Dark Angels

by Ron Thomas

  Over the next few days, however, the little worm kept niggling and he recalled that it was where Benito had told him that Nellie Cameron taught dance on Tuesdays. And, after all, she had said for him to come up and see her. He resolved that the following Tuesday, he would see if he could find Nellie there.

  ***

  He went dressed in his Guido Caletti-style grey pinstripe suit. It made him feel grown-up. He slicked his hair down with Macassar, just like Guido, and polished his best black shoes, using a banana skin as polish. When he looked at his reflection in the undertaker’s window, he thought he looked very sharp indeed. He felt quite confident as he began to mount the squeaky stairs, but bravado was beginning to ebb under the baleful gaze of the bouncer waiting behind an iron security gate at the top. From inside, he could hear the strains of a song he knew, called Can’t We Be Friends.

  Despite the boy’s grown-up clothing, the bouncer growled the moment Meggsie’s foot touched the landing at the top.

  ‘You can’t come in here, kid,’ he said. It was a refusal Meggsie had anticipated. He swallowed hard.

  ‘The sign says you run a dance school here. Miss Cameron told me personally that if I came here, she’d teach me to dance.’ Meggsie tried to sound confident, having learnt that bravado was the key ingredient to any bluff. ‘I can pay, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he added for good measure.

  ‘You’re too young, kid. Now piss off and stop pestering me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Miss Cameron if I were you,’ Meggsie rejoined.

  ‘What’s your name, kid?’ the bouncer asked. At that moment, Meggsie knew his chances had improved very considerably.

  ‘Just tell her Gilby is here for his dance lesson.’ The man seemed uncertain now as to whether he should check with Nellie Cameron or throw the boy down the stairs.

  ‘Gilby?’ the man asked.

  ‘That’s right. Gilby. Just like the gin. That’s me!’

  ‘Wait here,’ the bouncer said peremptorily. It was superfluous, considering the locked iron gate prevented him entering.

  For a while, Meggsie was left wondering, then the music stopped.

  ‘Gilby!’ Nellie Cameron said as she rushed forward to the gate. Meggsie had been a little uncertain whether she would recognise him. Instead she told the gate man in no uncertain terms to get out of the way and let him in.

  ‘Norman told me you wanted dance lessons. Actually, he told me I promised them.’

  ‘Yes. I thought it might get me past the dragon on the gate.’

  ‘Still, it’s better to learn to dance early.’

  ‘Does it cost much to learn?’

  ‘See that fat man over there? The bloke with the red face, looks like he’s been running a marathon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s who I’ve been teaching. He can’t keep his hands to himself and he smells … bad. I’ll give you a lesson for nothing. After that, it’s three shillings for the night.’

  Meggsie wasn’t all that sure he wanted to learn to dance. In fact, dancing had played no part whatsoever in his upbringing. But he liked Nellie Cameron, and he thought she liked him in some indefinable way. Now he was here with her, he was very keen to stay.

  ‘I’d like to learn,’ Meggsie said. As he spoke, the music started up again. It was the same song as before. Meggsie could see that the sound was coming from a phonogram in the corner.

  ‘It’s Ruth Etting,’ Nellie said, rolling her head in time with the music. ‘She’s a great singer.’ Meggsie had never heard of Ruth Etting, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t know much more about singing than he did about dancing.

  ‘Have you ever danced before?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to start from the very beginning, Gilby. This dance is called the foxtrot. It’s easy.’ She moved in front of him and held her right arm out. When Meggsie didn’t respond, she took his hand and arranged his arms in the dancing pose. He was happy to let her push and pull his limbs into the correct position.

  ‘Now, Gilby, there’s just one problem. Your bum is sticking out. Stand up straight. Push your hips forward. We’re supposed to be together, like.’

  Meggsie’s face reddened as he felt himself stiffening. Nellie’s smile was wicked and teasing.

  ‘Oh Gilby,’ she said mischievously. ‘I do declare. We’d better start learning the steps, before you start getting ideas. You start with your left foot and walk two steps forward, slow and easy.’

  He did as he was told and they stopped again. ‘Now two steps sideways, quick.’ She demonstrated the technique. Soon Meggsie was following her simple steps and enjoying the closeness of her. When the music stopped, the fat, red-faced man came over to them.

