by Clive Mullis
They’d bought both coaches some months previously, following a little bit of nagging and the threat of withdrawing certain activities — within a few days, the stable out back had three new lodgers, and two shiny new coaches gleamed in the shed.
With the commander inside the Yard, Rose had to deal with the surveillance. She knew the feelers in question and MacGillicudy would try and get Loovis and Sprat to do a beat together to make it a little easier to keep an eye on them. The two others, Gilby and Trump, were on rest days. She left Mindy and Hope at the Yard while she took Bragwin, Gladys, Jules and Verity to the two houses concerned. She constantly reminded them what the men looked like until they thought that they really had seen them before. She then made the detour home and picked up the coach.
As Loovis and Sprat came out to start their beat, Mindy and Hope began to follow. Rose wanted to know which beat they were working, so she clamped the coach and horse, so that it couldn’t be stolen, and followed on behind; poor horse, she thought, but it had got used to the device now.
As soon as it became apparent that they were patrolling the Stipple Street beat, Rose offered up a prayer of thanks to the Gods and to MacGillicudy: it was the main shopping area of Gornstock, all posh and no tosh. There weren’t many places where a feeler could hide or disappear, as all the shops oozed money and class. Loovis and Sprat would actually have to work.
Rose caught up with Mindy and Hope and gave them a few words of encouragement before heading back to her wheels.
Frankie made himself comfortable. He’d ordered two new pairs of boots, and a few dollars changed hands: the cost of hiring the room for a day or so with no questions asked.
They were in a dusty old storeroom at the top of the shop; a few crates and boxes lay scattered about, along with some broken bits of furniture. The three of them quickly cleared a space and then settled down to look through the low window, just above floor level, which gave them the view they needed.
From their vantage point, they could see straight down into the room where they held the meetings, plus they could partly see the front door of the pub which had market stalls in the way, but all in all, it could have been a lot worse.
Felicity and Tiffany understood what they needed to do and were ready for the boredom that came with a job like this. Just staring at something where they knew something would happen, but not know when, sounded exciting, but Frankie explained, in no uncertain detail, that that wasn’t the case. All three had to keep their wits about them at all times; it would be a case of boredom followed by more boredom followed by even more boredom.
Lenny’s head felt like it had been squeezed between his big table-clamp and then placed on the anvil and the sledge hammer applied, and then someone had taken the poker from the furnace and had rammed it up his nose, digging around inside his brain and searing the grey matter just in front of his eyes.
He sat up and rubbed the back of his head where he felt a lump the size of a grapefruit. He winced at the touch and then tried to remember what had happened. He tentatively looked around and the memory seeped back in. They had been having a natter and a cup of tea in Fred’s workshop when everything suddenly went black. He’d heard nothing, had seen nothing, but nothing didn’t feel like this. This was something!
Fred groaned; he lay on the other side of the bench and Lenny crawled over to him on all fours and saw that he too had met the something.
‘Fred?’
‘Ugggh!’
‘Fred, wake up. What the hell happened there? What did you have on the boil?’
Fred groaned again and then rolled over. When he opened his eyes Lenny could see two red orbs, like spectacular sunsets, staring back.
‘On the boil? Nuffink. That weren’t an explosion, that were an implosion.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone smacked us on the noggin.’
‘Ah! That would explain why I feel like this.’
‘You mean like shit?’
‘That’s the kiddie.’
Apart from their heads, nothing appeared to be broken. They helped each other up into a standing position with both of them holding on to each other for support. Their legs felt like jelly. Lenny let go of Fred and held on to the bench; he then tried to walk, but for some reason his legs weren’t working. His top half moved but the bottom half seemed to want to go in the opposite direction. He stopped, swore and then pulled out a rollie and then a match to light up when he caught sight of Fred’s horrified expression.
‘Sorry, Fred, forgot myself there for a moment.’
Fred let out the breath he held. There were some particularly volatile substances on the bench and a stray match might end their agony on a permanent basis. After a few minutes, both of them managed to get their legs working properly.
‘What do you have that someone would want to nick?’ asked Lenny. ‘I mean, look at the place. Most of it is junk.’
Fred nodded, which proved a bit of a mistake. ‘Ow,’ he said.
‘You mainly make the whizz-bangs, but I can’t see why somebody would want to bash our brains out for them. Mind, after what that barrel of Mr Cornwallis and Commander MacGillicudy’s did when we sets it alight… Er, Fred,’ added Lenny. ‘Where’s all the gonepowder gone?’
‘What?’
‘Yer gonepowder’s all gone.’
Fred focussed his eyes and looked around. ‘Oh shit.’
CHAPTER 23
Magot put on his coat and then wrenched at the door handle to fling it open. Hurrying outside he slammed the door behind him and stalked off down the street. He hadn’t slept well, and spending the night on patrol with Dewdrop had put him in a bad mood. For some reason MacGillicudy had turned up at the ambulance depot with that private investigator friend of his, and that had set his nerves jangling for a moment or two, but he couldn’t think of a way they could connect him to recent events, except for that sodding button.
