Bad Catholics (11 page)

‘Want it nightly instead of weekly?' George gave a leer, then stopped smiling. He didn't like the way Jimmy was looking at him.

‘Want to repeat that, George?' asked Jimmy slowly.

‘No, it was a stupid crack, it just came out. I know you and Bernie are …' he looked for the right words, ‘sort of special.'

He relaxed as Jimmy relaxed.

‘You're all right, George, but you've picked up some nasty ways. I like you but it's you I like, not your language or your friends or what they do.'

‘Do you know what they do?'

‘No, and I don't want to.'

‘So, when shall we go?'

Everything went just as George had said. A few nights later, they broke into the laundrette under the jazz club in the early morning, forced open the drawer, and took away the cash box. It was easy.

‘He's loopy, the old bloke who runs the place.'

George was excited and cheerful as they walked down the street with the cash box in a carrier bag under some overalls and a full sandwich box. The excitement made him talkative.

‘He thinks if he empties the machines on a different night each week, nobody will know when he does it, but it's easy to know, 'cos he always stays twenty minutes longer to count it.'

‘Why doesn't he take it to a night safe?'

‘Afraid of carrying money at night, I suppose. He comes back next day, opens up and gets the money, and takes it to the bank then.'

They came to a junction and stopped.

‘See you,' said Jimmy, turning in the direction of his home.

‘Don't you want your split?'

‘No, not now. I'll see you tomorrow after work. Bring it to The Hind in a plain envelope. It'll all be coin and I don't want coin. Change it and I'll see you tomorrow, about eight.'

‘OK, Jimmy,' and George watched him go.

It was typical of Jimmy to trust him. And he was right to trust him, they were mates, he wouldn't gyp Jimmy, it would be 50:50. Well, 60:40, which was almost as good, everything considered. George liked the overalls and sandwiches. A nice touch, that was. Jimmy was someone to bring on.

About ten past eight the following night Jimmy arrived at The Hind. George was sitting at a table with some of his friends, men Jimmy didn't want to know. They were talking and laughing, George seemed well settled amongst them. Jimmy went to the bar. Mr Lonsdale himself came to serve him. It was the first time he had got such personal attention.

‘It's Jimmy isn't it, and you drink mild, yeah?' He was being friendly. ‘Have this on me. A good story's always worth a pint. Seven pound, fifteen shillings and sixpence, that's good, Jimmy.' He laughed as he pulled the pint. Then he put the pint on the bar and laughed again, ‘A good story,' and he walked away.

Jimmy felt uncomfortable. He didn't know Jack Lonsdale and he didn't want Jack Lonsdale to know him. He didn't know a funny story and he didn't know where seven pounds, fifteen and six fitted in. He looked across at George. He was talking and the others at the table were laughing. Jimmy's mind turned things over slowly. He stayed at the bar, sipped his mild and began to make connections. After a while, George came over and joined him.

‘Here we are then.'

He held out a brown envelope and Jimmy took it and slipped it into his pocket.

‘Did I get a hundred quid or seven pounds, fifteen and six?'

George paused. ‘How did you know?'

Jimmy remained silent.

‘On my oath, Jimmy, there was only just over fifteen quid in the cash box and where the bloody sixpence came from I don't know.'

Jimmy was still looking at him. ‘That's it? I get seven pounds fifteen shillings and sixpence?'

‘We both do. You can't have what's not there.'

Jimmy looked at the men at George's table. They weren't looking at him but they weren't talking either. Jimmy nodded at them.

‘They know about it, about me?'

‘Sure, but they're all right, they don't talk to anyone except each other.'

‘And Lonsdale, he knows?'

‘Well, I had to tell Jack. Look, it's not the money. We'll score some other time, but it's the way we did it, all the touches. They're impressed, Jimmy, they know talent and brains when they see it. We've done OK, seven quid odd each in money but fucking hundreds in respect, a few more like that and we'll have some real dough, and then we'll get taken on board.'

‘You gave me to them, George?'

The threat was not in the words but the way they were spoken as Jimmy moved slightly away from the bar. George recognised the threat immediately and also moved slightly away from the bar.

