Sisters Three

by Jessica Stirling

  Catching sight of Bernard, he removed the screwdriver from his mouth, and shouted, ‘Who the hell’re you?’

  ‘I’m looking for Dominic Manone.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dominic Manone, I’m…’

  The machine cut off abruptly. Dougie set down the oilcan but not the screwdriver. The tabby stirred, arched her back and surveyed Bernard with unnerving indifference.

  ‘Dominic Manone,’ Bernard said. ‘I’m looking for…’

  ‘Never heard o’ him.’

  ‘And just who are you?’

  ‘Ah work here.’

  ‘Doing what?’ said Bernard.

  ‘Ah work at not answerin’ stupid questions.’

  ‘You’re printing something, aren’t you?’ Bernard took a pace forward. ‘What are you printing?’

  ‘Posters.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘Who the hell are you, man? Are you the polis?’

  ‘I told you, I’m looking for Mr Manone.’

  ‘Never heard—’

  ‘Come off it,’ Bernard said. ‘Don’t give me your patter. I lease this place to Dominic Manone. What’s that you’re hiding?’

  ‘Tony?’ Dougie shouted. ‘Tony?’

  It was hardly a blow at all, certainly not a punch. Bernard caught Dougie’s arm and swung him around, let him skip and fall to one knee, crying out. Then he scooped up an armful of the paper from the litter on the floor and selected from the trash a single wrinkled sheet. He studied it for a moment, then grunted.

  ‘Fivers, forged fivers. So that’s Dom’s game, is it? Dear God, what next!’

  ‘I guess that’s up to you, Bernard,’ Tony Lombard said from the top of the stairs. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s up to you.’

  * * *

  ‘It’s a bit of a chortle, really,’ John Flint said. ‘I mean here she is tryin’ to sell me somethin’ I already own. I’m disappointed. I thought Polly had more class. Now the other one…’

  ‘Babs,’ Dominic said.

  ‘Yeah, Babs – now she I could believe, but not Polly, not your dearly beloved wife, Dominic, old son.’

  ‘She doesn’t know about the money,’ Dominic said.

  ‘Then what’s her game?’ Flint said. ‘I mean, hell, does she think I’m gonna shell out for a buncha stocks an’ shares that could be worth less than the paper they’re written on in six month time? I haven’t a clue what you’ve got tucked away, Dom. It’s your business, not mine. But Jesus, when a man’s wife tries to sell him out then I’ve gotta start askin’ questions, haven’t I?’

  ‘I told you – Polly can’t possibly have found out about the money.’

  ‘I only have your word for that,’ Johnny Flint said.

  ‘Big Q is, has she found out about me?’ Edgar Harker said.

  ‘What about you?’ Dominic said.

  ‘Who I am, what I’m doing here.’

  ‘How could she?’

  Harker shrugged. ‘Same way she found out about the money.’

  ‘For the last and final time,’ Dominic said, ‘Polly knows nothing about—’

  ‘Okay, okay, keep your shirt on,’ Harker said. ‘I believe you, though thousands wouldn’t.’

  ‘How could she possibly have found out about Blackstone?’ Dominic said.

  Harker said. ‘Somebody told her.’

  ‘Somebody? Like who?’ Dominic said.

  Harker shrugged again. ‘Somebody on the inside. What about this guy Babs is married to? What about him?’

  ‘Hallop? No, no, not Jackie.’

  ‘Why not Jackie?’ said Harker.

  ‘Because he’s a nobody,’ said Flint. ‘Right, Dom?’

  ‘He’s also your brother-in-law,’ Harker said.

  ‘He runs a motoring showroom,’ Dom said. ‘Jackie Hallop has no connection with what’s going on at Blackstone.’

  ‘So,’ Harker said, ‘it’s Polly we hafta worry about.’

  Dominic hadn’t taken off his hat or overcoat. He stood before the desk, hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched. He looked dejected, as well he might considering he’d just been told that his wife was planning to sell his business out from under him. However much you might be tempted to admire strength and determination in a woman there were limits to a man’s tolerance and Flint reckoned that Dominic Manone was close to that limit now.

