Park set to go on a Post Office van. Could be worth a few bob.”

  “Why shouldn’t it be a goer?”

  “No reason. I mean, the firm’ll take it on.”

  “But?”

  “Well, you know as well as I do, Billy. Some of these young tearaways . . . all cock and no balls.”

  “I know al
l that, Jimmy,” I said. “But beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Well, it’s the only thing I can put you in right at the moment.”

  “Have you mentioned me?”

  “To one of them. The heaviest of them.”

  “And?”

  “He gave me some smart talk but he’s interested. He wants to meet with you tonight.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Out of town. Pub in Woodford.”

  “Woodford? Christ.”

  “Well, there you are. I said they were like that. If I was you . . .”

  “What am I likely to make?”

  “I’ll be honest, Billy. I don’t think they’ll be divvying-up. They know the position you’re in.”

  “I thought it’d be like that. Just so long as it’s worth my while.”

  “That I couldn’t say, Billy. But they know why you need it. So they must know what you expect.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Anyway, I’ll give it a throw. What’s the name of the pub?”

  I parked the Mini on the pub forecourt and got out.

  The pub had a string of fairy lights draped across its mock-Tudor frontage and soft pinks and oranges glowed behind the frosted glass casements. Just the kind of place I’d imagined they’d choose.

  I walked across to the saloon bar entrance. I noticed a big Zodiac parked at the far end of the forecourt. That would be them. Apart from that there was an Eleven Hundred and a Viva and nothing else. There was nobody about. But I was past caring about that kind of scouting. The thoughts of the job and the money and getting Sheila and Timmy out of it made the risks seem light, negligible. In an odd way this biggest risk of all had given me a kind of fatalistic calm. I had a peaceful feeling that I wouldn’t be caught, that the job would progress through smoothly, that Sheila and Timmy and me would make it with no trouble. Maybe I had these feelings because I had no choice: that to think the other way would automatically bring everything down on my head. I didn’t know. All I knew was that this was what I had to do to clear up the mess we were in. There was no way I could allow myself to fail.

  I walked into the pub.

  They were sitting in a corner, in one of those booths carved in a phony medieval style. There were only two of them. Both flash, all the gear, beige leather and soft suede and rings and identity bracelets and the hairstyles and the arrogance. Nobody was ever going to put them away. Nobody was smart enough.