Scooters Yard

by Clive Mullis

  Taking a swig, he began to move around the bar, eyes and ears tuned to the slightest nuance amongst the many conversations.

  Most of the clientele were men, dressed from shabby to well-turned out, the good clothes not quite managing to hide the lack of breeding. These were the self-made men, with the origins of the girls sitting primly on their seats next to them, also obvious: they were eye-candy, a chance to show what success could bring. Jowly, beer-bellied with pox-marked faces together with a soupçon of body odour, these were men who would never have the chance with women such as these without the clink of dollars in their pockets. They were talking business, and dropping the occasional lewd comment for the benefit of their audience. The girls just sat in silence, their loathing showing deep in their eyes.

  ‘You got something needs selling, my friend?’ A fat pudgy finger jabbed into Cornwallis’ chest. ‘Only not seen you around these parts a’fore.’

  ‘Could be,’ replied Cornwallis, thinking quickly. He had no end of businesses scattered around Gornstock, a silversmith being one of them. ‘Bit of silver, a few gem-stones, maybe a bit of gold. Know anyone who might be interested?’

  The man’s piggy eyes lit up and he wiped the inside of his collar free of sweat. ‘Gold? Silver? Stones? How much and where did you get them from?’

  ‘All legal and above board, just know some people, is all.’

  A little bit of a hush flowed around them now as those closest began to get a little interested in what they could overhear.

  The man smiled. ‘Would never doubt your honesty, my friend,’ he said, giving the lie. ‘There be a few of us here who might be interested in some honest stuff for a good price.’

  Cornwallis made some calculations in his head, silver being quite high at the moment, but fortunately, he had got a good supply in early. ‘Sixty dollars a pound for silver, I could do, a few stones for about the same. Gold? Perhaps a hundred dollars an ounce; too much for you?’

  The man shook his head and smiled. ‘Starting price is a bit high, and I’d have to see the stones, but then we gentlemen of business know the rules. Let’s see if we can come to an accommodation that suits us both.’

  Real Gornstock business left no paper-trail: the nuts and bolts of commerce generally hammered out in pubs and clubs over a pint of best and a bag of pork scratchings.

  After a short while of wrangling, they struck a deal, and the man, who Cornwallis now knew as Blackstone, spat on his hand. Cornwallis did the same, sealing the deal. No bits of paper would ever come to light.

  Blackstone grinned and much to Cornwallis’ annoyance managed to signal to the bar for a round of drinks, which arrived promptly at the table. The pair then drank a toast to their new-found agreement.

  The girl at Blackstone’s table seemed to take an interest in Cornwallis: she shot him the look, pouted the lips, flicked her hair with her flirty fingers, all aimed in his direction. He kept an eye on her for a moment and then noticed her surreptitious signal; then it dawned on him that she must be one of Gerald’s — so he had decided to help them after all.

  CHAPTER 16

  Frankie eased to the side of the rear bar counter and took a look at the walkthrough to the back of the pub. No lanterns lined the wall, leaving it in darkness. He let his eyes adjust to the gloom and then saw a door blocking the way.

  ‘Don’t want to go through there,’ said a voice at his side.

  ‘Brews, isn’t it?’ replied Frankie, as innocently as he could.

  ‘It is. They’ll nick yer long-johns as well as yer wallet, and you wouldn’t even know it.’

  Frankie grinned as he talked to the frail old man who wore a flat cap and a jacket two sizes too big. A four day stubble lined his chin and he propped up the bar on a stool nursing half a pint. ‘Might take a risk, ain’t had a drink in a Brews bar since I started to shave.’

  ‘Sounds like you managed to get out, like me. I wouldn’t go back for all the beer in Gornstock. It’s enough for me to sit here and know that a few steps away is where I started. A door blocks my way back and I ain’t going through it unless someone throws me.’

  ‘Can understand that, but I like a bit of danger in my life. I want to see what I got out of, if you know what I mean.’

  The man nodded. ‘A reminder, eh? Well, that door can only be opened from this side. If you want to come back, you have to go out on the street and down the alley. Very few ever make it back in one piece, but you never know; you might get lucky.’