‘You were with me on it, Jimmy, so credit where credit's due.'

Suddenly there was a knife in George's hand. ‘Easy, Jimmy. I don't face down in here, there's people watching I can't let down.'

‘You do what you have to, George. So will I.'

Jimmy moved forward, watching the blade. George feinted with the knife but it was his boot to Jimmy's leg that was meant to do the damage. Jimmy wasn't expecting that but although the boot took him painfully on the shin, he had stepped close enough to avoid any real damage. His left arm took the blade as it slashed across but his right fist travelled hardly any distance as it hit George on the lip, just under his nose.

George's eyes flickered and he vaguely felt his mouth fill with blood from inside, the upper lip split wide against his gums. It stopped him long enough for Jimmy to hit him again in the face and then stand back and hit him hard in the solar plexus, just below the heart. It was all over. George dropped the knife and sagged. Jimmy hit him again on the side of the head and George began to fall. Now it was a formality. Holding George up with a cut arm wasn't easy but Jimmy didn't want him on the floor. He wanted to make a point very clearly to the people quietly watching. Methodically he hit George, no hurry, hard in the gut to fold him over, then his back, break some ribs but avoid any important organ. Hurt him, hurt him badly, but no permanent damage. It was a message. It had to be enough but not too much, George was his friend.

George fell to the floor when Jimmy was finished. Jimmy looked at the left sleeve of his jacket. Blood had begun to run from under the cuff onto his hand and on to the floor now that the arm was hanging at his side. He looked around at the silent faces. At each door were large men. No one had come in, no one had gone out, everyone had sat very still. From George's table a thick-set man of middle height got up and came across. When he reached Jimmy he turned to the room.

‘Show's over.'

People looked away and kept their eyes down. The men on the doors went back to their tables. A few people got up and left hurriedly, most returned to their conversations, but quietly and without the laughter. The thick-set man took Jimmy's arm gently, lifted it and looked up the sleeve.

‘You'll live, son.'

‘I intend to.'

‘Good boy. That's the style.'

He turned to the others at his table.

‘Harry, Len, take George to casualty. Tell them he was done over by a gang of Teddy Boys, take his wallet and say it was stolen. Get them to tell the police, make it all natural. Say it all happened in that alley by The King George, that's nice and appropriate.'

He turned back to Jimmy smiling. ‘The King George, I like that. Come on, I'll take you to another casualty. We'll say a couple of razor boys tried to steal your wallet but they didn't get anything.'

‘No thanks.'

‘Son, you've made your point. Everybody in here except me has forgotten your name and now everyone knows you weren't involved in George's little outing, but you're cut, you're losing blood, and you'll need stitching up. I heard you had talent, brains, and were careful. Don't make me revise my opinion.'

Jimmy nodded. He was getting light-headed. ‘All right.'

The man turned. ‘Get the car, Richie, and give me a bar towel, Jack, a clean one. I like you, Jimmy, but I don't want you all over my upholstery.'

He took the bar towel, wrapped it around Jimmy's arm, and they went outside. They waited a few minutes until a big white Jaguar was driven up and stopped beside them. They got in and the car moved off. The man spoke to Jimmy.

‘You're a natural, Jimmy, a mechanic. There's plenty of roughhouse yobs out there who can beat someone up, but they don't have any science and you can't teach them. They get excited and overdo it, or they get some punishment and take fright. You're different. It could be a job for you, a profession. You've got educated hands.'

Jimmy remained silent.

‘How much did George say you'd get?'

‘Hundred quid.'

The man laughed.

‘I like you, sunshine, so I'll tell you what I'm going to do. Keep me company for one night and I'll give you twenty-five quid.'

Jimmy looked at him.

‘No, it's not your arse I'm after. I just want to look you over. You may be someone I've been looking for and a pony is nothing to me.' And, as if to prove a point, he pulled a thick roll of bank notes from his inside jacket pocket. In the half-light of the street lamps as they flashed past he counted out twenty-five pounds and stuffed the money into Jimmy's jacket pocket.

