by Jake Arnott
I got myself a drink and looked out across the room. I clocked a few faces I vaguely remembered. Harry was at his usual table, holding court. He casually waved over at me. I drained my gin and tonic, straightened my tie and wandered across.
‘Terry,’ Harry announced amiably, indicating a chair opposite him. ‘Have a seat.’
There was a young man sitting next to him. He wore an expensive mohair suit and his blond hair was cut in a short college-boy style. Harry’s new boy, I assumed. My replacement. The new boy looked at me shiftily, trying to affect some sort of professional sneer. I gave him a fierce stare and he looked away. He was pretty enough, I thought, and convincing in his role of Harry’s kept boy. He looked to be doing a better job of it than I ever managed. He had a cheap haughtiness, an eagerness to be spoiled that I’m sure Harry fell for.
‘So, how’s it all going?’ Harry asked.
I glanced across the table. The new boy was looking disdainfully bored. I kind of hoped Harry would give him some spending money and send him away but maybe he was part of the night’s proceedings. A gesture to show me what had been between us was all passed. It certainly reminded me of how expendable I was. It was then that I resolved not to tell Harry anything. Maybe I felt some spite at him for casually showing off his new boyfriend as he was setting me up to take the fall for the long firm. But mostly I figured that, if Harry knew that I knew, things would be a lot more dangerous for me. It would mean telling him of how I’d snooped around behind his back. I decided that I’d go along with Jimmy’s plan. I deserved to get something out of all this, after all, given the risk I was taking. So I resolved to play dumb. Looking over at the new boy, I realised that that was another thing he was better at than me. I shrugged.
‘It’s all going fine, Harry,’ I lied.
‘So we’re all ready for the big day?’
I nodded.
‘Right. Well, as you know, I won’t be there on the day. I’ll be otherwise engaged. Remember, I’m not officially connected with Dominion Electrical Goods. I’m like a silent partner. Silent,’ he repeated, putting a finger to his lips. ‘You understand?’
‘Sure.’
‘Right, well Jimmy will be there but Manny will be coming around later to pick up the takings. Jimmy’s going to be organising security, can’t be too careful with all those takings. But it’s Manny that looks after the money. You clear about that?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. Don’t worry, it’ll all go fine. I’ll explain it all later. You’ll get a bonus and everything. OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. You’re a good kid.’
Harry leant over the table to give me a friendly pat on my cheek. I involuntarily flinched away from his heavy hand. The new boy watched and sniggered. Harry frowned.
‘Relax,’ he said. ‘Have another drink.’
I had plenty.
I spent the next few days getting the warehouse ready for the big sale. There were huge gaps in the stock check that me and Jimmy Murphy had done. I tried to cover them up amongst all the paperwork in the office hoping desperately that I could maintain my assumed ignorance of everything.
The last thing to do was to put up signs on the outside of the building. CLOSING DOWN SALE. LAST FEW DAYS. EVERYTHING MUST GO. I tacked them up on the shopfront with a sense of doom. They reminded me of those signs you see religious nutcases carrying about. You know, THE END IS NIGH, stuff like that.
The big day. I was as nervous as fuck. Jimmy arrived with a couple of heavies I’d never seen before. Freelancers. Harry wanted to keep any connection between him and the long firm to a minimum. But we needed some sort of muscle, just in case. The amount of money expected to change hands that day would be tempting for any outside team to heavy into. Jimmy gave me a wink, implicating me. I sighed heavily.
‘Don’t worry, son,’ he assured me. ‘It’ll soon be over.’
And things did move fast that day. After weeks of doing very little trade we were suddenly very busy. It wasn’t called a long firm for nothing. This sort of fraud required a lot of patience. A long wait and then a quick killing.
They came from all over town, our customers. Word must have gone out: a gravy train on Commercial Road. And it was well worth their while. They were getting goods at criminally low prices, it was like legalised fencing. And everyone got a receipt so no one could be accused of receiving stolen goods. Even though they were. Everything went dirt cheap but then we were getting a hundred per cent profit on everything we sold. Harry had a very pure sense of business.
