4 Bones Sleeping (Small Town Trilogy) Page 7

  My god I thought, Wyn’s either a good actor or a better card player. I watched Teddy fumble around in his trouser pocket, once again the thought that the cut throat razor was coming out and Wyn was about to be striped right now, right across his fat cheek. I wondered if Shirley could fancy a short balding with a long scar like that. Teddy pulled his hand out of the pocket and sat down, placed his hands palm down on the table and stared at Wyn

  Wyn gazed back, his soft eyes calmly fixing into Teddy’s eyes. Finally, ‘Sorry – I haven’t offered you a drink – I’ve only got whiskey or coffee.’

  Teddy nodded and watched a bottle of Jura being uncorked. I smelt the scotch and needed more than a sniff as he said, ‘Cheers.’

  Wyn sat back again, showed the palms of his hands to Teddy, then he laughed, a self-assured laugh. ‘Let’s not beat about the bush.’ He lit his cigar and said, ‘What can I do for you Teddy.’

  I began to wonder who was putting the squeeze on who. I soon found out as Teddy said, ‘Your boy fights next week – how’s he going to go?’

  Wyn tipped his head a touch, ‘Oh he’ll win – he’s stronger than ever. And his moods just right, no beer, women or fags for a month makes you a bit touchy.’ Wyn leant forward, ‘As you well know.’

  He laughed again as Teddy clamped his lips together. That was cheeky, too cheeky as Teddy leant forward himself, their faces a couple of feet apart. ‘He’s going to lose, he’s going to lose and lose in the sixth round as well.’

  Teddy sat back and watched, Wyn disappointed him once more. Not a flicker, apart from the spectre of a smile in the corner of his heavy lips. ‘Teddy – why didn’t you say it was a business proposition you had in mind.’

  Wyn placed his cigar on the ashtray, brought his elbows up onto the table and his fingers steepled together. ‘The sixth you say… what if the boy gives your man a right going over for five rounds. You can get a better price if load your bets up as the fight goes on.’

  ‘Maybe, but he goes in the tank – round six.’ Teddy stood and pointed, ‘Round six or he’ll never fight again. Or walk properly either.’

  ‘I’m a business man.’ Wyn shrugged, ‘We can all make a lot of money out of this. Business – nothing personal.’

  Teddy stood, Eyeless a split second behind him. Teddy said it again, ‘The sixth.’

  Eyeless opened the door for his master and Teddy stopped in front of Harry and said, ‘What are you staring at?’

  Teddy’s dog came alongside his master, a small pack ready to kick off together. Wyn’s voice came across the floor. ‘Calm down Harry – everything’s done and dusted.’

  Teddy laughed in Harry’s face and they wheeled away. Pack leader out in front and so happy I guessed, maybe the niggling thought tapping away in his head. Wasn’t that all too easy?

  My own thoughts galloped around the meadow of my mind, good job Shirley was upstairs, good job Harry never heard what deal was being cut. Harry paced the floor looking for something to punch as it was. Wyn poured some coffee and said ‘Watch those knuckles now, don’t punch anything too hard.’

  ‘Fuck off. What did they want?’

  ‘Nothing really, testing the water probably.’

  I didn’t point out that Teddy’s type never tested the water, just jumped straight in with their threats. Harry turned to go several times, from the waist up only as confusion whistled through him. Questions to ask, but Wyn introduced Harry’s favourite topic into the unstable equation. ‘Is Peggy ok out there on her own?’ Wyn smiled my way as Harry closed the door behind him.

  ‘Dangerous times.’

  I nodded. ‘What are you going to do?’ Desperately trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice.

  Obviously failing as Wyn said. ‘Don’t worry my boy.’

  He placed a whiskey tumbler and the bottle of decent scotch in front of me. Went back and made himself another pot of coffee, inspected his box of cigars before coming back and sitting down.

  I said, ‘How can you sleep drinking gallons of that stuff at this time of night?’

  Wyn smiled, ‘Clear conscience – sleep like a baby, always – unless Shirley’s close by of course.’ He smiled again, ‘Don’t look like that my boy, things aren’t what they seem.’