  Frankie delved into his pocket and brought out a few pennies. ‘Here, get yourself a refill.’ He then grinned and stepped into the gloom towards the door and the Brews.

  A couple of minutes passed slowly as the old boy waited for his beer. He sighed and then turned his head.

  Frankie eased back out into the bar. ‘Where’s the sodding catch, then?’ he asked meekly.

  The old boy winked and then grinned.

  Now armed with the proper knowledge, Frankie returned and quickly found the catch. A second or so later he left the posh bit and had entered the not so posh bit. Sawdust and filthy straw rushes covered the floor. There were a few tables and chairs but they could well have been in the middle of a riot at some point: they all had something missing, a leg here, a strut there, here a plank, and there, no plank at all. Everyone turned as the door opened and Frankie breezed in. None of the customers looked any better than the furniture, but the place was busier than next door. Talking didn’t exactly cease; more like the talking had just been murdered.

  ‘Evening all,’ said Frankie, casting a pebble of camaraderie and hoping a ripple of empathy would spread out.

  The barman reached under the counter and pulled out a mean looking gnarled old club.

  ‘No need for that my friend, just give me a pint and the time in which to drink it. I remember when a stranger would get a welcome in the pubs in the Brews. What’s changed?’

  ‘Nowt’s changed,’ said a voice from the midst of a group. ‘Jest ain’t seen anyone come through that door fer weeks.’

  ‘Really?’ replied Frankie, somewhat surprised. ‘No one? At all?’

  The man stepped forward. He matched Frankie for size, but had a mop of dark greasy unwashed hair. His clothes looked like they were struggling to survive the trauma of being worn. ‘Not a one, which is why we is a bit surprised; you looking for the piss-hole?’

  ‘No, but I reckon I’ve found it anyways.’

  The silence following the reply stretched out until a little chuckle filled the back of the man’s throat. ‘Yer right there, my friend. Brews born is you?’

  Frankie nodded, though not strictly true, as he had come from the Warren, a step up in class from this slum, but close enough.

  ‘Then you can take a drink with me and talk about old times.’

  Frankie grinned again, hawked, and spat a gob of phlegm onto the rushes on the floor.

  The beer wasn’t the same this side of the pub, it had a heavy consistency and tasted of liquorish and treacle, with a just a hint of sewers — a bit like a fart in a glass. After the third pint, he hardly noticed it at all.

  Frankie had half downed his fourth pint when the conversation with the man he now knew as Jangles, owing to the fact that his pockets were always full of something clankable, turned to the subject of feelers, mainly because Frankie enquired as to whether he would have a problem offloading a few bits and pieces.

  ‘Not a problem ‘round these parts,’ replied Jangles. ‘Not fer us anyways. It ain’t what yer knows, it’s ‘o yer knows, if yer gets me meaning.’

  ‘Gerald?’

  Jangles laughed. ‘Gerald? He ain’t got no say with us. We is autonomous. We’s always bin like that, hereabouts. We leave him alone, and he leaves us alone. No, I mean the feelers. We got a few ‘o pop in now and again, gives us the heads up as it were. We scratch their backs an’ they scratches ours.’ He tapped the end of his nose and winked. ‘Nuff said?’

  Frankie grinned and nodded. Gerald might be interested in th
is Jangles and his aspirations, he thought, as he swigged from his glass. ‘So a few feelers come drinking in here?’

  ‘Feelers can be Brews born, same as everyone else. We jest keeps it in the family.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame them, home is where the heart is, as they say.’

  The bar, already full when he came in, crammed even more punters in as the evening wore on. Frankie wondered how much longer he could get away with staying unrecognised, as he already thought a few faces were sparking a memory. One of the girls bumped into him and their eyes met briefly. He felt a hand flitter around his trousers and then she wiggled her way through the crowd.

  Frankie checked his pockets and found that he had a little bit extra in one of them. A bit of paper had appeared and he knew he hadn’t put it there. He would have liked to have read it there and then, but something told him that perhaps it might not be a good idea. He waited a while longer and then decided to excuse himself for a few moments, indicating that his bladder might not hold much more beer. He wormed his way through to the door and stepped out into the yard. He pulled out the note and read it in the half-light. “Come outside” he read. He shrugged; he was now outside.