They came in vans, lorries, high-sided pantechnicons. Even a flat-bed truck that we loaded up and tied down with a tarpaulin over it. And everyone got their receipt. As I signed them I was reminded that each one was evidence against me. That I had been set up by Harry. And so I could feel justified in being part of Jimmy’s scam. He would nod over at me at particular parts of the stock that we sold that he hadn’t included in the stock check and I would destroy our copies of the receipts for that sale.
I can scarcely remember any really clear details of the day we hit the floor. Everything happened so quickly, what with all the activity, but I think the time passed swiftly also because I dreaded the end of it.
When we were cleaned out I took all of the money into the office. I paid off the labourers, gave them a bonus that Harry had suggested. They went off happy, no doubt to the nearest pub. I envied them as I set to work sorting out piles of cash on the office floor. I’d never handled so much money in my life before or since. The smell of all those fingered notes was vaguely disgusting. Jimmy peeled off some notes for his freelance heavies and they were gone too. Just me and him. We put the money we planned to take for ourselves to one side and counted it up. It was nearly three thousand pounds. Jimmy scooped it up and shoved it into a holdall. He took out his hip flask, had a slug himself and then passed it to me.
‘We’ll divvy up that later,’ he said as I took a swig myself.
Manny arrived with a battered old suitcase, no doubt to carry the takings in to Harry. We counted through the takings together as Jimmy watched by the door. Manny was very systematic. He went through the original delivery notes to check all the stock that had been sold. He was completely in his element as we sorted through the piles of money. He seemed instinctively able to keep different columns of figures in his head as the day’s takings were calculated. I noticed a frown growing on that little round head of his as he realised that some of the cash was missing. He was implacable, starting the count from the very beginning again as he noticed some of those columns in his mind just didn’t add up. His formidable little head started to shake from side to side as deep down, on an almost unconscious level, it realised that something was wrong.
‘Is this all the money?’ he demanded, sniffing at the piles of notes on the floor.
‘Yes, of course,’ I replied, trying not to shake with the real fear that I felt.
‘Then we must count it all again,’ he insisted and got back down on his hands and knees.
I looked over at Jimmy who was feigning nonchalance. He shrugged back at me. Manny looked up, perhaps sensing something. His little eyes pierced through me. He stood up.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Maybe there’s been some mistake. Something you’ve forgotten.’
He shrugged amicably.
‘It’s not too late,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Things move fast. Money gets lost in all the fast dealing of it. Just hand it over and there’ll be no more said.’
Manny was moving towards me with a soothing smile on his round little face. I backed away and as I did so saw Jimmy come up behind him. I tried to say something but my mouth was dry. It was like pantomime. Behind you. I saw Jimmy take a cosh from out of his jacket pocket.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Manny. ‘We can work this all out.’
I stuttered something unintelligible and then Jimmy whacked Manny with his cosh, putting that troubled little mind to rest.
It was like slow motion. M
anny’s eyes rolled white in their sockets. He shrugged fatalistically then fell to the floor scattering piles of notes around the office.
Jimmy slapped the shot-filled leather cosh in the palm of his hand and looked down at Manny.
‘Fuck,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
I was down on my knees checking on Manny and trying to extricate the notes trapped under his heavy little frame. I was worried that Jimmy might have killed him but the little man seemed indestructible. Semi-consciously gurgling something that sounded like Yiddish. Jimmy moved swiftly then, gathering up the money on the floor and stuffing it into his holdall.
‘What are you doing?’ I demanded.
‘Change of plan,’ he announced. ‘We’re going to take the lot. Do a runner.’
I looked up at him and frowned.
‘What?’
‘We’ve got no choice now. We can take the fucking lot and go.’
‘Go where?’
‘I don’t know. Over the water. Belfast. Dublin. There’s enough here to get us sorted.’
He caught my stare.
‘So, are you in?’
He looked down at me fiercely.
My hesitation was answer enough.
‘Well, you ain’t going to stop me are you?’
He’d finished collecting all the money. His cosh hanging out of his trouser pocket. He took it out.
‘Turn around,’ he said.
‘Jimmy, no,’ I replied but he poked me in the face with it so that I turned away and tensed up.