  I poured myself a decent measure and reached for my wallet, Wyn shook his head.

  Don’t insult me with money.

  I smiled then said, ‘It’s chaos out there, drinking clubs and gaming clubs all getting the treatment. Beatings, fights kicking off everywhere except here – until tonight that is.’

  ‘Oh there won’t be any fighting.’

  ‘No fighting, but he’s putting the squeeze on you. He won’t last long, if you can just hang on a few months, he’ll be back where he belongs.’

  Wyn held his hands up, ‘Don’t tell Harry any of this, about the fight I mean. No mention of six round defeats.’

  I felt my mouth hang open, ‘But…’ I stood up and leaned on the table. ‘Harry won’t go for that one.’

  ‘I know, I’m not even going to mention it for a while.’

  ‘Harry’s likely to win. What do we do then?’ I stated the obvious in the hope that Wyn would reassure me in his inimitable way.

  Silence, Wyn folded his arms and stared at me. Finally he said, ‘I don’t know. I was hoping you would come up with an idea.’

  We stared at each other. I felt a tingle of excitement rushing up between my shoulder blades. Life was getting more dangerous by the minute and I was about to suggest something reckless. Sometimes I thought I needed sectioning for my own good.

  I took a deep breath, ‘You’re a business man – think about it.’

  ‘Never mind me.’ His soft brown eyes suddenly took on a hard look, ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘What are the options? We could do what Teddy and his cronies are doing, load hundreds, probably thousands on the other man.’ I frowned as I said this, knowing exactly where I was going. Yet somehow still unable to believe what I was about to propose. How could Harry be persuaded to throw a fight? It didn’t make sense, he wouldn’t do it. Surely the better financial option was to do the opposite and bet on a long priced Harry. That’s the sensible move, financially sensible, if not giving due consideration to one’s own safety.

  I considered myself a sane, calculating young man. I liked to balance everything up before acting. But recently I’d discovered money and in amongst the balancing act that my existence had suddenly become, money moved the fulcrum of my life. Nothing balanced at the moment. Money making schemes throbbed through my head. Most men my age were fixated by women. With Wyn, women and money in equal measure became the motivating force… whereas me? The fulcrum suddenly lurched off centre again as a heavyweight, hair-brained scheme sat one end of the see saw and a lightweight Jack at the other.

  I couldn’t believe the way my mind worked sometimes. We were skating on thin ice anyway. What did it matter? I took a large gulp of scotch, waited as it scorched its way down my throat. Took a final deep breath and said, ‘What does the bookmaker do?’

  Wyn’s head twisted a touch, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘C’mon, what happens to the book – how do they balance the book?’

  For a man well used to all things shady in nature, he wasn’t a gambler. Not with bookmakers anyway. All of his risks involved a cocktail of illegal deals and irritable husbands. Dealing with bookmakers could be considered less than life threatening. Usually that is, not with what I was about to propose however. This meant something so risky that tossing lighted matches around in a fireworks factory should have been a more attractive option.

  But I’d hooked myself and now I threw the bait Wyn’s way. ‘What’s going to happen to the odds after all of Teddy’s money goes on his man?’

  ‘He’ll become a red hot favourite, odds on I suppose.’

  This was gaining a momentum of its own, I couldn’t believe what I was about to say, it came out anyway. ‘What would happen to Harry’s odds?’

  His
mouth turned down at the corners and his eyebrows rose. He twisted his head a couple of times at his sudden realisation of an outside chance to make a lot of money.

  He started to convince himself, ‘Thinking about it, Harry will never throw anything, let alone a fight of this importance. What are you thinking of.’

  I reinforced the direction he was heading, ‘The odds lengthen on Harry, if you think that he has a good chance of winning – put some money on him.’

  Surely Wyn wouldn’t consider such a crude double cross? He sat back in his chair, folded his arms and sent a wink my way. He has considered it, this had turned into some dangerous farce. Perhaps we both had a death wish, or maybe he just didn’t care about himself or his brother.