With his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his face scowling he cursed the people who got in his way as he had to keep side-stepping to avoid them; his street seemed to be getting busier and busier. A couple up ahead appeared to be taking up most of the pavement as they walked arm in arm, the girl briefly turned her head and then they stopped, right in the middle of where he wanted to walk. They then decided to give a public display of affection. He had to check his step to avoid them so he swore loudly and with plenty of meaning, but they didn’t seem to hear his diatribe as he went past; perhaps he should stop and really have a go at them. He half-thought he would do just that, when it occurred to him that there were more pressing issues on his mind right now, like making sure that everything was in order.
Cornwallis managed to get disentangled from Regina and then turned his head to watch Magot storm off down the street. In any other circumstances, he would have punched the daylights out of the man for saying what he had just said as he passed by, but today it sounded funny. Perhaps if the close encounter with Regina signalled a real relationship, then he might have thought differently.
Their heads were still close together, his arms around her waist and hers around his neck, as they watched Magot turn the corner.
‘Right, it’s time to go,’ said Cornwallis. ‘We’d better join Winnie and Olive.’
He let go of Regina and began to walk off, stopping abruptly as he felt the constriction on his throat. He stepped back a pace and reached up to prise Regina’s hands apart. She looked at him almost wistfully.
‘Just getting into the pretence,’ she explained. ‘Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.’
‘Regina, you won’t disappoint me, but Rose may take a completely different view.’
‘Oh, sorry. I thought you wanted me to behave as if we’re a couple.’
‘I do, but only when our target is around. Right now, he’s not, so we’re back to normal.’
‘Okay, I understand. One thing though, do you know you’ve got something lumpy in your pocket?’ She looked at him, a picture of pure innocence.
/>
‘Ah. That’ll be my cosh,’ he said, thinking quickly.
If she knew what really caused the lump, she didn’t let on. The problem came when they pressed up close, as everything seemed to fit together, which gave rise to another problem. He'd tried to clear his mind but their close proximity didn’t make it easy. He had begun to think of Rose, which made the problem even worse. He began to panic, then he suddenly thought of Frankie, and then the problem thankfully disappeared. Lumpy? he thought. Never been called that before.
They turned and headed off after Magot, and Cornwallis thankfully saw Winnie and Olive tagging along behind him: just two girls out for a stroll.
Within a few short minutes, Cornwallis and Regina had caught up, and aware of the lumpiness, he decided to swop girls. Winnie took the place of Regina, who didn’t look pleased, as she walked side by side with Olive.
‘Need to vary things,’ he had explained. ‘The mind would register the same couple should they keep being seen, but vary it a little and the mind thinks that it hasn’t seen them before. It’s a sort of trick.’
Magot had got a bit of a pace on now, but not once had he turned around to make sure no one followed him. They had a moment of slight concern when Magot checked the traffic before crossing a road and he looked straight at Cornwallis, but with Winnie leaning in, she obscured part of his face and Magot continued, still unaware.
Regina and Olive moved to the opposite side of the road when it began to get busy with people and carts to keep level with Magot, who soon disappeared into a back street and then turned into a tenement of apartments. Regina and Olive waited while Cornwallis left Winnie and ran down to check the tenement and then hurried back. After a few minutes, Magot emerged in the company of another feeler, a young one, one that Cornwallis knew vaguely. Constable Foley, Dewdrop’s friend, the one who didn’t want to hand over the button. The lad had a bit of a girl problem, being fixated with them, but unable to do anything about it because no girl would ever take the trouble to even look at him. There was definitely something odd about him and the girls had obviously picked that up.
Magot and Foley continued on their way, over the bridge and into the north side of the river. A strange pairing, thought Cornwallis. Magot generally just used the young feelers to wipe his arse for him, but to actually call for one at his flat and appear to be friendly with him, just didn’t seem right; but he could see the proof in front of him. Magot and the youngster talked together as if they hadn’t a care in the world. He just wished he could hear what they were talking about; he suspected it concerned a certain button, now in the hands of the commander.
Cornwallis flicked his eyes over the road and saw Regina and Olive in deep conversation and he wondered whether they were talking about lumps. He hadn’t meant to get quite that close to her, but as she pressed, everything had slotted into place, causing the problem, but Magot might have recognised him otherwise. Oh well, he thought, nothing he could do about it now.
They continued to follow the two feelers and Cornwallis began to get concerned that they were now well away from Magot’s house and Rose and Frankie would have no idea where he had gone. He had to get a message to one of them.
He stopped a cab and scribbled in his notebook.
Boredom had set in for Frankie. They had been in the little storeroom for a couple of hours now, and so far, apart from Tiffany needing a wee, nothing had happened. The room above the pub stayed resolutely empty.
He sighed, and then adjusted his position for the umpteenth time.
The girls were being far more patient, and they still had an element of excitement and anticipation exuding from them. That will change, thought Frankie, if they had to do this day in and day out they would end up climbing the wall.
‘I’m going to leave you two for a while,’ he said. ‘I want to have a look at the other entrance, the one in the Brews. Will you be okay for a few minutes?’
Tiffany and Felicity looked at each other.
‘Of course we will,’ replied Felicity. ‘But what should we do if something happens?’