  No sounds drifted up from the cinema. It was too early for the afternoon show. Cleaners would be moving between the seats, a Gaumont van would soon deliver the weekend reels. In the projection room an assistant would be dusting the lenses. In outer offices telephones rang and teleprinters chattered monotonously but in Flint’s suite silence reigned.

  At length Dominic said, ‘Did Polly mention Blackstone by name?’ He spoke as softly as if he were crooning a lullaby.

  Flint had heard that tone before and knew it signified not capitulation but threat. He adjusted his position on, not behind the desk, crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms before he answered, ‘Nope.’

  ‘Did she say anything about fake money?’

  ‘Matter of fact, no.’

  ‘She asked if you would be prepared to help her run my business if something happened to me, is that correct?’ said Dominic.

  ‘Substantially correct, yeah,’ Flint said.

  ‘What did Babs contribute to the conversation?’

  ‘Not much. Moral support, I suppose.’

  ‘So you’ve not one shred of evidence that my wife knows anything at all about Blackstone or counterfeit money.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, son…’ Harker protested.

  Dominic turned on him. He moved more nimbly than any of the boxers John Flint had on his books. A sudden shift of weight and his hands were on Harker’s lapels. He pulled the man to him and turned him, snaring his arm and ramming it hard against his back, forcing Harker’s face to the wall. He leaned into him and spoke, still softly, into his ear.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know who you are, Frank,’ Dominic said. ‘Don’t think I didn’t do my homework before I agreed to deal with you. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You just love the whole idea of stirring up trouble for Lizzie Conway and her girls, your daughters. I don’t know why. I can’t figure out your reasons, unless you’re just nasty. Yes, I think that’s it – nasty.’

  ‘You’re hurtin’ me.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Dominic said. ‘I haven’t even begun to hurt you yet.’

  Johnny uncrossed his legs and placed both feet on to the floor. It had been ten years or more since he had seen this side of Dominic Manone, the quiet, invidious, efficient use of violence, but he remembered all too clearly what had happened to his boss, the late Chick McGuire.

  ‘How did you recognise me?’ Harker said.

  ‘I wasn’t a kid when you skipped out,’ Dominic said. ‘I saw you hanging around the Rowing Club often enough to remember you.’

  ‘Yeah, but you thought I was dead, didn’t you?’

  ‘Why didn’t my father tell me you were working for him?’

  ‘’Cause I asked him not to,’ Harker said. ‘You think I wanna be here at all? Know what you are, son? You’re a hick, a third-rater. Always were, always will be. That’s why your old man left you behind in Scotland.’ He twisted his head, tried to look back over his shoulder. ‘You gonna tell Polly who I am, Polly and Babs? You gonna blow this opportunity just for the sake of a doll from the Gorbals, even if she is my daughter?’

  Dominic released him. Harker eased round, massaging his forearm and shoulder, still grinning that ghastly, disabled grin.

  ‘Polly is my concern,’ Dominic said.

  ‘Then do somethin’ about her,’ Harker said, ‘before she gets us all sent up the goddamned Swanee.’

  Dominic put his hands in his pockets, walked to the front of the desk and contemplated the opaque glass of the big window.

  ‘I sent her,’ he said.

  ‘You what? You sent her where?’ said Harker.

  ‘To him, to Fl
int, to test him out.’

  ‘What the hell for?’ Johnny blurted out. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  Dominic gave a little laugh, three chesty spurts of sound. ‘I sent the girls round here to dangle the bait, Johnny. Didn’t you guess?’

  ‘Well, I – I mean, I did sorta have a—’

  ‘Is this gonna change things?’ Harker interrupted.

  ‘No,’ Dominic answered. ‘It changes nothing.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Harker said. ‘Otherwise we could all wind up dead in the water. I mean it, son. I really do mean dead.’

  ‘What?’ Johnny said. ‘Me an’ all?’

  Harker had seated himself on one of the red leather banquettes. He did not appear in the least ruffled. Jaunty, self-loving arrogance was so ingrained that no one, not even Dominic Manone, could shake it. He groomed his moustache with his hand, then said, ‘You too, Flinty, you an’ him an’ anybody gets in the way.’

  ‘I take it you’ve promised the money to an organisation none of us can stand up to?’ Dominic said. ‘I take it you know what the profits will be used for?’

