Mr. Love and Justice (6 page)

‘He’s very persistent, sir. He says if we won’t wear it here he’ll take it to another station.’

‘
Does
he?’ the Detective-Sergeant said, an ominous glint appearing in his clouded eyes. ‘Just wheel him in, Constable, will you?’ He then turned to Edward. ‘You’ve broken,’ he said, ‘the first rule of the business: which is to make an arrest, and fail to bring a charge and make it stick.’

Edward said meekly, ‘Can’t we just charge him, sir, with being a queer?’

The Detective-Sergeant didn’t even bother to answer. The male maid appeared and the uniformed constable withdrew. The Detective-Sergeant got up, punched the male maid five or six times very hard in an extremely dispassionate manner in the stomach, then threw him across a chair and said, ‘I know you’re a masochist and enjoy it, but don’t provoke me or there might be an accident. Now, listen. What happened down at your place tonight just didn’t happen. Do you understand? If I hear a squeak out of you, or anybody, I’m taking
you
in,
not
on a vice charge which I know you wouldn’t mind, but on a charge of robbing a client there and, believe me, everything will be present and correct: witnesses and
stolen goods, your own sworn statement – the whole lot. You poofs have a high time in the nick, three in a cell, as we all well know. But this wouldn’t be months I’d get you, sonny, it’d be years. And think of it, you might grow old and grey and unattractive, ’specially if I dropped a hint about you to the screws. So. Just apologise to my officer for all the trouble you’ve caused everyone, withdraw your charge as you pass the desk on your way out, and get back to bed again with your current husband.’

The male maid left in silence: though not without a yearning, reproachful glance at Edward.

Then the Detective-Sergeant said: ‘Now you, son. Please understand: I can’t have anything more like this from you, either. You’ve got to improve your performance quite a bit or I’ll lose my patience with you.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All right. Fuck off home.’

Edward stood at attention in salute, but hesitated before moving off. ‘Well?’ said the Detective-Sergeant.

‘Sir: it’s just a question, sir, of procedure. This hitting them. I know the rule is you never do. But could you tell me please, sir, when you
can
do?’

A cracked smile appeared on the Detective-Sergeant’s life-battered countenance.

‘Well, son,’ he said, ‘number one, in public, never. The citizens don’t like it. Also, they don’t believe we
do
it. Of course, if you’re quite obviously attacked it’s another matter.’

‘Yes, sir. And in here?’

The Detective-Sergeant rose and said, ‘Well, Constable,
that depends. Personally, I don’t happen to be a sadist and never do it unless it’s clearly necessary to get certain results. Others do, I know, just for the heck of it: but not me.’

‘No, sir.’

‘If you
do
do it,’ the officer continued, ‘the first thing to remember is not to mark them: not to hit them where it shows next day in daylight. Never forget: they’ve got to be produced in court in twenty-four hours – or forty-eight, of course, if the day of arrest happens to be a Saturday.’

‘And if you
do
happen to mark them, sir?’

‘You say they went berserk and had to be restrained. Of course, you know – sometimes they do: I could show you a scar or two to prove it.’

‘But, sir. If you bash them – don’t they tell the magistrate?’

‘Sometimes … It has been known … I’ve not met with one magistrate yet, though, who’s believed it … Or even if they do, well, so long as they think the charge you’ve made against the prisoner’s quite authentic it doesn’t seem to worry them unduly … As for juries, if a prisoner pleads violence or a forced confession, in my experience all it does is tell against him in the verdict.’

‘I see, sir.’

‘Don’t
rely
on that, though, Constable. There’s no point at all in using force just for the sake of it, unless it serves a purpose. Because – and you might as well remember this if you possibly can – your real battle isn’t with the criminal but with the courts. It’s only
there
that
you can get him his conviction. You’ve got counsel up against you, and solicitors, and the witnesses for the defence, and juries and magistrates and judges – and the press, please don’t forget
those
little parasites. They’ve all got to be defeated or convinced before your man gets his complimentary ticket for a seat in Brixton.’

‘I’ll remember, sir.’

