The Right Sort of Man

by Allison Montclair

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Archie said I should drop by,” she said.

  “Did ’e now?” said the man. “Didn’t tell me nothin’ about it.”

  “Tell him it’s Mary,” she said. “Mary from last night.”

  “Mary from last night, is it?” he repeated, leering. “Think that’ll jog ’is memory enough?”

  “He’ll remember me,” she said. “I’m memorable.”

  “Wait out there,” he said. “I’ll see if that’s the case.”

  He closed the door. She heard it lock.

  A few minutes later, it opened again and the man motioned her inside.

  “Be quick about it,” he said, scanning the streets in both directions.

  She ducked in, and he closed it behind her and locked it.

  “Your bag,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She surrendered it. He went through it, then pulled out her knife.

  “What’s this, then?”

  She shrugged.

  “Would you let your missus wander around ’ere unprotected?” she asked.

  “My missus would know better than to come ’ere,” he said, returning her bag without the knife. “You’re safe inside. You can ’ave it back when you leave.”

  “Don’t go playing with it,” she said. “It’s sharp.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out for meself, thanks very much,” he said. “This way.”

  He led her down a passage into the warehouse proper. As far as the eye could see crates were stacked on pallets resting on rows of steel-framed storage shelves. Her escort led her down an aisle between the rows, stopping her at one intersection as a forklift drove through, its driver acknowledging them with a lazy salute as he passed. They reached a steel door at the end of the aisle. The man knocked three times, then four more. The door opened.

  “There she is,” beamed Archie. “Come in, my lovely. I didn’t know if you intended to keep your appointment or not.”

  “I don’t like to disappoint a gentleman,” said Iris as he held the door for her.

  “Dunno if I’d fall into that particular category,” said Archie. “But I’ve met my share of so-called gentlemen, and they generally don’t meet their own standards in my experience.”

  “Don’t ’ave to tell me that,” said Iris. “If I ’ad a penny for every blue blood who ever pinched me bum, I could retire to a life of soft cushions.”

  “Well, I must admit, it does present a tempting target,” said Archie.

  “Now, now,” she said, wagging her finger at him. “Don’t get fresh with me.”

  “You’re on my turf, girlie,” he said. “I get as fresh as I like with anyone what walks in ’ere.”

  “You must make the boys proper nervous, then,” she said, glancing around.

  The corner of the building had been converted to a private clubhouse for Archie and his cronies, many of whom were scattered about the room. One group was playing cards in the corner, while more were gathered around a snooker table, betting and commenting raucously on each shot. There was a bar at the far end, complete with a female bartender who gave Iris the once-over before returning to pouring. She was the only other woman present, Iris noticed.

  Besides the door behind her, the only other exit was in the rear corner by the far end of the bar. She made a quick consult of her mental map. It had to let out at the back of the warehouse, which meant an alleyway of some kind. Were they right on Shadwell Basin? Not quite, she thought. No watery escapes here. Hopefully, none of any kind, but she didn’t like the setup now that she was inside of it.

  “Boys, you remember Mary?” called Archie. “Mary, friend of the late, lamented Tillie La Salle.”

  Iris gave a wave, and the men not too preoccupied nodded back, some checking her out in a thoroughly wolfish manner.

  “Mary what?” one of them called out.

  “Well, I don’t rightly know, come to think of it,” said Archie, turning to her. “Mary what?”

  “McTague,” said Iris. “Mary Elizabeth McTague is me full name.”

  “I don’t suppose you have anything what proves that?” asked Archie.

  “Proof? What for?”

  “Because I wasn’t born yesterday, love,” said Archie.

  “Right,” said Iris, reaching into her bag. “If it’s good enough for the rozzers, it oughter be good enough for you.”

  She handed over a National Registration Identity Card duly filled out in the name of Mary Elizabeth McTague, courtesy of her war work. Another souvenir that she was supposed to turn in after demobilization, but she had held onto it for unspecified emergencies, and the Brigadier had never asked for it back.

  She wondered if that was a deliberate error on his part. She wouldn’t put it past him.

  Archie gave it a cursory glance, then handed it back.

  “Miss Mary Elizabeth McTague, what can we do for you today?” he asked.

  “I came for stockings,” she said.

  “’Ow many would you like?”

  “One for each leg,” she said. “But ’ow many pairs depends on the price.”

  “Well, we’ve been selling ’em for four pounds a pair—”

  “Cor blimey!” she exclaimed, meaning it.

  “But,” he said, holding his hand up placatingly, “we have a discount for our friends, and I think we can consider you one.”

  “How much of a discount?” she asked warily.

  “Well, it depends on ’ow friendly you’d like to be,” he said.

  He went over behind the bar, pulled out a long, narrow cardboard box from underneath, and opened it.

  “Come inspect the merchandise,” he said.

  She walked over to him. He pulled out a pair of nylons and draped them across her hands.

  “These are the real article,” he said.

  “Oh, these are lovely,” said Iris, holding them up to see the light shining through them.

  “Try ’em on,” said Archie.

  “Right,” said Iris. “’Ave you got a ladies’ in the place, or should I just go in back?”