  ‘I gotta fair idea,’ said Harker.

  ‘How did my father get tangled up with the Nazis?’

  ‘They came to him,’ Edgar Harker said. ‘They had the plates an’ the girl. They offered him the whole package. They wanted to set up in England but your old man talked them out of it. Scotland, he said, Scotland’s the place, all they think about in Scotland’s football an’ drink.’

  ‘Who do you rendezvous with over here?’ Dominic said.

  ‘Nobody yet.’

  ‘So how do you channel the cash to the agents?’

  ‘Agents?’ Johnny said. ‘What agents?’

  Harker said, ‘I don’t.’

  Dominic said, ‘What do you do then?’

  ‘Agents?’ Johnny said again. ‘You mean, like spies?’

  Harker said, ‘It’s done through a private bank. The account’s already been established.’

  ‘Who opened it? You?’

  ‘Me, yeah.’

  ‘When the account has enough in it to make it worthwhile,’ Dominic said, ‘I assume you’ll transfer smaller sums to other accounts in the provinces.’

  ‘I won’t, but somebody else will?’ Harker shrugged. ‘I’ll have my whack by that time, your old man’ll have his. What do I care where the loot winds up?’

  ‘You could hang for this, Frank,’ Dominic said.

  ‘I could hang for a lotta things,’ Harker told him.

  ‘Will somebody please tell me what the hell you’re talkin’ about?’

  ‘It’s a secret, Flinty, a dead secret,’ Harker said.

  ‘I don’t like secrets. Fact, I hate secrets. Look,’ Johnny said apologetically, ‘what am I gonna do when Polly comes back here?’

  ‘She won’t,’ Dominic said.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  Harker got to his feet, slapping his hands on his thighs.

  ‘Dominic knew all about it, remember,’ he said. ‘Sendin’ Polly here was all Dominic’s idea in the first place. Right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Dominic.

  ‘Dom’s got everything under control.’

  ‘That I have,’ said Dominic.

  ‘Includin’ my daughter, his wife.’

  ‘God Almighty!’ Johnny said. ‘What a soddin’ mess this is turnin’ out to be. I don’t know if I wanna be part of it any more.’

  ‘Too late now, Flinty,’ said Harker.

  * * *

  ‘Bernard, for God’s sake, will you calm down,’ Tony Lombard said.

  ‘Calm down!’ Bernard shouted. ‘Calm bloody down!’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Hasn’t it?’ Bernard stormed. ‘It’s got a lot to do with me. I’m the mug arranged the lease on this place. My signature’s on the documents.’

  ‘Burn them then,’ said Tony. ‘Get rid of them.’

  ‘Bit bloody late for that, isn’t it?’ Bernard would not be placated. ‘So this is what it’s all about, is it? Coining? Who the hell’s he?’

  ‘Mah name’s Dougie.’

  ‘He’s the printer, I suppose?’ Bernard said.

  ‘Look, why don’t we get out of here. Go over to the farm an’ have coffee.’

  ‘I don’t want coffee. I want explanations.’

  Dougie plucked the tabby from the straw and held her close against his chest as if he feared that Bernard would do her harm. Penny appeared on the stairs. She had been caught out and had flung on her clothes and a weird-looking turban. She knew who Bernard was but not his position in the Manone hierarchy and consequently let Tony do the talking.

  ‘Is Dominic not here?’ Bernard said.

  ‘No, you might be able to catch him at the warehouse.’

  ‘What about Conway, or Harker, or whatever the hell he calls himself?’

  ‘Conway?’ Tony said. ‘You don’t mean Frank Conway?’

  ‘I do mean Frank Conway,’ Bernard said. ‘The bastard wasn’t dead apparently. Now he’s back in Glasgow and in cahoots with Dominic and between them they’re wrecking my marriage.’

  Tony spun round and grabbed Penny before she could retreat down the staircase. ‘Is this true? Is Harker Polly’s father? Is he really Frank Conway?’

  She had known all along that Eddie had another identity. He’d emerged wounded from the trenches – had deserted, in fact – had stolen another man’s name before he’d sought refuge with Carlo Manone in Philadelphia. What hold Eddie had over Carlo Manone was just one more mystery.