‘I do hope so. In the Force, Constable, the greatest asset that a man can have, in my opinion, isn’t all the ones you read so much about but purely and simply a sense of
order
: of thoroughly methodical procedure. If you train yourself to be methodical and avoid confusion like the plague, then you may end up Chief Constable – just think of that! Not, on your present showing, that it’s very likely,’ he added, turning out the light and opening the office door.

A chief difficulty in his new role, Frankie found, was what to do with the twenty-four hours of the day. At sea, this never had been a problem: even leisure, on board ship, seems to be purposeful: a relaxation from the tasks behind, a preparation for those ahead – time never seemed to
hang
upon a seaman’s hands. Even to be unemployed was, in a sense, a full-time occupation: the hours it took to achieve the feat of the single minute’s signing on at the Labour; the problems of where to sleep and how to eat, and even the sterile round in search of jobs.

But now his timetable except at certain immutable, vital points was vague in the extreme. He had to be home in his girl’s new flat at Kilburn for the most important moment of their day – or night-and-day, for Frankie was finding the two radically divided sections
were merging into one. This was the moment when, dismissing the last visitor, his girl produced the old black bag (to which in spite of growing prosperity she sentimentally clung) and shook its contents out upon the kitchen table. This was the hour of reckoning, the essential confrontation. Frankie must know
exactly
what she earned – if she’d hid as much as a halfpenny their relationship would lose its fundamental basis. And she must know that
he
knew: what he then did with the money seemed of less importance to her, for she was quite ungrasping and, so long as she had what was necessary for essential housekeeping and personal adornment, she left the disposition of the funds entirely to him.

After this ceremony there was the continued proof, usually in the small hours, of Frankie’s devotion to his girl. And then a number of minor but very important social imperatives: the Sunday evening visit, on her night off, to the Odeon; appearances at certain clubs which for professional purposes (but thoroughly indirect ones) she frequented; and occasional calls at lawyers’ offices when minor difficulties arose, or were thought to be about to do so.

If Frankie had adhered to his original intention – backed by her own sage counsel – to get a cover job, a great many of these errands could no doubt have been avoided. But he had not. The reason wasn’t simply that having enough money he didn’t feel the need to: many rich men love work, after all. It was just that any sort of normal toil seemed quite incompatible with his position.
In this he resembled the aristocrat who, appearing before the bankruptcy court, tells the judge with manifest and rather hopeless sincerity that he just couldn’t find work appropriate to his status.

So there was a paradox (one of many now) in Frankie’s life. On the one hand, time hung heavy on his hands and much ingenuity had to be expended in wasting it without total boredom. But on the other – this was the point – he
did
have the ever-present sensation of being
occupied
: of having if not a job, a function and even a ‘function’ in society. And apart from anything else, to remain constantly
available
so far as his girl was concerned, and constantly
watchful
himself in regard to the mysterious and ever-present law, did constitute a full-time activity of a kind.

As for the disposal of the money, this had its problems too. A growing acquaintance with his fellow ponces (which Frankie had tried to avoid but which, just as with fellow mariners on board ship, was really quite inevitable) had shown him that by and large they fell (as with all other human creatures) into two sharply divided categories: the spenders and the savers. The chief stratagem by which spender-ponces relieved themselves of the intolerable burden of holding on to money they had coveted so eagerly, was by gambling: but Frankie had tried this and found it unbearably meaningless and dull – even if he won as, being indifferent, he often did. Others invested in huge wardrobes or fast cars: but this, except among the pin-headed, was considered most unwise for it was a
gross and needless provocation of the law. It was true, of course, that a great many of the more foolish girls loved their men to spend the money in this way, as a taste for visible riches bound the man to them all the closer; and its fruits were the manifest proof of their own success in their business.

As for the savers, whose usual intention was to ‘cut out’ one day with the girl (or possibly without her) to start a business of some kind, the chief disadvantage was that they were usually grudging and unattractive characters (as Frankie Love was not) and more, that to be a business
man
, even if a ponce, you need a business
head
: which Frankie knew he hadn’t got at all. And his determination to save had been baulked, as the girl had foreseen, by the acute danger of opening any sort of an account and by his genuine reluctance to have all the money in her name: for the whole meaning of the symbolic emptying of the bag at night – the gesture which bound him absolutely to her – would have been lost if the money went back from the bag into an account that she controlled.