  A wall acted as the privy, which had a gutter beneath, dribbling the contents out into the street. He sighed with relief as the flow began and then started thinking. He wondered if Jangles could be the one who received the gonepowder. It would seem possible that he had something to do with it, but at least he now had a name to work on. Before he did anything else he’d better have a word with Jack, and then they could decide how to play it.

  ‘Five down, six letters, begins wiv an S. “A dark reflection.” ’

  Frankie turned his head as he gave things a shake down below. He saw the head and the top half of the girl leaning over a barrel with a pencil in her hand, a copy of a newspaper spread out in front. She rocked back and forth, deep in thought.

  ‘Any other letters?’ he asked.

  ‘Fourth letter, D.’

  He put everything back in place and wandered over. ‘Shadow,’ he said after some thought.

  ‘You’re good at this. I’ll ask you another. Oi! Steady on back there!’ she added, speaking over her shoulder. ‘I’m thinking.’

  Frankie looked around the wall.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be finished in a bit,’ she said, as she followed his gaze. ‘You wanna go next?’

  Frankie shook his head. ‘Thanks, but maybe not tonight.’

  ‘Shame, you seem like a nice fella.’

  She continued rocking for a few more seconds and then stopped. She tapped her lips with the pencil as if deep in thought.

  Frankie looked around the wall again. ‘He’s gone now.’

  ‘Has ‘e? Oh, right.’

  She stood up and rearranged things, giving a little bit of a shake and smoothing down her dress. ‘I’m Maisie. You got my note, then?’

  ‘I did. What do you want to tell me?’

  ‘Gerald told me to keep an eye out fer you.’ She then smiled. ‘I tried to get a job with the feelers, but Miss Morant said I were too young. Got an interview though.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘Yeah, she said I should ‘ave another go in a year or so, maybe try a new job first though. Nice lady is Miss Morant.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘You’ll tell ‘er I’m helping you?’

  ‘I will if you do help me.’

  ‘That’s all right, then. Now stand behind me and get with the rhythm, someone may come out.’

  Frankie felt a bit awkward as he got into position, but after a few false starts, he began to get in the swing of things.

  ‘You’ve met Jangles, but ‘e has a mate called Shadrig, who ‘as a bruvver in the feelers,’ she said. ‘Apparently ‘im and Jangles are doing ‘im a favour. That lot in there reckon they’re a match fer Gerald, but I think they’re aiming too ‘igh. She went quiet as someone came out for a piss, just giving a little groan every now and again until he’d gone. ‘Jangles ain’t exactly blessed wiv brains, ‘e thinks Gerald doesn’t know about ‘em,’ she continued. ‘They think if they ignore Gerald, then Gerald will ignore them.’ Someone else came out and then waved at her as he passed by, probably on his way to another pub. She shouted out her rates and received a middle-finger salute as a reward. She sighed and then carried on. ‘The whisper is that they ‘ave been arranging for the gonepowder to go missing. A few feelers ‘ave been meeting in the room upstairs. Don’t know why though, but Shadrig sometimes joins ‘em.’

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Frankie, still feeling a little self-conscious as he pretended to do the business.

  ‘Not at the moment, but I'll keep me ears open.’

  With relief, he disengaged, and then she turned her head to flash him a grin.

  ‘That were a bit more fun than normal.’

  He left Maisie a couple of dollars and the promise to tell Rose she’d helped and headed back to sanity.

  Most of the rats that normally frequented the alley were fortunately absent, there were only the four legged variety to deal with, and as Frankie emerged into the more civilised side of Gornstock, he put away the little cudgel he had in his hand. A quick look around and he dived back into the pub.

  Cornwallis saw Frankie as soon as he walked in and promptly got up from the table and walked over. Frankie had taken up leaning on the bar as Cornwallis joined him.

  ‘Well?’ whispered Cornwallis.