  She said, ‘I think it may be so.’

  Tony turned to Bernard once more. ‘Does Polly know her old man’s come back from the dead?’

  ‘Dominic kept it from her, kept it from all of us, in fact.’

  ‘Can’t blame him,’ Tony Lombard said. ‘I’d have done the same.’

  ‘Because you’re all tarred with the same brush,’ said Bernard.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Eye-ties, traitors.’

  Tony bristled. ‘Hang on just a damned minute…’

  ‘Not only traitors – cowards.’

  The girl caught Tony’s sleeve before he could throw a punch. He wrestled with her and broke her grip but the split second’s delay brought his temper under control. He mustn’t allow the guy to rile him. He had spent the night in bed with Penny and on hearing Bernard Peabody’s voice he’d suffered a massive fit of guilt at betraying Polly. There was something about Peabody that he both feared and admired, like the sanctity of priests or the chastity of nuns.

  ‘Tony, he did not mean it,’ Penny Weston said.

  ‘Oh, but I did.’ Bernard jerked a thumb. ‘Is that who you’re making this counterfeit stuff for, the Italians?’

  ‘No, it’s just money,’ Tony said, ‘just business.’

  ‘God, doesn’t he have enough? Does Dominic have to risk his neck and Polly’s happiness by making even more.’ Bernard blew out a long breath. ‘Does this contraption actually work?’

  ‘Yep,’ Tony answered, warily.

  ‘Can it print anything else besides English fivers?’

  ‘Like what?’ said Tony.

  ‘Lira, Deutschmarks, Yankee dollars?’

  ‘Give us a break, mister,’ Dougie said.

  ‘Listen,’ Tony said, ‘if you want in on it, just ask Dominic. There’s plenty to go around.’

  ‘I don’t want any of his dirty money,’ Bernard said. ‘I just want to get my hands on Frank Conway. I want rid of him.’

  ‘Rid of him?’ the girl said in a strange, shrill voice.

  ‘I want him out of the country before he does any more damage to my girls.’

  ‘I don’t care what you do to Harker,’ Tony said, ‘but leave Polly out of it.’

  ‘I’m not that concerned about Polly. It’s Rosie I worry about.’

  Tony had never understood men like Bernard Peabody, war veterans, hard-working, dependable, m
odest guys. In his younger days he’d thought of them as mugs and suckers until Dominic had taught him otherwise.

  He watched Bernard lift another spoiled sheet from the floor.

  It had been careless of him to sleep late, not guard the stable, keep watch on the track. Wardens, special constables and do-gooding patriots were everywhere these days. Only a matter of time before some nosy parker made his way up the track to Blackstone. Careless, he’d been careless. He had Penny to thank – or blame – for that. All he really wanted was Polly, Polly and a little hard cash.

  ‘How good are these?’ Bernard asked.

  ‘Good,’ Dougie told him. ‘As good as the real thing.’

  ‘How did Dominic come by the plates?’

  ‘Bernard,’ Tony said, ‘the less you know the better.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Bernard shook the printed sheet from his fingertips. ‘I’ve no desire to get involved in this dirty business.’

  ‘You will tell no one what you have seen here, will you?’ Penny said.

  Bernard shook his head. ‘All I want is Conway, or Harker, or whatever he calls himself now. I just want that bastard out of our hair once and for all.’

  ‘What will the girls have to say to that?’ Tony asked.

  ‘They’ll thank me for it.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘In the long run,’ Bernard said, ‘I’m certain they will.’

  * * *

  ‘Are you tellin’ me,’ said Lizzie, ‘you knew he was here in Glasgow?’

  Polly shook her head. ‘No, Mammy, I had no idea who he was when Babs and I bumped into him.’

  ‘She had a feelin’, though,’ Babs put in. ‘Didn’t you, honey?’

  ‘Yes, yes I did.’

  ‘What sort o’ feelin’?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Strange, as if we’d met before.’

  ‘Well, you had,’ said Lizzie. ‘A long, long time ago. He held you in his arms when you were a babby. Used t’ take you round to the Rowing Club to show you off. He was awful proud o’ you.’

  ‘Proud, was he?’ Babs said. ‘Well, he’d a bloody funny way o’ showin’ it.’