Mask of the Verdoy (26 page)

‘It’s got nothing to do with your business, Mori, I swear it.’

‘Garn!’

‘Honest—on my life.’

‘You’re right there, sunshine—
on your life
. Now, come on, let’s have it!’

‘Well, I don’t know what you’ve been told … But I’m guessing the little bird in question is Quigg … and we both know what a shicer he is.’

‘That’s beside the point, I’ve had it verified—you’re working with a young DC called Pearson.’

‘And I’ve told you—I don’t deny it. But the job’s got nothing to do with your business, Mori. Unless, of course, you did for that young lavender at my gaff—or you’ve taken to drinking with Sir Pelham Saint Clair and his merry men.’

‘What, that queanie that got creased? Some geezer in a mask, weren’t it? Solly was telling me about that … Hold on—are you trying to tell me that the Commissioner of the Met has got involved because some muzzler got himself a close shave with a cut-throat?’

‘Exactly—it’s gospel, Mori.’

‘Yeah, but I’m a Jew-boy, George—remember? And that gospel’s a goy book last time I looked. You mentioned Saint Clair—what’s all this got to do with that fascist schmundie?’

‘I dunno exactly, not yet anyway. But I reckon I’m definitely onto some connection between the BBF and whoever’s croaking these lavenders—there’s more than just the one, you see, the kid at my place was the third as far as I can make out …. And, you’re not gonna like this bit …’

‘Go on,’ said Adler, lowering the pistol as he clamped his cigar between his teeth.

‘Well, I reckon our DI Quigg is up to his neck in the whole steaming pile.’

Adler gave a wide grin, still with the Havana between his teeth, so that a glint of gold shone out from the side of his mouth. He began to nod slowly and raised the gun again.

‘Think you’re pretty smart, don’t yer, Harley? I mean—what’s the one thing guaranteed to rub old Mori up the wrong way, eh?
Blackshirts
 … Link Quigg to those Fascist cowsons and—
bingo!
You’ve discredited my source of info.’

Adler stood up and moved the gun closer to Harley, he gestured to the smouldering cigarette.

‘Looks like that smoke’s just about done.’

‘Listen, Mori—when have you ever known me to lie to you?’

Adler chewed his lip. ‘Never … not to my knowledge, anyway.’

‘And Quigg?’

‘About as slimy as something that’s crawled out from under a stone. But see, here’s the thing, George—if you’re the innocent party in all of this, how come you look so milky? I can see the fear in your eyes, son.’

‘It’s the gun—they make me nervous. You can ask anyone.’

‘What, the great George Harley, DCM? You must have handled plenty of shooters in your time.’

‘So I have—that’s why they make me nervous.’

‘But that gong—you get that for bravery, don’t yer?’ Adler leant in close now. ‘See, I can see that scared little schoolgirl look in yer eyes.’

Harley closed his eyes.

‘When I was a nipper my Uncle Blake once told me that a man without fear isn’t brave, he’s either stupid or arrogant—or both. He said that the brave man realizes that he’s scared of what he’s about to do—but he does it anyway.’

He opened his eyes again and held Adler’s gaze without blinking.

‘What I’m telling you is kosher, Mori. My work for Swales has nothing to do with any of your business concerns. Sitting here I can’t prove that to you—you’re just gonna have to take my word for it. But as an intelligent man I’d like to think that you’d at least give me the benefit of the doubt over that snake Quigg … And listen, I know you have to do business with him—it’s the law of the jungle. But who would you rather trust? After all, we go back a long way—from the same manor. We understand each other … don’t we?’

‘Take your hand slowly out of that pocket and give me those brass knuckles you’re juggling with … that’s it … nice and slow. See, we understand each other, alright,’ said Adler, placing Harley’s knuckleduster on the desk. ‘I understand that you were just about to take yer chances and lamp me one up the hooter. And who knows? Maybe you’d have gotten away with it … but the thing is, George—that’s academic now.’

Adler lifted his thumb and … gently lowered the hammer on his pistol, walking around to the other side of the desk to place it in a drawer.

‘See, somehow you’ve convinced me. I
am
gonna give you the benefit of the doubt … But if I find out you’ve been sprucing me,
George Harley, I’ll be coming after yer. And if that happens then all the la-di-dah pals in the world won’t be able to save yer bacon. D’you understand me?’

‘Perfectly, Mori,’ said Harley, loosening his tie and taking a last, relieved pull on his Gold Flake. ‘Now—are we done? Only I really do have to be somewhere.’