He therefore hit on an expedient that would have seemed inconceivable a few months ago. Frankie, like most proletarian Europeans, despised Asiatics to such a degree that you could hardly even call it contempt (quite unaware, like millions of his countrymen, that this feeling was reciprocated by Asians at much profounder levels). But in his predicament it suddenly occurred to him that throughout his considerable commerce with them, no Asian had ever robbed him:
exasperated him, yes, but never deceived him over money. He accordingly approached, with the girl’s full approval, her former Stepney landlord, the Bengali, and suggested that the Bengali should hold his money for him (
not
for her) on the understanding no interest whatever need be paid. With splendid visions of the acquisition of additional slum property which he could let out for vice, or for honest purposes to his fellow-countrymen at exorbitant rentals in a country that denies accommodation to a man of colour, the Bengali immediately agreed.

A man of some intelligence cannot fail, in any environment where fate thrusts him, to become interested in its workings however much he may dislike or disapprove of them. Thus reluctant, scholarly conscripts study regimental histories, and professional men who’ve fallen by the wayside write excellent studies about jails. In much the same spirit Frankie, despite himself, became interested in whores and ponces. And though not easily given to casual friendships he already had several acquaintances among the men – the women, so far as possible, he kept politely at a distance, not because he was afraid of them in any way, but because this was the very basis of his bargain with his girl.

Among these pals there was a star ponce whom Frankie had got to know at a drinking-club patronised by the men of his profession. As with actresses or television personalities in the outer world, there is, in that of prostitution, a fashion at any particular
moment for this or that ponce or whore: the less stable of the girls all endeavouring to hook the star ponce, and the less satisfied of the ponces trying to transfer their allegiance to the star whore of the moment. Dreadful quarrels, often accompanied by violence and sensational denunciations, accompany these struggles: but above all of them this star ponce friend of Frankie’s rode serene. He
knew
he was a star – did not his glittering attire and his relaxed and glowing mien testify eloquently to the fact? But he was genuinely devoted to his girl and was – not unusual, perhaps surprisingly, among ponces – exceedingly good-natured. So he parried the manoeuvres of the eager whores with deft evasions and even managed not to arouse the jealousies of the men. ‘It’s a world!’ he would say to Frankie (or Francis, as for some reason he always called him) when they sat together at the drinking-club in masculine communion.

The star ponce was Cornish and had been at sea, and shared with Frankie a deep disdain for all the multitudes who haven’t. ‘The sea,’ he told Frankie, ‘teaches you the scale of things: what matters and what really doesn’t. The only ceremony I’ve ever seen that impressed me in the least is a sea burial: no priest, only the captain; no mourners, only the mates; no earth and worms or fire and ash-cans, but the huge sea and the fishes sailing gently through your eyes.’

‘Or a ship’s court,’ said Frankie. ‘Ever seen one of those? The old man a judge who really
knows
; and witnesses who nobody’s been getting at; and sailors for
your jury who know all about you and your case first hand.’

‘Why did we leave it, Francis?’

‘Ask yourself that, quartermaster,’ Frankie said.

The star ponce beckoned for refills. When the girl (who’d brought the glasses voluntarily, for there was no service in the club) had been thanked and gone, he said to Frankie, ‘That one’s got her eye on you.’

‘Yes, I noticed.’

‘Not interested, Francis?’

‘One at a time.’

‘How right you are!’ The star ponce smiled. ‘Mind you, you can stick to one and still have others.’

‘You can?’

‘Some manage it. Even three or four at a time.’

‘Sharp operators! And the girls know?’

‘Usually the wires get crossed – and then they do. Not easy, as you can imagine, flitting from one address to another without running out of excuses and vital energy.’

‘Those boys deserve their money. And the girls wear it?’

‘Naturally, there are rows – a thing I personally hate. But sometimes if they’re fond of the boy, even if they
do
know they accept it.’

‘Who understands women?’