  ‘My turn,’ he said, his voice harsh and demanding. The change in Nellie Cameron’s demeanour was instantaneous. Her pleasant face quickly turned to a snarl. ‘You’ll have a turn when I say you’ll have a fucking turn, shit for brains,’ she spat. The man made the mistake of grabbing for her. It was a bad move. She stepped towards him and kneed him in the groin … hard. As he bent forward in shock and agony, Nellie planted a straight right on his chin that laid him out cold on Professor Bolot’s dance floor. In an instant, Norman the Doorman was at her side and in another, her sunny demeanour had returned. Meggsie looked around at the other dancers, every one staring at the man on the floor.

  ‘Nothing to see here!’ she announced. ‘Norman, I think Leonard might fall down the stairs, if he ain’t careful,’ Nellie said sweetly.

  The doorman took a firm grip on the fallen man’s collar and dragged him across the floor and away. The iron gate opened. Norman grunted as he took the weight, gave a heave and Leonard promptly disappeared down the stairs. It didn’t sound pleasant for Leonard.

  ‘Now, Gilby, you need to learn the corner step. It helps you to turn corners,’ Nellie said as though they’d never been interrupted.

  ***

  Meggsie’s lesson went on for another hour. By that time, he felt much more confident with Nellie Cameron in his arms. Last dance had been called, and as he swung her around the floor, he noticed Frank Green arrive at the head of the stairs and stand watching them.

  ‘Come again next week, Gilby. We’re doing the Charleston. That’s my favourite,’ she said. With abrupt suddenness, she was out of Meggsie’s arms and was taking the arm Green offered her. With Guido’s prison sentence about to end, that signalled fireworks.

  Chapter 17

  The Bank of Milano

  It was a Monday afternoon when things began to change. Quite unusually, Guido appeared, just as they were closing up shop. He seemed quite upbeat.

  ‘How goes it young fellow?’ he asked, as Meggsie pulled the steel shutter down. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while.’

  ‘I’m happy, Mr Caletti. Benito’s looking after me. The fruit and veg business is good.’

  ‘Is that what you want to be, Meggs, a fruit and veg man?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Caletti. I’ve never been anything else.’ Meggsie smiled mischievously. ‘Except a homeless fruit thief,’ he added. Guido didn’t seem to get the joke.

  ‘Perhaps it’s about time you thought about it,’ Guido suggested. Meggsie had no idea what Guido Caletti might have had in mind, and that might have been the extent of the conversation, had Benito not arrived at that precise moment.

  He greeted Guido briefly then turned to Meggsie and put his hand on the boy’s forearm. ‘Meggs I’ve got to rush off. Claudia’s in the school play. Can you do the tidying up? There’s a fair bit to do.’

  ‘I can handle it, boss. I’ve got plenty of time. Wish Claudia good luck.’

  ‘Thanks, mate. I’ll make it up to you. I hope you’ll be okay.’ As he spoke, he was removing his heavy leather apron. He passed it to Meggsie, who threw it over his arm. Benito quickly said his goodbyes and disappeared in haste, striding purposefully down Darlinghurst Road.

  ‘That leaves you in charge, Meggs. I
suppose that means you are a fruit and veg executive.’ Guido grinned at his own joke. ‘You’ve arrived!’

  ‘Yes. That means I get to do the sweeping. I’ll delegate it to myself.’

  Guido grinned, ‘What do you do after that?’

  ‘Homework, for about an hour. Then, I think I might go for a long walk. That’s what I do most nights. Perhaps I’ll walk up to Kings Cross. I like to get out of the shop for a while, if I’m not too tired. There’s always something going on up there.’

  Guido looked thoughtful. ‘Does Benito know about this? All this walking around at night, I mean.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he does. I haven’t said anything to him.’

  ‘It can be dangerous for a young fellow like you, by himself. There are criminals about, you know.’ Meggsie thought it was a strange comment, coming as it did from Guido.

  ‘I can handle it, Mr Caletti. I’m used to the street. That’s where I lived, remember.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Guido looked thoughtful for a few moments. ‘Perhaps you’d be just the man to help me with a little problem. You remember my friend Mickey Milligan. The bloke with the scar and the droopy lip?’

