Mask of the Verdoy (13 page)

‘Smokey—throw this joker out on his arse. He’s banned for a month.’

The diminutive Willie fell to his knees in front of Adler and held a hand to his chest.

‘Come on, Mori—be a pal!’ he said in a nasal whine. ‘A month is too long—I need a chance to win back my money!’

‘Smokey—get this schlemiel out of my face, won’t yer? What am I paying you for here?’

Rosen grabbed Willie by the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet.

‘Come on, you heard the boss—out you go! You put everyone’s nerves on edge with your kvetching, like an old woman.’

Much to the entertainment of the drunken crowd Willie was frogmarched through the club towards the exit.

During the commotion, the wide-boy Briggs—certain that he recognized Pearson from somewhere—left his girl at the bar and made his way over. He stood for a while sizing up the policeman before flipping a cigarette into his mouth and bending down.

‘Got a light, pal?’

Harley looked over to check where Adler was, spotting him flirting with one of the hostesses. He pulled out a box of matches and offered them to Briggs.

Briggs ignored Harley and walked around the other side of Pearson. He grabbed a chair, reversed it and sat down at the table.

‘What’s up?
No speako da lingo?
’

After a glance at Harley, Pearson felt in his pockets for his own matches; he struck one and held it out for Briggs.

‘There you go—that’s a good boy!’

Briggs grabbed Pearson’s wrist tightly and lit his cigarette.

‘Now,’ he said, retaining his grip and blowing smoke into the policeman’s face. ‘Where do I know your ugly mug from, eh?’

Eager to avoid a scene that might expose Pearson’s true identity, Harley searched the room for Rosen, hoping he could grab his friend’s attention—but the boxer was still dealing with Willie, who had somehow made it back in through the door to sit on the floor, with his hands on his head, sobbing like a child. Harley now turned to look at the wide-boy’s date at the bar.

‘Blimey Briggs! She’s a bit out of your league, ain’t she? Must be expensive. After all, you’ve gotta be paying for a brama like that—with a boat race like yours.’

‘Cheese it, Harley! I’ll deal with you later—I’m talking to your mate here. Ain’t that right pal?’ Briggs leant in closer. ‘Now, where have we met before, eh? I can’t place your ugly mug for the moment … but I know I don’t like it.’

Even above the noise of the bar Harley heard the unmistakeable click of a flick-knife from under the table. He grabbed instinctively for the soda siphon, ready to dispatch Briggs, but was distracted for a second by a loud crash from across the room, where Willie had just collapsed onto a punter’s table. When he turned back to Briggs he found the wide-boy slumped in his chair, drooling a long line of spittle onto his shirtfront.

‘Christ! What happened there? I thought he’d clocked you for sure.’

‘I think he had,’ said Pearson, rubbing his knuckles. ‘But you cockney boys don’t have the monopoly on drunken hooligans, you know. Nothing I can’t handle, thank you very much. Swift elbow to the side of the head, followed by an uppercut—usually works when there’s a bit of roughhouse going on down Castle Street on a Saturday night. Besides, his type are usually all wind and piss.’

‘Well, you’re a dark horse, ain’t yer? … Look out! Mori’s on his way over.’

‘George, George, George …’ said Adler, looming over the table and shaking Briggs’ shoulder. ‘Your guest seems to be sparko. Didn’t this happen last time you were here? Becoming a bit of a habit, ain’t it?’

Harley carefully placed the soda siphon back on the table.

‘Now, George … Much as I admire the
poo
gilistic technique of your friend here, and much as I despise the posturing of a jumped up schmendrik like Briggsy …’ Adler paused to tap the ash of his Havana in the breast pocket of the senseless Briggs. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow
you and your mates to just swan in here and lamp one of the punters—no matter how much he deserved it.’

‘All understood, Mori—and, of course, we’ll be leaving quietly straight away. But I think you oughta know that—just like last time—it was a case of self-defence.’

Harley pulled the table back to reveal the opened flick-knife on the floor between the wide-boy’s feet.

‘Bloody hell! I didn’t see that!’ said Pearson, grabbing for his scotch.

‘Silly boy,’ said Adler gently slapping the cheek of Briggs, who had begun to groan and stir in his seat. ‘Smokey! Stop playing with your little friend there and get your arse over here—we have a situation.’

Rosen thrust Willie into a chair and walked over, running a comb through his hair.

‘’Ello Georgie boy—you causing trouble again?’

‘You know how it is, Sol—just seems to follow me around.’