‘Only they do.’

The star ponce offered panatellas. ‘Ever thought of getting wed?’ he said.

‘To
her
?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Well – there could be reasons.’

‘Such as what?’

‘You might like to: like her, I mean.’

‘That’s a good one … Any others?’

‘She might like it, too. And it makes them long-suffering, Francis, if you’re a husband.’

‘Not so likely to speak out of turn, you mean?’

‘Not
quite
so likely: and she can’t appear in court against you as your wife, though she can still chat about you to the coppers.’

‘But does it impress the courts at all – your being married?’

‘Oh, not in the least. The nicks are full of married ponces. No: it’s just rather nice, that’s all.’

‘You done it?’

‘No …’

‘I see.’

They puffed away like two young rising statesmen. ‘Getting used to the life?’ the star ponce asked.

‘Except for a few particulars.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Still can’t get used to all that
money
.’

‘Nor me: after all these years.’

‘Really! When you think of the
millions
the mugs spend! We must be a race of randy, frustrated fools.’

‘Speak for yourself: I’m Cornish. Anything else?’

‘Yes. When people ask me what I
do
. I can’t quite get used to that.’

‘You say seaman?’

‘Yes. But
I
know I don’t believe it any longer.’

‘I say turf accountant. I’ve found it explains my movements best.’

‘Don’t they try to place bets?’

‘Sometimes … The question was awkward in the nick as well.’

‘You been in there?’

‘Didn’t I tell you? One three, one six: next time’s dangerous.’

‘Let’s hope there’ll be none. And what did you tell them all in there?’

The star ponce looked ruminative and grave. ‘Poncing and rape of minors are the two things criminals won’t wear. Even poofs they will, but not we two. They’re great snobs, the real professionals, about what a man’s in for.’

‘So what did you tell them?’

‘That was it. I thought: well, I
am
a ponce – so what? I said poncing.’

‘And?’

‘They crunched me.’

‘Nice! What did you say the next time?’

‘Fraudulent conversion. That was quite all right. They were quite respectful.’

Frankie drank. ‘They’re hard on us, aren’t they, in this world,’ he said.

The star ponce said, ‘Very. And yet – there are those two things. If there weren’t any clients there couldn’t be any ponces, let alone any whores. Have they thought of that at all?’

‘I don’t suppose so.’

‘If no one will buy a product, no one will sell it or profit by its sale.’

‘Just so.’

‘And as for where the blame lies, if there is any, well, for every one of us and each one of our girls there must be several hundred clients or more.’

‘It’s mathematical.’

The star ponce turned his glorious eyes on Frankie. ‘I’ll tell you a thing,’ he said. ‘It’s a triangle that won’t stand up without any one of its three sides: client and whore and ponce. If the clients don’t like us, well, it’s simple: they should just stop being clients.’

‘Then the triangle collapses.’

‘But it won’t! That’s just the point, it won’t, and everyone knows it. That’s why all these new laws just shift the problem without altering it in any way at all. Because the girl, and her friend, and the man dropping in from somewhere, are as old as the Garden of Eden and even older.’

‘There were only two of them in there,’ said Frankie.

‘Well, Adam must have doubled.’ The star ponce stiffened slightly. ‘Don’t look now. But when you do you’ll see we’ve got two coppers on the premises: one he, one she. Behind the telly set.’

‘They come here often?’ Frankie said, not looking up.

‘Weekly or so – routine. Why they bother to dress up like that I can’t imagine, but they prefer it that way.’

Frankie observed the couple. They looked like a pair of elderly teenagers: the man in Italian drape and
pointeds with a Tab Hunter hairdo, the woman with puff-pastry locks, flowered separates, paper nylon petticoat and white stilettos. They were engaged in animated conversation intended to disguise the fact that no one else wished to speak to them: though no one, of course, would have refused to do so if invited.

‘Poor fuckers,’ said the star ponce. ‘What must it feel like, earning your living spying on your fellow men?’

‘How do they pay for all that clobber?’ Frankie asked. ‘Do they get expenses?’

‘Not on that scale. Talk to the club owner here: he’ll tell you.’