  My frown intensified as Wyn began to get into the swing of it all. ‘There’s two issues here – the first and most important, I’m not bending the knee to some old school gangster that tries to put the squeeze on me… ok?’

  ‘That’s a very principled stance, but someone’s going to torch this club of yours – or worse.’

  ‘Maybe – but you have to admit that there’s no way Harry would ever go into the tank and I would never ask him to.’

  Wyn poured some single cream into his coffee, carefully placed a sugar lump onto his spoon and lowered it into the coffee. He watched as the whiteness of the sugar changed, turning a sandy colour from the bottom up. Finally collapsing, only then did he stir. He smelt the pungency beneath his nose, smiled across at me and sipped away.

  He said, ‘What would have happened if I’d have said no to Teddy?’

  ‘You’d have got a razor across the face – or worse and then he’d burn your club down. With you in it probably.’

  ‘Exactly – which leads me onto the second issue. Harry won’t play ball and neither will I. Don’t forget, Harry’s opponent has to make it last as well. He’s not expecting a real fight. Oh I know what you’re thinking – two horse race anything can happen. Lucky punch, Harry breaks a bone in his knuckle – distinctly possible that one. But the likelihood is that he’ll win. Teddy will have distorted the book with his crazy bets.’

  It was a fair point; Harry had five rounds to get his retaliation in first. A clear run in a way. I wagged my finger Wyn’s way. ‘Just a straight win, don’t get carried away now.’

  Wyn shook his head, ‘We’ll load up on the same round as Teddy’s laid all his money and make a small fortune.’

  He sat back.

  Easy money.

  What have I started?

  I pointed Wyn’s way, ‘Just a straight win, or at least cover yourself, and only lay half on the round he’ll take the other man out.’

  Wyn poured himself another coffee and went through the same ritual again. I thought about leaving this madman alone and wandering off into the night. Find myself some friends without a death wish, but the magnetic force held me hard in my seat. I disliked Teddy, especially now that he considered me as just another one safely in his back pocket. I wanted to be my own man and resented Teddy and his free drinks. If I was to get free drinks then I’d get them from Wyn.

  I said, ‘It’s still a huge risk – how do you know Harry will put this man away in the sixth.’

  Wyn laughed, ‘When I tell him what’s going on – well you can imagine. Fixing the round will be difficult – but, I agree with you, we’ll cover the bet with one for Harry to win in any round.’

  The illegal bookmakers were scattered all over London. They survived by word of mouth, often operating from their living rooms. They weren’t organised, the concept of laying big bets off, virtually unheard of. But big bets going against the book would soon be on the grapevine. We had to lay the bets as late as possible.

  ‘We have to be careful with the bets, the afternoon of the fight is best. The day before maybe.’

  ‘How many bookmakers?’

  ‘Hundreds. It’ll take me days to find out their locations and what sort of top limit they operate.’

  ‘You can do it. We’ll be careful, we can clean up here.’

  That’s the trouble with Wyn, always so plausible. So believable – he’d got his thinking right about the fight, but the repercussions? Neither of us had considered the aftermath. Crusades take on a life of their own.

  Oh well, in for a penny.

  ‘You’re going to need a few people to lay the bets for you – I’ve not got much on at the moment.’

  Wyn leaned across the table, ‘My boy – you won’t regret it.’

  I poured another drink and sighed.

  Won’t regret it? I think I might.

  ‘One thing.’ I pointed at Wyn. ‘Don’t tell Shirley.’

  He frowned, ‘Why ever not.’

  ‘Women can’t keep quiet, you know what they’re like.’

  He nodded, ‘You’re right of course. Not a word to Harry either… Yet.’

  ‘You ought to get Shirley and Peggy out of the way.’

  Consequences had started to muscle their unwelcome way into my mind.

  He ignored me, ‘Shall we start putting the money on tomorrow?’

  No such consequences for Wyn, just pound signs rattling around in his head.

  I sighed, ‘No, haven’t you listened to a word. The same day, or the day before the fight at the earliest.’

  That’s how we left it.