‘Yeah, we’re done—for now,’ said Adler, handing back the brass knuckles. ‘Don’t forget these—you’ll be needing them on Saturday.’

‘Saturday?’

‘Didn’t Smokey tell yer? The BBF rally at the Albert Hall—we’re arranging a little welcoming party for those Blackshirt bastards. I’m expecting a big Jewish show; but there’ll also be the commies, the unions … plenty of your bolshie mates to keep you company.’ Adler gave a laugh. ‘Should be some party—make sure you’re there, eh? It’ll prove your … what’s the word, now?’

‘Solidarity?’

‘That’s it—you clever mamzer—it’ll prove your
solidarity
. Now, go on—sling yer ’ook! And send Benny in after yer.’

***

As he bowled out of the anonymous front door of the Twelve Ten a few minutes later, Harley bumped into Solly Rosen.

‘Georgie boy! I’ve been looking for you.’

‘There you are, you big lump! Where were you when I needed yer?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I’ve just gone a couple of rounds with a seriously pissed-off Mori Adler.’

‘Well, he can’t ’ave been too pissed-off—yer still walking and talking. It looks like you’ve got all the necessary bits. What was it about? … Oh, hold on—he’s found out, ain’t he? About your thing with the Commissioner? I swear I haven’t bleated to anyone, George, not even Marni.’

‘Don’t worry, I know that, Sol.’

‘Who was it then?’

‘Quigg, by all accounts.’

Rosen whistled through his teeth.

‘He would ’ave painted it as black as Newgate’s.’

‘He did—he convinced Mori that I’d been commissioned to sniff around his dirty laundry.’

‘Blimey! How did you worm yer way out of that one?’

‘I don’t know really—it was touch and go for a moment. I just appealed to his gut instinct—asked him to look at the form, think who was the most trustworthy.’

‘What, and that worked? With Mori?’

‘To tell yer the truth, I’m not so sure he really believed it himself. I think he just wanted to put the wind up me—in case the investigation got close to any of his concerns.’

‘And did he?’

‘Oh yeah—in spades! Don’t you worry about that.’

‘I bet—did he have his bright’un out?’

‘Yup.’

‘In the back of the neck?’

Harley nodded and rubbed at the nape where the gun’s muzzle had been.

‘You been there too then, Sol?’

‘Naw—but I’ve seen it done a number of times. And let me tell yer, it don’t always have such a happy ending, neither.’

‘I’d rather not think about that … So, what was it you wanted?’

‘Huh?’

‘You said you were looking for me.’

‘Oh yeah—Uncle Nate’s got some info on that tattoo. He said we should swing by there this evening.’

Harley looked at his watch.

‘That’s great, but we need to nip up to the Green Fox first. It’s probably too late now, but before I was Shanghaied by Mori’s boys I was on the way to what I was hoping would turn out to be a bit of a breakthrough.’

‘Go on then, but you’ll ’ave to stand me a pint.’

‘Tell me something I didn’t know.’

***

Adler was once again contemplating the ephemeral delights of the West End vista from his office window. Behind him Benny Whelks sat nibbling away at a ragged hang-nail, waiting patiently for his boss to speak.

‘Tell me Benny, when you were earwigging Quigg in that boozer, did he mention anything about those cowson Blackshirts?’

‘Not that I remember, Boss … But he d-d-did talk about Max P-P-Portas, didn’t he? And ain’t they sort of enemies—’im and that Sir P-P-Pelham?’

Adler turned around and sat down at the desk.

‘You know—you might just have something there, Benny. Good boy! Now listen, I want you to keep a close eye on that bitch’s bastard Quigg for the next couple of weeks. Get Big or one of the other lads you can trust to take over your normal rounds for the time being, this is priority—got it? And be careful—this ain’t some nebbish wide-boy from Peckham you’re dealing with—Quigg’s as cute on all the moves as we are.’

Adler watched Whelks’ contorted face as he struggled with a consonant stuck like a fishbone in his throat.

‘What is it, son? Come on—spit it out!’

‘W-w-w-w-w-w … 
what
about Slater?’

‘Oh yes—I was forgetting about that little toe-rag. Well, let’s see now … I reckon you should take it slowly. Get someone to tail him up, see what you can get out of him, where he leads us … but when the time comes you have carte blanche to deal with him as you see fit. I’ve heard from Jerry that he was throwing his weight around at the Cat’s Whiskers the other night. By all accounts our Vernon is getting far too big for his boots—probably from knocking around with that shicer Quigg. But take yer time, Benny—I know you’ve got a thirst for the work, but let’s see what we can get out of him first.’