  ‘Just a pint, thanks, and I’ll have a packet of scratchings too,’ replied Frankie. He winked. ‘We have a couple of things to look into.’

  Cornwallis dug deep into his pocket and ordered drinks for his recent acquaintances as well. ‘Oh good, you and me both, then.’

  CHAPTER 17

  As ever, with the change of shift, feelers packed the canteen. Those coming on and those going off milled around, grabbing a mug of tea and a slice of cake before either beginning their beats or buggering off home. In the corner, sitting close together were two feelers chewing the cud of revolution, quietly, against the backdrop of very loud conversations.

  ‘It’s decided, then?’ said one.

  ‘It is,’ replied the other.

  ‘Who’s going to do it, and when?’

  ‘That ain’t decided yet, but everything else has. You should have been there. It’s going to be one hell of a bang and it’ll bring everything down.’

  ‘I couldn’t get there. You know what it’s like at home; I can’t even fart and that ol’ bitch gets going. Why I married her, I just don’t know.’

  ‘Yer own fault. You stuck it in and got a kid as a result.’

  ‘Yeah, tell me about it. It were ‘er dad, really; did me up like a kipper ‘e did. Marriage or three foot of cold steel up me arse. I tell you, ‘e meant every bloody word.’

  His friend nodded in sympathy. ‘Yeah, I know. He were a bit tetchy with me, too.’

  There were a few seconds of telling silence.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘About you, I mean.’ He coughed, not so much in embarrassment, but more in relief that he might get away with it. ‘I tried on your behalf, but she weren’t exactly innocent now, was she?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean no, I mean… Oh well, can’t do anything about it now.’

  ‘No, yer bed is made.’ He changed the subject quickly. ‘Beryl is still off so I have to work with that Dewdrop, and it’s going to be a bloody long shift with him.’

  ‘Shouldn’t have hit him so hard.’

  ‘Didn’t think I did, must be soft in the head.’

  ‘Reckon that sums ‘im up.’

  They both chuckled. Then one brushed his jacket.

  ‘Hope there’s no uniform check today, lost a button last night. I hear it got picked up next to Beryl.’

  ‘Oh gods.’

  ‘Nothing to worry about, feelers are always losing buttons.’

  ‘You’ll have to nick another.’

  ‘I will when I get the chance. Anyway, let’s get bac
k to business.’ He leant in close. ‘As it’s big, we’re all gonna have to be involved in it.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, but I’ll have to figure a way to get out of the house. She don’t like it when I go out and I ain’t working.’

  ‘Just tell her you’re with me,’ and he patted his friends arm before kicking out at something beneath the table. ‘Geroff, you bleeding little shite!’

  A cat spat as the foot just missed its head.

  ‘Who let that little bugger in? Pain in the arse, is that one. Yard cat? My arse it is.’

  Fluffy slunk out of kicking distance and began to move around again; he now had a smile on his face, if anyone decided to notice.

  *

  Rose watched keenly as the stack of files began to pile up. MacGillicudy began to look a little forlorn as he checked each and every one, discarding most after giving them a quick read through. Some he placed to the side, so that he could have a better look later.

  The girls were excellent in what they were doing, and as Rose looked on, she felt a tingling of pride. She knew they were more than capable, but this helped to prove that they could be as good as any feeler, probably better than most. This took diligence, care, and concentration, and the girls had it in bucket-loads.

  MacGillicudy sighed. He then ran his fingers through his hair and leant back. ‘How much longer, Rose?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be long now,’ she replied. ‘How old is the oldest feeler in the force?’

  ‘There’s a couple who just do paperwork, and they’re both seventy one.’

  ‘In that case, I reckon we’ve done it. All the serving feelers have had their files read. Those are the ones that have thrown up the question mark,’ she said, indicating the pile on the table.

  ‘So this lot can go back again,’ and he pointed to the pile on the floor.

  She nodded. ‘Maybe Jack and Frankie have come up with something that’ll help too.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Rose called a halt and the girls let out a groan of disappointment. They were enjoying themselves, especially as it was an important piece of police work, even though they didn’t really understand what they were actually doing, and why.’