  ‘Yes.’ He remembered Milligan only too well.

  ‘He often helps me out, but he had an unfortunate altercation with the law the day before yesterday. The spoilsports stuck him in Darlo gaol. Aggravated assault, they said it was. Perhaps you’d like to fill in for him. You did well cockying for the game. This job’s cockying, too.’

  Meggsie, keen as he was to assist Guido, was immediately wary. He nodded uncertainly.

  ‘You don’t have to do anything illegal,’ Guido explained. Meggsie nodded uncertainly again.

  ‘It pays more than the fruit and veg business, matey,’ Guido said, putting his arm around Meggsie’s shoulder. All you have to do is a bit of cockatooing.’

  Though he was still wary, he nodded, somewhat more vigorously this time.

  ***

  The lights along the King’s Cross strip were bright and garish. Meggsie was having trouble keeping up with Guido as he pushed his way roughly through the meandering gawkers. Finally, Guido slowed and waited for Meggsie to catch up to him.

  ‘See that club over there? It’s one of Phil Jeffs’ places. That’s where I’ll be around nine o’clock. See that doorway across the road? That’s where you’ll be. You see any cops taking an interest, you whistle … you can whistle, can’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Meggsie said.

  ‘Show me,’ Guido challenged. Meggsie stuck a pinkie finger in each corner of his mouth and emitted a piercing whistle.

  ‘That’ll do,’ Guido said. ‘The idea is that you hang about here in the doorway from eight o’clock onward. If I don’t turn up by ten o’clock, you just go home, and I’ll pay you ten shillings next time I see you. If I do show up, I’ll be with another man. I’ll come out again about an hour later. When I do, you go down there and stand on the corner. Don’t worry about what I do, don’t talk to me; just keep an eye out for the law. If you see them and they’re coming in my direction, just give a whistle, then your job is done. You can go home, and I’ll pay you two pounds. That’s a pretty good deal, for just hanging around, isn’t it?’

  Meggsie spent many of his evening hours hanging around King’s Cross anyway, so in his naivete, he had to agree that it was a good deal. It was more than he earned by working for a whole week in Benny’s fruit shop.

  ***

  Guido turned up around nine thirty. Both he and the man with him, who was wearing a wide-brimmed bush hat, seemed to be a little tipsy. Their arms were around each other’s shoulders and they were sharing a joke, apparently the best of pals. As they passed Meggsie’s doorway, Guido gave a sly wink and continued on his way. About forty-five minutes later, the two men emerged again, somewhat worse for wear. Meggsie immediately moved to the Macleay Street corner and looked nonchalantly up and down the street. The coast was clear.

  ‘Hello, handsome,’ a voice from behind him said. It was a girl. ‘You looking for someone?’

  ‘Um, no,’ Meggsie replied. ‘Actually, I’m a cockatoo. You know what that is don’t you?’ The girl appeared to quickly lose interest, and she walked away, as Guido and his new-found friend approached. Meggsie noticed she’d moved to the diagonally opposite corner.

  As he’d been instructed, Meggsie avoided eye contact with Guido as the two passed him and meandered their way into the relative darkness of Macleay street. Both Guido and his mark seemed to be drunk. Meggsie really didn’t see what happened, but whatever it was, it happened suddenly. Guido was at his shoulder within a minute or so, with a wallet in his hand. He grabbed Meggsie by the elbow and almost marched him along Darlinghurst Road. When they reached a dark doorway, Guido pulled the boy into the shadows. He opened the wallet, which seemed to be stuffed with cash, and extracted a couple of one-pound notes.

  ‘This is what I call the bank of Milano,’ Guido said casually, as he passed the two crisp notes to Meggsie. It was the easiest money the boy had ever made.

  ‘Now, home to bed, Meggsie,’ Guido said. ‘You’ve got school in the morning. Oh, I think it’s probably best that you don’t let on to Benito. He’s rather narrow-minded about such things. I reckon he might stop you if he knew, so better to play dumb about it.’

  For the first time, Meggsie found his conscience prickling, but he still nodded. Somehow, he felt worse about not telling Benito than he did about his participation in the theft from an inebriated stranger. ‘Yes, Mr Caletti,’ he mumbled uncertainly.