‘Just come to The Hind any night in the next two weeks and sit at my table for an evening. That's no problem is it?' Jimmy didn't reply. He turned and looked out of the car window, but he didn't take the money out of his pocket. The man smiled.

‘There you are, not too difficult. By the way my name's Denny, Denny Morris. And Jimmy, when you come, you buy your own drinks. I'm generous but I'm not that generous,' and he laughed and sat back and the Jag purred all the way to the hospital.

George was OK, thought Jimmy. He had really understood just how OK when he had gone to visit him two days after their turn up. Jimmy's arm, with the wound stitched and healing, was still in a sling. George had smiled when he saw him walking down the ward and his first question had been, ‘How's the arm coming, was it bad?'

‘You should know, George, it's your work.'

‘I've never used a knife seriously before, Jimmy, but you've got to carry something. I'm glad it was only your arm. A novice like me might have really hurt you by accident.'

‘It's only a few stitches. Losing the jacket was worse, and explaining to Mum.'

‘What did you tell her?'

‘I said a drunk did it falling into me and breaking a glass into my arm.'

George started to laugh but stopped immediately and grimaced. ‘Bugger it, laughing kills you,' and he paused for the pain to ease. ‘Even your mum can tell a knife cut from a glass one.'

‘Not through a sling and bandages.'

‘What about your jacket?'

‘I threw it away. I told her it was ruined.'

‘That's all right, I'll get you another one. Something a bit flash, maybe a leather jacket, a smart one.'

Jimmy was surprised. ‘No need. How are you?'

‘I'm all right. Broken ribs and a lot of bruising but only the lip shows, nothing else that anyone except a girlfriend will see and no internal damage to speak of. It was an ace job. I'm only sorry I got it instead of watching it. Denny said you worked me over like a pro even with only one hand operating properly. He was impressed.'

Jimmy sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at his hands. ‘I can't say sorry, George, you know I'd do it again if I had to.'

‘There's nothing to be sorry about. I knew I'd have to take a smacking one day. That's how it goes. You earn a bit, learn a bit, and move up a bit. I'm glad they said we put on such a good show. I don't remember much after my mouth filled with blood. I know it all hurt like fuck but I can't say I really remember it.'

‘Why did you give me to them? It wasn't necessary.'

‘Not to you, maybe, but it was to me. Any number of cocky young fuckers tell stories about what they're going to do but the likes of Denny Morris judge you by the company you keep and what you do. That little job was just something to do, to talk about. I didn't know how much the old idiot left overnight, but I knew it was there and the way we took it, well, it was done like a real job, properly done. As it happens it was small change, not a couple of hundred, but it might have been. And you, Jimmy, people have noticed you. For me to get you alongside and get you to stick your neck out, well, that was what it was all about, really. I knew how you'd feel when you found out I was putting your name about and the blade made it look right. I wanted you to do a good job,' George smiled, but stopped straight away and held a hand to his lip. ‘And now I've got the bruises and cracked ribs to show how well you did it. We've done all right, Jimmy, we get taken a bit more seriously now by the right blokes. We didn't earn much, but we learned a lot and we moved on a lot, don't tell me Denny hasn't spoken to you?'

Jimmy nodded.

‘And offered you something?'

He nodded again. ‘I think so.'

‘Fucking marvellous, on board in one go. You're a natural, Jimmy, I'll do OK in this trade but you could go right on up.'

Jimmy was not getting excited.

‘Think about it, think about the money you'll have. You'll never marry that girl of yours with what you get on the buses, and nobody waits for ever.'

Jimmy didn't answer. Bernadette would wait and they'd marry on what they had if they had to. But George was genuinely trying to help, it was clear in his voice and manner. He was being a friend in the only way he knew how.

‘Open that drawer, will you?' George nodded to a drawer in a small cabinet beside his bed. Jimmy stood up and opened the drawer. ‘See the keys, they're the keys to my flat. Why not use it while I'm in here? I don't know how you've managed before but no need to rough it while my place is empty, no need for a double bed to go to waste for no reason.'