  “Like I said, the discount is for our friends,” said Archie. “We’re all friends in ’ere, aren’t we, love?”

  “I suppose,” said Iris, looking around dubiously.

  The others in the room had ceased their various gaming and drinking activities momentarily to watch the transaction with unveiled interest. Iris suddenly realized that she was on display.

  “So, since you’re amongst friends, try them on for us,” said Archie.

  “What, ’ere?” she exclaimed. “Right in front of everyone?”

  “That’s the deal,” said Archie. “Brings the price down, depending on ’ow much approval you earn.”

  “I’m no dance-hall girl,” said Iris indignantly. “If you think I’m going to put on some kind of show for this lot—”

  “Oh, but I think you are, love,” said Archie, smiling.

  Only this smile had teeth in it.

  Well. Do what you have to do, old girl, and maybe that will be the end of it, she thought. What’s a little humiliation in the pursuit of a case, right?

  “I don’t ’ave nothing to ’old them up,” she said.

  He reached into the box and pulled out a pair of garters.

  “These should do,” he said, tossing them to her.

  “Yeah, they’ll do nicely,” she said.

  She kept her eyes down as the men began whistling from around the room. She reached down and unbuckled her shoe, then took it off and placed it on the bar. She took one of the stockings and began to roll it down from its edges.

  “That’s enough,” said a voice from the back.

  “What’s that?” said Archie.

  “I said, that’s enough, Archie,” the man repeated.

  And Roger Pilcher walked towards the bar from the corner where he had been playing cards.

  She had missed him when she came in. He must have had his back to the door.

  Not good, thoug
ht Iris.

  “What’s this about then, Rog?” asked Archie.

  “This bird you leave alone,” said Roger. “She’s off-limits.”

  “Says you.”

  “Yeah, says me,” said Roger.

  What the hell is going on? thought Iris.

  “Before I beat the living Christ out of you, tell me why,” said Archie.

  “She ’asn’t been telling you the truth about ’erself,” said Roger.

  Damn, thought Iris. Get ready for the forty-yard dash, girl.

  She casually slipped her shoe back on.

  “What ’asn’t she been telling us?” asked Archie.

  “It’s a personal matter,” said Roger. “I’d rather not discuss it ’ere.”

  “If there is anything you got to say about this, you say it in front of all of us,” said Archie. “Spit it out while you still got all your teeth, boy.”

  “Remember when me and Tillie broke up?” asked Roger.

  “Wasn’t so long ago that I’d forget,” said Archie. “What about it?”

  “What I didn’t tell you is that she found out I ’ad been ’aving a bit on the side,” said Roger. “That’s the reason why it ’appened.”

  “I’m surprised she din’t slice you to ribbons if that were the case,” said Archie. “So, what’s that got to—oh, I got the wind of it.”

  “Right,” said Roger. “This is the bit on the side. Me and Mary.”

  And suddenly a lifeline, thought Iris in shock. Grab it!

  She walked up to Roger, her face contorted in rage.

  “You weren’t supposed to tell no one!” she shouted.

  “Well, you weren’t supposed to come around barging into me business!” he shouted back. “Bad enough you come out to Merle’s, but ’ere? I told you never to come ’ere! We ’ad an agreement.”

  “Yeah, well, I wanted to see if you was telling me the truth about it,” spat Iris. “If you really was the big man you said you was, running with Archie and the boys at all hours. I ’ad to know the truth!”

  “Look around you, love. What do you see? Am I a liar?”

  She turned back to face Archie, whose face had gone from puzzled anger to amusement.

  “You. You’re supposed to be the big boss,” she snarled. “You tell me. ’As ’e been working for you all this time, or does he got another girl stashed somewhere?”

  “Christ, sounds like every night with me mum and dad in the kitchen,” commented one of the men by the snooker table.

  “Miss McTague,” said Archie. “Far be it from me to be the arbitrator of this little lovers’ quarrel, but if you’re asking me to vouch for ’is general whereabouts, ’e works for me, and ’as been for nearly a year now.”

  “And nights?”

  “Some of our best work is night work,” said Archie. “Stockings don’t grow on trees, you know.”

  “Satisfied?” asked Roger.

  “Well, since ’e says so, I guess I am,” said Iris.

  “I must say I ’ad no inkling about this from ’ow you two acted last night,” said Archie. “You played it straight.”

  “You didn’t ’ear us going at it in the street afterwards,” said Iris. “Liked to ’ave waked the dead.”

  “Knives were out,” said Roger, grinning at her.

  “They certainly were,” she said.

  “Well, I’m glad to see true love and all that,” said Archie. “So the stockings—”

  “I still want a pair,” said Iris.

  “They’re on me,” said Roger.

  “No,” said Iris. “You’re not buying your way out of this one, Roger Pilcher. I pay me own way. ’Ow much, Archie? Or do I still ’ave to put on a show for you and the lads?”

  “Oh, you’ve put on a show, all right,” laughed Archie. “Make it two and six. You can pay Louise there.”

  “Right,” said Iris, slapping the money on the counter and taking the stockings. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you. If you ever need a solid girl for any extra work, I might be interested.”

  “Might be a place for you,” said Archie.