‘You’ll thank me for this,’ he said and whacked me on the side of the head.
The blow caught my temple and I went down, blacking out as I hit the floor. I woke up grabbing hold of a five-pound note that Jimmy had missed underneath the desk. I was only out for a couple of minutes. I heard the warehouse door slam downstairs as Jimmy made his getaway.
‘Fuck,’ I groaned and closed my eyes again, my head throbbing with pain and trying to think what to do.
There wasn’t much that I could do. I knew that I would have to face Harry about all this. I got up and felt the bruise on the side of my head. Jimmy was right of course, giving me a whack was doing me a favour in a way but I knew that it wouldn’t be nearly enough. I tried to think of what to say without giving too much away of my own guilt. It seemed pretty hopeless. Manny was still prone on the floor. He had got a much worse whack than I had. Jimmy had really taken a proper swing at him. So I sat him up against the desk and phoned Harry.
Harry answered and demanded to speak to Manny. I had to tell him that Manny was unable to come to the phone. There was a pause, then Harry said that he was coming over. His voice was cold and matter of fact. I was scared shitless.
He arrived with Tony Stavrakakis. He didn’t even look at me at first but went over to Manny and tried to talk to him. Manny was still slumped down against the desk, muttering incoherently. Harry crouched down and slapped the round head a while until he realised it was a waste of time.
‘Jimmy,’ he finally said, looking up at me.
‘He’s gone,’ I replied, rubbing my face, trying to make as much as I could of my own wound.
‘And the money?’ he demanded.
‘Gone,’ I said, mournfully.
Harry stretched his legs and stood upright. He nodded thoughtfully and looked over at Tony the Greek. He sighed and shook his head. He tutted, tongue against teeth. As if ticking off all of the bad things that had happened. All of the bad points. Tick, tick, tick.
‘Well, Terry,’ he said calmly, his voice soft as if to indicate disappointment rather than anger. ‘We need to have a little chat. Don’t we?’
Harry made some phone calls as I sat with my elbow on the desk cradling my dazed head. The doctor that the firm used came over to check on Manny. And Jock McCluskey arrived with a minor face I didn’t know the name of. He briefed them to go after Jimmy. They were both armed.
‘Right,’ said Harry as the doctor led a semi-conscious Manny out of the office. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
He cocked his head at me sharply.
‘You’re coming with us.’
I was made to get into the boot of the Daimler. By the time we arrived at our destination I was sick with fear and petrol fumes. It was a lock-up garage beneath the arch of a railway bridge. Harry unlocked a padlock and we went inside.
A light was flicked on. The bare bulb revealed an almost empty room. There was a table to one side with some bottles and old chip wrappers scattered on it. A brazier with a gas canister stood by the arched end wall. In the middle of the cavernous space was a wooden chair. It looked lonely, sat there all on its own. A few lengths of rope lay curled around its legs.
‘Take a seat,’ Harry insisted.
As I sat down he went over to the table and picked up a bottle of Johnny Walker.
‘Fancy a drink?’ he offered and I nodded.
He poured the scotch into a chipped mug and passed it to me. It was about half full. I drank it down in two or maybe three quick gulps. Harry then took the mug off me and nodded at Tony. The Greek started to tie me to the chair.
‘Right. Let’s get started.’ Harry bared his teeth at me in a grin. ‘Showtime.’
‘So, now it’s your turn, Terry,’ Harry says, heating up the poker again. ‘Trust me.’
He smiles at me playfully as if the whole thing is a childish dare.
‘Now, we want to get this right, don’t we? Don’t want to burn your tongue off. You’re going to need that later to tell us the whole story. Open wide. Give him a hand, Bubble.’
Tony pulls me head back by its hair. My jaw hangs open. Harry holds the poker over the flame until it’s white hot. Then he advances, pointing it at me.
Panic. A spasm of breathing. I’m panting like a dog. Can’t speak.
Please, Harry. Don’t Harry.
‘Come on. Stick your tongue out.’