  Teddy - 1945

  Teddy stared at her, she had some face that’s for sure. Is that why he couldn’t stop thinking about her? The way she whispered in his ear as he fucked her. ‘C’mon Teddy, it’s so good. Don’t stop – Teddy I love you so much.’

  He shouted, ‘Don’t fucking stare at me, who the fuck do you think you are?’

  She carried on looking, he could feel her eyes on him ‘I need a man right now, I always need you Teddy. You excite me so much.’

  Now that should have been funny, he never excited anyone and he never had an issue with that fact.

  ‘Look at me, why won’t you look.’

  Teddy dragged his eyes into hers. They shone like a pair of highly polished, tinted blue mirrors. He couldn’t work her performance out, her wide-eyed excitement agitated him. He was disturbed, angry and aroused.

  Aroused!

  He had become turned on by this humiliation and she knew it.

  ‘I can see Teddy. C’mon on, come to Shirley. Don’t fight what comes naturally.’

  So much confusion, he didn’t know whether to hit her or fuck her. Which neatly demonstrated his bewilderment. He was capable of either, never done both at the same time though. Still, never too late for a first time.

  ‘I can see inside your soul.’

  He believed that one. He watched her mouth open and her eyebrows raise. He shouldn’t have said anything. Punched her in the mouth and walked out. He blinked at the bright, early morning sunshine tumbling through window, then told her to shut her fucking mouth. Carefully adjusted his erection and stumbled towards her bed.

  Much later, ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘You’re fucking joking, you’ve got a husband. What’s he say about it all?’

  ‘It’s not his, he doesn’t come near me. He was still in Poland anyway.’

  ‘What about the fucking sheep-shagging’ Major?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, he’s my sugar-daddy, that’s all. You’re the only one Teddy. What are we going to do?’

  He said nothing, let her do the talking.

  ‘The fights in the bag – we’ll be rich.’

  We’ll?

  8

  Jack - 1980

  Her name kept bouncing around in my head, not Celia – that’s a common enough Christian name for a well off, middle class girl. Her surname fascinated me, Schwartz, maybe Hungarian originally, certainly Jewish. But most Jewish immigrants softened their names. Made them more acceptable to our sensitivities. Even our own little town’s member of the chosen race had changed his. Or more likely his parents had, from Goldstein to Goldstone.

  But Schwartz?

  I guessed her oh so British
public school chums would have found it all mildly amusing, in their civilized and slightly anti-Semitic manner. But they would have had enough to gossip about anyway, more important issues. Like drugs and a fifteen year old girl’s promiscuity. Both confirmed by the medical report, levels of both marijuana and heroin in the blood. All this plus rumours of L.S.D and God knows what else. What was up with the girl? Was she abused as a child? Full of self-loathing, was that it? Drugs and predatory men lurking close by, what a mixture.

  How many men another unknown, but there was evidence of a recent sexual encounter. This wasn’t necessarily an indicator of promiscuity in itself, but the gossip abounded. Most of it coming from Inspector Mably and all given to me freely over a pint. With the finger pointing squarely towards Stuart’s closest friend. Of course Patrick had conveniently disappeared, just wandered away and no one knew where.

  I stared at Stuart, he knew all right. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Dunno.’ He shrugged, ‘Shacked up with a woman somewhere.’

  I sighed and glanced back down at the pathologists report. Another privilege granted to me, another favour pushed my way by Inspector Mably. He’d forgiven me for Stuart’s intrusion the other day and even photo-copied the juiciest bits for me, of which there were plenty. This was more than the gossipers tittle-tattle about a disturbed young woman. All in front of me, in black and white. How recent is recent I wondered? The night before, a few hours, minutes? All these questions and no answers. Who throws themselves out of a window after a mutually satisfying coupling?

  I shook my head and stared at Stuart, unusually reticent about it all – but I knew him well enough and it would all come my way eventually. I went back to the report, evidence of something in the anus, Patrick’s calloused finger I dare say. If there were only some brick dust visible that would confirm that one. I groaned, the age of the girl tempered my humour. Fifteen, sexually active and deeply troubled, is that why Patrick was suddenly lying so low?