  Guido nodded. ‘That way, we can keep doing it,’ he said. ‘You could make a lot of money, at least until Mickey solves his little problem. How about tomorrow night?’

  Meggsie was quite enamoured with the idea of making two pounds a night and greed outweighed his niggling pangs of conscience. He convinced himself that if Guido’s victims had so much cash to splash around, they somehow deserved what they got. He hadn’t really thought through the rights and wrongs of it all until Guido suggested he hide his dirty doings from Benito.

  ‘Yes, Mr Caletti.’

  ‘Same time then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ***

  For the next two nights, Meggsie took his allotted position and waited, but Guido didn’t put in an appearance, and on the third night, Meggsie earned his two pounds. At the weekend, he made six more pounds, then Guido said they’d better lie low for a week or so.

  ‘Pickings aren’t so easy, early in the week, anyway,’ he explained. That news was somewhat disappointing for Meggsie, who had rapidly developed the conscience-numbing feeling he was on the road to riches.

  ***

  The thought crept up on him slowly. Once he’d made a life for himself at Benny’s Fruit Market, at first, he didn’t think about his parents much. Over time, however, he began to wonder how his mother had survived. It was quite certain that she would still be struggling to feed herself on the pittance that Albert Maggs gave her as housekeeping money, particularly in those weeks where he drank, snorted and gambled the lot.

  It was quite a walk to Palmer Street in the dark, with just the glow of dawn in the eastern sky. The house hadn’t changed at all, and Meggsie knew that, being a Tuesday, Albert would have gone to bed early and would still be snoring. He guessed that his mother would have sat up, to make sure his father was asleep, so she could retire safely. He knew with certainty that his mother would also be the first to rise, and that she would soon bring in the milk, in time for Albert’s breakfast.

  He’d timed it to perfection. He could see the milkman’s cart further down the street, and he could see the billycan full of milk sitting on the narrow veranda by the door. For a moment, it made him recall another morning when he’d nicked the milk and spilt it all over the place. He didn’t want to do that here.

  The milkman hadn’t shut the gate properly, and Meggsie found it easy to slip through the gap and creep up to the front door. In his hand, he held three crisp one-pound notes. With
infinite care, he lifted the billy and slipped the notes underneath, and in a few seconds, he was back in the street and walking away.

  Somehow, this act of clandestine charity made Meggsie feel better about participating in Guido’s criminal activities. His mother needed the money far more than men who were prepared to waste it on women and drink. After all, Albert never ever thought that she might like a few pounds of spending money. The more he thought about that, the more he began to think of himself as some sort of Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. The more he considered the position, the more Gilbert Maggs began to feel comfortable about himself and his clandestine thievery.

  ***

  As the months passed, Benito Battaglia taught Meggsie all he knew about the business of fruit and veging. Meggsie learned how to select the best vegetables and fruit at the market, and to negotiate the right price for his selections. Over time, he began to learn the impact of the seasons on the merchandise and the pricing. More importantly, the fruit and veg men of the Haymarket took him in and made him one of them.

  With the passage of time, Benito trusted him to serve customers and to work the cash register. Meggsie had never had that sort of responsibility and trust, and his confidence grew. Benito worked him hard, but he wasn’t ever threatening. It was certainly better than sleeping under the brothel stairs. Now he slept dry, comfortable and warm. There was always damaged fruit to eat and if there wasn’t any and hunger set in, he could always manage to drop a piece or two.

  At their first meeting, Meggsie had gained the impression that it was Guido Caletti’s shop, but soon worked out that although Guido threw his weight around, the owner of the establishment was, in fact, Benito. These days, Meggsie rarely saw Guido at the shop more than once or twice a week, always around the middle of the day and usually to tell him that he had work that night in King’s Cross.

  Between the shop, and his cockatooing activities, Meggsie’s cash in hand grew quickly. He was richer than he’d ever been in his life. Most of the time, he had little trouble rationalising his activities. After all he’d been born with nothing, suffered parental abuse, been thrown out of home, and at times, he felt a sense of revenge against the world. Each time prickling pangs of consciousness made him uncomfortable, he’d salve it by leaving a donation under his mother’s milk can.