‘I doubt anything will at the moment, but if it does, then write it down, and if you see some people in the room, then write their descriptions down. I’ll leave you with this,’ and he presented them with the eye-spy, a sort of tube with glass on each end which made things seem an awful lot closer. It used to be called the Seeing Up Close Device, but then the marketing men got hold of it. ‘If you can draw a picture, then that’s even better. I won’t be long.’
A few minutes later he walked down the stairs and then out through the side door. He didn’t want to make a bee-line for the alley so he started to look at a few of the stalls, edging further down before crossing the street and walking back. He cast an eye up to the little room and could just see a shadow where one of the girls looked down. He grinned and then took a couple more steps before dipping into the alley.
The stark light disappeared leaving him in a dark shadow; strangely, the sound of the street had abruptly cut off. It definitely had an intimidating air about it, but to Frankie, it was just another alley. He walked deeper into it and it got steadily darker. There were a few old boxes and a fair bit of litter, and a certain odour of wee.
Just ahead, he could see a section of the wall darken and he surmised that it must be a little alcove. As he walked past, he heard something, and glimpsed a flash of something metal. Without breaking step or sweat, he lashed out with his fist and felt a satisfyingly soggy contact. He heard a moan and then something slid down the wall. He stopped, turned around and walked back. He bent down and removed the knife from the hand, just before the toe-end of his boot connected to the groin of the hopeful thief.
‘You gotta do better than that, me old son,’ he remarked, as he turned the meat and two veg into soup.
He carried on and emerged into the Brews, with the back end of the pub on his left. He could see the entrance to the yard where he’d come across Maisie, the encounter bringing a smile to his lips. He took a look and saw a couple of men pointing their bits at the wall, as neither of them were feelers, he ignored them and carried on walking down the narrow dirty street, making sure he avoided the dribble of liquid that ran down the middle.
A good few people were about and there were traders trading their meagre wares. The shops, such as they were, seemed to be doing well, selling cheap goods at knockdown prices, which might give a clue to how they had been acquired.
Frankie liked the Brews; it didn’t pretend to be anything other than a slum, being dishonestly honest in a way that put the rest of the city to shame. He felt at ease in the place, despite its violent reputation.
He stopped and looked into a window, admiring a little piece of jewellery that he thought Isabella might like, when he heard a familiar voice.
‘Fancy a quickie, big boy? You look like yer ‘ave sum time on yer hands.’
He turned his head to see Maisie giving him the come-on. ‘Hello girl, you’re starting early today.’
She winked at him as though she had something in her eye. ‘I can do you a good deal, you know; you can be quick, or you can take things nice and slow. What do you say?’
‘I’d say not today, my darling, but thanks for the offer.’
She still winked at him but it seemed like the speed had increased, like a tic on acid.
‘I know when a man’s up fer it, come on, let’s ‘ave a bit of fun.’
Finally, Frankie got the message, she had something to tell him, but she tried not to be too obvious about it. ‘Okay,’ he relented. ‘Where? I like a bit of comfort.’
The passers-by barely gave them a look as they hammered out the price.
A few minutes later, they were arm in arm and walking towards a dilapidated old house. Maisie grinned at people indicating her pleasure with her catch. She waved to someone and then pressed close to Frankie’s side.
‘Here we is, sweetheart. My den of delights.’ She nearly shouted, so that everyone could hear, then dropped her voice
to a whisper. ‘Get in quick. I need to speak with you.’
As she closed the door, Frankie looked around. ‘This where you live?’
She nodded. ‘It ain’t much, but it’s all mine.’
They were in a single room with a broken bed and a couple of distressed chairs around a small hearth, a rickety table, where she could eat her meals, in the corner with a lone stool. A small battered chest of drawers contained her clothes.
‘Nice,’ said Frankie. ‘A real home.’
‘Fer the Brews, it is,’ she replied. ‘You want to see how some others live. This is luxury around here.’
Frankie couldn’t find the words. He had seen this type of poverty hundreds of times, but seeing Maisie living in this squalor brought home a truth. You just didn’t know how lucky you really were.
‘Anyway, this ain’t why I brought you ‘ere. The word is that Gerald wants to see you, and pretty quickly. From what I ‘ear a load of gonepowder has gone missing and he don’t know the whys and the wherefores. He’s worried, and that ain’t like Gerald.’
Frankie’s eyebrows rose. ‘Gonepowder? How much?’
‘Not sure, but if Gerald is worried, then it ain’t gonna be just a little bit.’
Frankie nodded. He had a problem: Tiffany and Felicity were waiting for him to go back, so he couldn’t just disappear, as that would raise some concerns. What should he do? He snapped his fingers. ‘Maisie, you are now going to do me a favour. You wanted to be a feeler, so now’s your chance.’
The tricky situation required a simple answer. Maisie knew practically everybody who came into this area of the Brews, and that included feelers. ‘You’re going to help a couple of recruits,’ he said. ‘I want you to point out people and names to them. Do you think you could do that?’
‘I could, but what do I get out of it?’
‘You’ll have helped to stop something, and I’ll tell Miss Morant all about it. You do still want to become a feeler, don’t you?’