  “You,” said Iris to Pilcher. “Walk me to the train.”

  “All right, Archie?” asked Rog.

  “A gentleman would do no less,” said Archie grandly. “Are we not all gentlemen ’ere?”

  “Right,” said Rog. “Be back in a while.”

  “Take your time, my boy,” said Archie. “There ain’t no great demands for your services tonight.”

  “There ain’t gonna be any from me, that’s for certain,” said Iris.

  She rolled the stockings up carefully, then looked at Archie, winked, and put them into her handbag.

  “Ta ta, gents,” she said, and she sauntered towards the door, then looked at Pilcher.

  “Well?” she said expectantly.

  “You waiting for a ‘yes, dear’?” he asked.

  “I’m waiting for you to open the bleedin’ door like a gentleman oughter,” she said. “Show them ’ow it’s done, Rog.”

  “Christ,” he muttered, striding angrily past her and opening it.

  They walked silently to the front of the warehouse, where the spiv on watch sat reading a magazine.

  “One sec,” said Iris. “Oy, you ’ave something of mine.”

  “What?” said the watchman. “Oh, right.”

  He pulled open a drawer and pulled out her knife.

  “Careful with that,” he said. “A little birdie told me it’s sharp.”

  “So it is,” said Iris. “Thanks for taking care of it. Shall we?”

  “Night, Tony,” said Pilcher.

  “This your girl then, Rog?” asked Tony as he unlocked the door.

  “Afraid so,” said Pilcher. “But we all got our troubles, don’t we?”

  “Truer words,” said Tony as they passed by him. “Night, then.”

  “Now,” said Iris pleasantly as she took Rog’s arm. “We ’ave to ’ave a little chat, lover.”

  “Shut it,” he said.

  “But—”

  “I said shut it, and I meant it,” he whispered urgently.

  They continued on until they came back to Wapping High Street. He glanced behind him.

  “All right, no one is following,” he said. “Now, what the bloody ’ell are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”

  “Who are you?” asked Iris.

  “I’m Roger Pilcher, and if you keep at this, I’m going to be the late Roger Pilcher,” he said. “I warned you last night—”

  “Who do you work for?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “You don’t seem like CID,” she continued. “Some special branch?”

  “You’re a madwoman,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Yet you came to my rescue,” she said. “You could have given me up on the spot. It would have been the smartest move you could have made.”

  “I’m coming to regret that decision,” he said. “Listen, I don’t know what tree you think you’re barking up—”

  “I was warned away from you this morning,” she said.

  “From me? What for? Who by?”

  “By CID,” she said. “Ongoing investigation, they told me. Look, I have no intention of getting you in trouble—”

  “Great,” he sighed. “You’re doing a fine job unintentionally then. Who do you work for?”

  “The Right Sort Marriage Bureau,” she said. “But you know that. You came there.”

  “And what’s that a front for?”

  “A front? What on earth makes you think we’re anything other than what we appear to be?”

  “Oh, I dunno,” he said. “Maybe the fact that you’re investigating a murder. A murder which has been already solved, in case you haven’t heard. Not to mention the obvious training—you handled that knife like you were Special Forces. And the fact that you’re showing up in some very odd places in character, complete with a nicely forged Ident Card, no less. You just happened to have that laying around for emergenc
ies?”

  “You never know when it will come in handy,” she said. “Is your name really Roger Pilcher?”

  “I could show you my ident,” he said. “It’s realer than yours. So, who are you working for?”

  “I had some interesting experiences during the war,” she said. “But I’m on my own, now. Or with Mrs. Bainbridge, to be accurate. The Right Sort is legitimate, not a front.”

  “Then what made you turn into Holmes and Watson?” he asked. “Or is this Gert and Daisy Clean Up?”

  “Won’t we ’ave a party when it’s over?” she sang. “I love Gert and Daisy. That’s the one where they catch the black marketeer, isn’t it? Well, we’re certainly on the right track, if that’s the case. But I’m guessing that’s your objective, isn’t it?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Not CID,” she speculated. “Bureau of Trade? One of Yandell’s inspectors? No—they don’t go in for undercover work. Ministry of Finance, however…”

  He winced. She saw it.

  “That’s it, then,” she said. “You’re with Finance, hot on the trail of smuggled nylons—only you know about the nylons, so it can’t be that. You want bigger fish to fry. Who and what are those fish?”

  “Stop it,” he said. “I’m no undercover.”

  “Why did you step in when you did, Roger Not-a-Spiv Pilcher?” she demanded. “All that would have happened is I would have shown more of my legs to strangers than I normally like to do on a first date. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world.”

  “It wouldn’t have stopped there, you see,” he said. “It would have gone further once you let it start. Much further. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to an innocent woman.”

  “So you put yourself and your operation in jeopardy to rescue me from a fate worse than death,” she said. “How very gallant of you.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “No,” she said. “I meant it. You could have left me to suffer the consequences of my recklessness. I’m grateful.”

  “So you’ll stay away now?”

  “Where were you on the night Tillie La Salle was killed?”

  “Are you still on about that?” he asked, turning to stare at her in disbelief. “You were told I was in the clear.”