‘What d’you need boss?’

Adler squeezed Briggs’ cheeks in his large hand.

‘Well, it seems this schmundie thinks he can pull a chife on one of my punters and get away with it. Take him out the back and give him the special. And there’ll be an administration charge—see what he’s got on ’im.’

‘Understood.’

Adler turned to Harley and Pearson.

‘Now gentlemen, I’ve got a game to get back to. But just to show that there’s no hard feelings, why don’t you have a couple of blueys on me—just tell Dora I sent yer.’

Thinking he could now relax a little, Harley was surprised to see Pearson stand up and thrust out his hand.

‘Thank you very much, Mr. Adler; but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just be getting off home.’

The smile dropped from the mobster’s face.

‘What’s the matter, son? My hospitality not good enough for yer?’

Harley quickly stood and took a step towards Pearson.

‘Come on, Mori—the lad don’t mean anything by it.’

‘
Schtum
, Georgie boy!’ Adler forced Harley back down into his chair. ‘He can talk for ’imself, can’t he? … Tell me son—why wouldn’t you take up such a generous offer, eh? Not yiddified are yer?’

‘Yiddified?’

‘Yeah. You know—
anti-Semitic
; there’s a lot of it about at the moment.’

By now the crowd at the bar had quietened and turned to watch the exchange, sensing that there might be further entertainment to come.

‘Of course not.’

‘Well, what is it then? Not an iron, are yer?’ The few titters from the bar were quickly silenced by a glance from Adler. ‘Well? Is that what it is?’

‘No! … Look, Mr. Adler—I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that …’

‘Go on!’

‘Well, if you must know—it’s just that I’ve got a young kiddie and a beautiful wife at home waiting for me. I’ve already been much longer than expected—she’ll be worrying, more than likely. And that’s why I won’t be visiting Dora and her girls.’

This was met with a roar of laughter from the crowd.

‘Shut it, you bunch of deadbeats!’ roared Adler. ‘What’s yer name son?’

Pearson glanced at Harley.

‘Mack.’

‘Well, Mack—put it there!’ Adler held out his hand. ‘Well said! Family man, eh? Good for you. I’m a father of five meself … Nice to see you mixing with a better class of character, George. And he’s got some neck on ’im, that’s for sure. You can come in ’ere anytime, Mack, and have a drink on me—right?’

‘That’s very generous of you, Mr. Adler.’

‘It’s Mori, son—Mori … Right, that’s enough excitement for the night—back to the game for me.’ Adler looked up at Rosen who had just returned from disposing of Briggs.

‘Put the rubbish out alright? Good lad!’ He now looked over at the blonde who had been drinking with Briggs. ‘Come on, doll—I need someone to keep me warm while I lose all my hard-earned gelt.’

As Adler disappeared into the back room with the girl on his arm, Rosen sat down at the table.

‘So much for Mori the family man, eh? By the way, George—there’s one of Quigg’s blokes round the corner; probably best you offskied before he clocks your new mate here, eh?’

‘You’re not as dumb as you look, Solly Rosen.’

‘Try telling that to Marni. Look, I know you George—I’m sure there’s a good reason for it—but I reckon it’d be better if you didn’t bring
Mack
here back to the Twelve Ten in future.’ He turned to address Pearson. ‘No offence fella. It’s just that if
I
know who you really are, and a shicer like Briggs knows who you really are, then sooner or later everyone’s gonna know who you really are. And believe me, despite what you’ve just seen, my boss isn’t exactly the understanding type.’

‘Right-you-are, Solly,’ said Harley, grabbing his hat from the table. ‘But just so as I know—what little bird told you about Mack here?’

‘Oh, it’s no great mystery really. I bumped into Carlo earlier, he was on his way home in a bogey’s gabardine. Well, you know how I
love winding him up. He couldn’t stand it in the end—told me where his coat had got to.’

‘He paid five guineas for it, from Sonny Gables, apparently.’

‘Five guineas? For a smother? What a sap! But he’s wide that Sonny, ain’t he? Anyway, I recognized the coat hanging up in the cloakroom.’

‘And how the hell did you recognize Carlo’s coat?’

Rosen leant in close and lowered his voice so that Pearson couldn’t hear.

‘Well, where d’you think Sonny Gables got ’em from in the first place? Five guineas? He didn’t pay me that for the box of ten.’

‘Come on, Mack,’ said Harley, laughing as he finished the last of the whisky. ‘Let’s get you home to that beautiful wife of yours.’

Rosen stood and slapped his friend on the back.