Adler stood and pulled up his braces. ‘Right, off you go then. And get Fayvel on the blower—tell him that I’ve reconsidered his little idea.’

‘Right-you-are, Boss.’

***

A mile or so away in Fitzrovia, Harley tapped Rosen on the back as his friend started to push his way through the crowd to get to the bar.

‘We need to go upstairs, Sol.’

The big man turned around, a look of surprise on his face.

‘Upstairs? But that’s where all the irons hang out, ain’t it?’

‘I’m sure they’ll be gentle with yer, Sol,’ said Harley, with a grin.

‘Garn!’ said Rosen, pushing Harley’s hand away and puffing his chest out. ‘You might not care what people say about you, but some of us have got a reputation to keep!’

‘Alright, you big baby. The sight of you would probably scare ’em all off, anyway. If you’re so milky you can stay down here and get the drinks in.’

Rosen held out a hand the size of a small dinner plate.

Harley raised his eyebrows and then passed him some coins.

‘And do me a favour—keep an eye out for Quigg and his cronies, will yer? Tip me the wink somehow if any of ’em turn up. Although, thanks to Mori, I reckon the fella I’m supposed to meet is probably long gone by now.’

The upstairs bar of the Green Fox was the usual mix of huddled groups and clandestine gatherings. Harley soon spotted Siddons in his usual spot, slumped in his seat below the Guinness advertisement, his green fedora pulled down low over his face. To Harley’s dismay the old actor appeared to be alone.

‘Evening, Gilby,’ said the private detective, slipping into the bench seat and making a quick scan of the dimly-lit booths, searching for anyone that might be either one of Quigg’s men or the rent-boy Harper.

‘
Spikenard!’
exclaimed Siddons, jerking awake. ‘
Terebinth?
Hmmm? … what? Oh … ahh …’

He struggled to a sitting position and rearranged his hat, looking around him with his insipid blue eyes quivering below their heavy lids. Once he had begun to get his bearings his mouth assumed a cynical pout.

‘Oh—I’m still here, then! You know, I dreamt for a moment there that I’d been summoned to that final curtain call … such an exquisite dream. But no! One wakes to suffer the indignities of resurrection yet again, dragged back from the tender clutches of oblivion—the Lazarus of North Soho. “
Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean
…”’

After a couple of failed attempts Siddons’ shaking, arthritic hand closed around one of the empties stacked on the table before him and pulled it to his trembling lips, sucking up one last reluctant drop of gin.

‘It’s George, Gilby … George Harley.’

Siddons treated him to a professionally executed smile.

‘I may be an old
borarco
, but I’m not completely fucking ga-ga, you know! I can see who you are, dear … but you’re too late! She’s scarpered.’

‘Harper?’

The older man nodded.

Harley tipped his hat back an inch and cursed.

‘Alas, he could tarry no longer,’ said Siddons. ‘“
We gnaw the nail of hurry. Master—away!”
’ He now rocked the empty glass on the table. ‘A little buvare, dear, and I’ll tell you all about it. A drop of the blue ruin would be bona.’

A few minutes later Harley returned from the bar and placed a double gin in front of the actor.

‘Oh, bless you! You’re such a dorcas,’ said Siddons, gulping half the spirit and smacking his pallid lips. ‘Ah—
fantabulosa!
’

‘So, come on then, Gilby—Harper?’

‘Ah yes, well … Firstly—
quelle surprise—
he was actually on time. Early, in fact … but twitchy, you know? Jumping at shadows.’

Having been temporarily reanimated by the gin, Siddons now sat back in his seat and adopted his default pose—a haughty angle to the head and the long-nailed fingers of his right hand gently poised on his temple, as though he were sitting for a promotional photograph.

‘Did he say what he was frightened of?’

‘The lilly law, dear—or more precisely DI Quigg and his cohorts.’

‘Are you sure? Did he mention anybody else?’

‘No,’ said Siddons, now sipping at his drink. ‘It was definitely Quigg’s omies—he thought he’d vardered one of them on the way here, coming out of the Fitzroy Tavern. Oh, but she was milky, George—
terrified
, the poor chicken! And, of course, furious when you didn’t show.’

‘Unavoidable, I’m afraid, Gilby—out of my hands. Did Harper say what he wanted to talk to me about?’

Siddons now gave a quick scan of the bar and then leant in towards Harley, lowering his voice.