I do as he says. My mouth feels so dry. He holds the poker in front of my nose. Heat and light press against my face. Harry gently draws it down. It slides against my tongue with a rasping hiss. A whisper of steam stings my eyes. I feel only the pressure of the luminous metal. No heat. But I’m sure that it’s searing into me, burning my tongue from out of my head. I black out for a second.
I come to suddenly. A numb, gaping mouth heaving out heavy sobs. My tongue is still there. I lick at my lips to make sure. Swooning with relief I feel a lovely warm feeling in my cock. I realise that I’m pissing myself. Through the tears, I see Harry nodding at me. There’s piss running down my legs.
‘There, there,’ he says, patting me on the shoulder. ‘That’s it. It’s all over now.’
I continue crying as Harry walks over and tosses the poker back into the brazier and turns off the gas. Then comes back over to me. Tony’s let go of my hair and Harry strokes it back into place using his splayed fingers as a comb.
‘It’s all right,’ he says, softly. ‘You can tell us all about it.’
And I do. I tell him everything. I try to tell him everything at once but he gets me to start at the beginning, occasionally stopping me and asking questions. And it all comes out. All of it. The whole truth.
Tony unties me and Harry pours me another drink. This time the scotch burns against my swollen tongue. I cough most of it out down my front.
‘I’ll tell you what happens now,’ Harry says, reading my mind. ‘You can go now. We’re quits. You don’t talk to anybody about anything. You’ve had a taste of what will happen if you do.’
And that was it. I never saw Harry again, though years later, what with the trial and that, he became quite famous, or rather, infamous. As I left he peeled off a few notes at me. About fifty quid. As if to remind me that I owed him. I got a taxi back home. Next day I got a rash of tiny white blisters all over my tongue. Made it difficult for me to talk. Not that I had any inclination to.
2
Dissolution Honours
A nation is a collective enterprise; outside of that it is
mostly a gambling space for the opportunism and adventurism of power.
Wole Soyinka
1964
Monday, 2 November
To the House of Lords for Ceremonial Introduction. Black Rod leads the way, his ebony shaft of office surmounted by a golden lion rampant. The Garter King of Arms carries the patent conferring my imminent status of Lord Thursby of Hartwell-juxta-Mare. Flanked by two peers I approach the Woolsack.
Always had a craving for preposterous ritual & you don’t get much better than this. Teddy Thursby taking his seat in the Upper House. Joining the lords temporal, the lords spiritual. I’m wearing all the gear of course. Ermine, knee britches, silver buckled shoes, silk stockings. Try to move with processional rhythm. The slow gentle dignified sway. But it’s hard not to swagger a bit.
Ceremonial introduction is so solemn & ridiculous. Useless, stupid, bloody beautiful ritual. So calm and soothing. I love it. Maybe it’s the High Church upbringing. But then I always played that up a bit. Went through a big Anglo-Catholic phase at Oxford. Dead give-away, I suppose. Still, it always pays to send out the right signals, the right codes. That way you can make your intentions known whilst still remaining discreet. And that’s what I’ve always been. Discreet.
Present the patent & the writ of summons to the Lord Chancellor. Sign the Test Roll, take the Oath, kiss the book. The strange purity of detail. Each tentative, futile gesture an escape from the everyday.
Feel like a new boy again. Like my first day in Parliament back in 1924 when I took my seat in the Commons. There had been ceremonial introduction then as well. No dressing up though. I remember other rituals equally important if slightly less formal. Chips Channon showing me round the Members’ lavatories. ‘The most important rooms,’ he had announced with mock solemnity, vainly trying to affect a sparkle in those deadly dull eyes of his.
That was forty years ago. I’ve had some success, I suppose. Never lived up to my potential though. Early days held such promise. That stupid scandal back in the thirties. Failing to declare a business interest. Misleading the House. Had to resign from Cabinet & I never got a government post again. Became the flamboyant backbencher instead. Glad to be out of it now, to tell the truth. All those years of service & all I’ve got to show for it is a measly life peerage. Kicked upstairs. Some wag said that it was entirely appropriate, given my reputation, that I should be given a peerage in Sir Alec’s Dissolution Honours List. Oh well, I’m a fucking Lord now. I can lord it about a bit.