‘
Abyssinia
, George! Be careful out there, won’t yer.’

‘I always am Solly, I always am.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MP for Bethnal Green and Bow, Max Portas, paused before the door of The Star pub to check his watch. It was just over two hours before he had to be back at the Commons—just long enough for this trip to Shoreditch to explain to his father that for the second time in a fortnight he would have to cancel their weekly get-together. He pushed through into the saloon bar and scanned the small huddles of regulars. “Red” Jack Portas was sitting in a corner, nursing a half-empty glass of stout. Not for the first time his son marvelled at how quickly this once formidable example of manhood had succumbed to old age; a process that had been accelerated by his wife’s death six months earlier.

Max made his way over to the table, acknowledging the nods and greetings from the handful of drinkers that recognized him.

‘How are you, Dad? Sorry I’m late.’

‘Yeah, well—I’ve come to expect it nowadays, ain’t I?’

‘I know, I know—I’m sorry; but this BBF business has had me working all the hours God sends.’

‘What’s God got to do with it?’

‘Come on, Dad—it’s just an expression.’

‘Well, you’re here now, at least … I fancied we could get a bite to eat upstairs here and then—’

‘Listen—I’m going to have to cancel tonight I’m afraid; I’ve got to be back in the chamber for a late-night vote.’

‘But it’s Wednesday! It’s our night for a drink—you missed last week’s!’

‘I know—and I’m sorry. But it’s unavoidable, I’m afraid. I’ve managed to call a late night debate; I’m determined to get this latest march banned.’

‘Sodding waste of time, if you ask me.’ Jack downed the rest of his pint.

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘Because that cowson is one of their own, ain’t he? Sir Pelham Devereux Saint Clair—baronet, ex-Tory minister.’ He puffed out his
chest mockingly. ‘Officer and a gentleman. They’ll close ranks—you don’t stand a cat in hell’s chance. After your little debate most of ’em will probably be toddling off to share a brandy with him at ’is club.’

‘So we should just let them march through uncontested then, should we?’

‘Oh, I didn’t say that. Listen, don’t get me wrong—I’m proud of what you’ve achieved and all that … I know the official party line is to avoid direct confrontation with the BBF. I know you’ve gone out on a limb with this one and I appreciate that you’re trying and all …’

‘But?’

‘Well, to speak frankly, you Labour boys—with yer softly-softly approach—well, you ’ad yer chance, didn’t yer? And you fucked it up! You should’ve stood firm in the wake of all that Zinoviev bollocks. And now … well, you gotta admit that turncoat Ramsay MacDonald has shown his true colours. All he ever wanted was to get his feet under the table.’

‘That might be true; but we’ve expelled him from the party, haven’t we?’

‘Big deal! Oh, and while we’re at it, don’t forget your precious party once courted Saint Clair themselves. Anyway, the way things are going, pretty soon there won’t be much of a Labour Party left. No—the only way to deal with the likes of Saint Clair and his BBF is a show of force. Fight fire with fire … man the barricades—don’t let the bastards pass.’

‘Whatever we do has
got
to be by legal and democratic means. If we can’t win over the Commons then we’ll get as much media coverage as possible—sway the opinion of the great British public.’

‘Oh yeah? And just how are you going to do that? ’Specially with Mr. Press Baron Lord Rainsworth being one of Saint Clair’s biggest champions. Have you read
The Oracle
lately? Every edition runs a picture of that aristo berk in his uniform, spouting some Fascist propaganda … What is that sodding uniform about anyway? He looks like a fucking public school boy off to a fencing lesson.’

This drew a smile from Max.

‘There are other newspapers, Dad.’

‘There are—but they ain’t read by half as many as
The Oracle
. You’ve got your work cut out for you, Son, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Our Jewish brothers may be opposed to this march but there are others in the East End that’ll welcome it. You saw how well they did in the LCC elections?’

‘I know—it was disappointing.’

‘
Disappointing?
’ The old man shook his head in despair. ‘A
fucking disgrace
is what it was! And you should be fired up about it.’

‘
Fired up about it?
What more do you want me to do? I’m a lone voice in that bloody chamber, trying to get the scales to drop from their eyes so that they might see the truth behind Saint Clair’s rhetoric.’

‘I know, Max, I know …’ Jack placed a gnarled hand on his son’s—the comparison was immediate to both of them. ‘And I know your heart’s in the right place. It’s just that the world looks like one big bucket of pain at the moment. All these poor sods on the dole, on hunger marches … and our brothers from the mining communities, hiding in the pantry from the Means Test man—skilled workers with twenty years under their belts reduced to picking over slag heaps for a pebble of coal to keep the kiddies warm. I’d say we’re all gonna have a fight on our hands soon—and I’m just not sure that your Fabian Society pals have got the stomach for it … But anyway …’ He sat back and took a roll-up from behind his ear. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your constitutional duties.’

‘Don’t be daft—I’ve got time for a quick drink. What’ll you have?’

‘Ooh—I am honoured! Drop of gold watch—double.’

Max took his father’s empty glass and walked to the bar. He was greeted by The Star’s portly Welsh landlord.

‘Evening, Max.’

‘Evening, Stafford. How’s business?’

‘Oh, we’re bumbling along acceptably, thank you for asking … Heard you on the radio the other evening, debating the abolition of the Means Test. Jack must be very proud of you. After all, the son of a stevedore becoming a Member of Parliament—you wouldn’t have thought it possible a few years ago.’

‘Oh, I’m not too sure how proud he is really. I sometimes wonder whether he’d have been happier if I’d left school at fourteen and got a job down the docks—“
earned an honest day’s pay”
, as he’s always saying.’

‘Nonsense! He’s as proud as Punch—always talking about you, he is. Now, what can I get you?’

‘Double scotch for Jack and a ginger beer for me, got to keep a clear head I’m afraid.’

‘Coming right up!’

The landlord gave the bar a quick buff with his cloth and then turned to attend to the drinks.

‘Tell me, Stafford—how many has he had tonight?’

‘What, Jack? Ooh, only three or four; nothing for an old docker—they’ve all got hollow legs, haven’t they? Why d’you ask?’

‘Nothing really. I’m just a little worried he’s not eating properly—since Mum died, you know. He seems to have aged so recently. I don’t want him just living off the booze and the fags. I try to get round to see him as much as I can, but it’s not easy with the hours I have to put in.’

‘Well, look, I’ll keep an eye on him for you if you’d like. He’s in here most nights. I’ll send word if I have concerns.’

‘Much obliged, Stafford.’

When Max got back to the table, Jack looked scornfully at his glass of ginger beer.

‘What’s all this—you taken The Pledge?’

‘I told you—I’ve got a debate.’

‘Oh, yeah—’course you have … Cheers!’

‘Cheers!’

‘You eaten today, Dad?’

‘’Course I’ve eaten—I ’ad a pennyworth of chips for me lunch.’

‘And for breakfast?’

‘Can’t be doing with much of a breakfast—not since I stopped working. Ain’t got an appetite in the morning anymore. A fox’s breakfast sees me alright nowadays.’

‘Fox’s breakfast?’

‘Yeah—a piss and a good look ’round.’

They both laughed and took a drink.

‘Seriously though—why don’t I give Jeanie a call? She could do you a bit of something for supper.’

‘Don’t be daft! She’s got enough on her plate looking after you and the god forbids, without me turning up out of the blue. Anyway, I don’t wanna be travelling all that way this time of night. I’ll get a sav’ and a slice on the way home.’

‘That’s not a proper meal, Dad, why don’t I—’

‘Right, you can knock that straight on the ’ead! I know yer mother used to do all the housework, the cooking and such; but just because she’s gorn, don’t mean I’m incapable of looking after meself.’

‘That’s not what I meant; I was just—’

‘Well don’t just! … Now, hadn’t you better be off? Go on—go and give ’em what for.’

Max checked his watch and stood up.

‘Well, I suppose I should really. Look—I’ll do my best to make it next Wednesday. Same time, right?’

‘Yeah, that’s right—half an hour late. Now go on—sling yer ’ook!’

Jack picked up his paper and started reading.

‘Alright, Dad—I’ll be seeing you.’

***

Sitting at a table in one of the more dimly lit corners of the bar, Vern Slater watched the MP as he made his way to the exit.

‘There he goes, Sal.’

‘And you’re sure it was him?’ said Sally, draining the dregs of her gin and It.

‘Yeah, ’course. You’ve seen his picture, ain’t yer? Besides, he’s always in here.’

‘And the old fella—that’s his old man, right?’

‘Yeah … But wait a bit before you make yer move. You wanna make it look natural-like.’

‘Can’t I have another drink before I do it, Vern?’

‘No, you can’t … Here we go—he’s going up to the bar, that’s your cue. Remember your story?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got it.’

Under the table Slater handed her a lump of grubby root.

‘’Ere you go—bite on that bit of horseradish, get yerself crying a bit.’

‘Oh, but it looks ’orrible, Vern.’

‘Stop yer whining and get on with it—gorn now! That’s it—chew it all up nicely. Now, off you go. And mind you don’t muck it up.’

Jack Portas returned to his table with another pint to find Sally sitting there.

‘Hello? This is a nice surprise.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry– I didn’t know the table was taken.’

‘That’s alright, dear—no harm done. Plenty of room for two.’ Jack noticed Sally’s wet cheeks. ‘Hey—what’s all this then? What’s the matter, love?’

‘Nothing’s the matter … I’ll be off—I’ll find another seat.’

‘You stay right where you are! There must be something the matter—I’m sure you wouldn’t be spoiling a pretty little face like that by turning on the waterworks for no good reason.’

‘Oh, it’s just silly really …’

‘Nonsense. Now, let me get you a drink and we can talk it over. After all—what do they say? A problem aired is a problem shared—right? Now, what are you having?’

‘That’s kind of you …’

‘Jack.’

‘Sally,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Please to meet you. Could I have a gin and It?’

‘Coming right up.’

While she was alone Sally stole a glance at the corner of the room—sure enough, there was Slater, following the proceedings intently, giving her a curt nod as he sipped his pint.

Jack returned with her drink, stumbling a little as he approached the table—the alcohol had begun to take its toll.

‘Ooh! Steady now, Jack! You alright?’

‘Yeah—’course … The deck’s a bit sticky, that’s all. Now, there you go—get that down yer, you’ll soon feel better.’

‘Ta very much. Cheers!’ Sally took an uncharacteristically dainty sip. ‘I wouldn’t like you to think I’m partial to strong spirits, mind. It’s just that I’ve had a bit of a shock.’

‘What’s happened then?’

‘Well, I met this nice fella, you see; the other night at the club. I work at a night club, in Soho—The Cat’s Whiskers. You’d like it—it’s ever so posh.’

‘I dunno about that. I’m not really one of those Champagne Charlie types—bit rich for my blood. Can’t beat a shant of wallop in a pub, if you ask me. Besides, what passes for booze in a lot of those gaffs is just bottled belly-ache.’

‘I know … but still, this place is really swanky, you know? Anyway, I met this fella and we seemed to be getting on … oh, but you don’t wanna sit there listening to me prattle on about my troubles.’

‘Don’t be silly—I insist.’

‘Oh well, that’s different, ain’t it? Anyway, this fella arranged to meet me this evening at the Lyons Corner House in Coventry Street. Six o’clock, he said—I wrote it down. So I was there in good time, and I waited, and waited … And it got to half-past and the waitress—a little stuck up number she was, real pound-noteish, you know the type. Anyway, she was getting shirty with me, saying that I’d have to order something or go, so I ordered a pot of tea …’ She paused to take another sip of gin. ‘Well, by this time I was a little put out—what with ’im standing me up and her nagging at me—so I went to the powder room, to touch up my makeup … only I wasn’t thinking straight and I went without my bag.’ Sally dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘And when I rushed back to the table it was gone—some horrible so-and-so had nicked it. And it had my … it had my …’ She now resorted to a full-scale nose-blowing. ‘Well it had my rent money in it … and it’s due at the end of the week. And my landlord’s such a nasty piece of work … and I’m sure I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ Sally finished off her performance with a final bout of sniffing and dabbing.

‘Well, crying ain’t gonna help, is it now? How much was it?’

‘What?’ said Sally, attacking the gin now with a little more gusto.

‘How much did you lose?’

‘Almost two pounds.’

‘And your rent’s due Friday, you say?’

Sally nodded. ‘And if I’m late again the old sod’ll kick me out, I just know he will. I don’t know what I’m gonna do—I can’t go back to my sister’s again … we fell out, you see …’ She gave a last little sob. ‘Oh, what am I gonna do, Jack?’

‘Well, it’s easily sorted—I’ll lend you the money.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly—I don’t know you from Adam!’

‘We’ve just been introduced, ain’t we?’

‘Oh no, Jack, I couldn’t possibly—’

‘Listen—I won’t hear another word about it. Meet me in here tomorrow evening and I’ll have the old vodeodo for you. A couple of nicker will do it, right?’

‘Oh, that’s ever so kind! Of course, I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. I’m starting to get some really good tips at the club … Oh Jack, I don’t know what to say!’

‘Don’t say nothing, then. Now, how’s about another wet?’