'Sure, I understand,' she said. 'Gimme a mo', I'll fetch it fer ya.'
'Mind, I can't take no chances,' Marley said. 'It may take a while to get to them yacks.' This was said almost as an aside.
Hannah turned at the door. 'Not too long, Bob. Ikey 'as great expectations.'
Marley frowned and shook his head slowly. 'If I 'as to take chances, make indiscreet enquiries like, that's no good fer me 'ealth! Pigs is everywhere, the Lane's tight as a duck's arse!' He looked over to where Hannah was standing and sighed. '
'Fraid that kind o' haste is gunna cost you forty sovs extra on the down.'
Hannah smiled inwardly, her mind put at rest. She was dealing with the same dead cunning Bob Marley. She was anxious to get the watches and so impress Ikey with her diligence and continuing goodwill towards him. She was not foolish enough to imagine that he would send her his half of the combination after only one such consignment, but her heart had lifted at the opportunity his letter presented. She had high hopes that Ikey must eventually send her the combination to the safe when she pleaded impecuniosity, his debts incurred by his orders having become too large for her to carry any further on her own. Whereupon she would be rid of him forever.
But Hannah had completely underestimated Bob Marley. She'd quickly come to see his attack on her as a show, a token effort to assert his male pride, give her a fright, as he had well succeeded in doing. She didn't think for a moment he would have used the razor. Marley, Hannah felt certain, could always be bought with gold.
She was wrong, however. Marley would have used the razor on her as lightly as he would have smiled. Hannah was unable to see the proud man who despised his fellow villains and thought himself quite different. She did not comprehend that, in his own eyes (and no others counted), she had damaged his reputation and done him irreparable harm. When she'd shifted the blame for betraying Ikey to the police onto him, she had delivered a blow to his pride which could entertain no possible forgiveness. Marley did business only for solid gold, for that is how he saw his reputation. And he always delivered. Hannah had compromised him, and because he always delivered, she would be no exception. The wolf would tear her flesh as well as any other.
Bob Marley made no attempt to locate the whereabouts of the watches stolen from Cheapside, this being much too dangerous. Instead he made directly for a jeweller of his acquaintance in the Haymarket, a Polish Jew by the name of Isaac Isaacson whom Ikey had used regularly when Marley had been his snakesman as a child. It was Isaacson who had moulded and created Marley's two gold teeth and so it came as somewhat of a surprise when his visitor bid him find one hundred mixed watches of brand new quality and all righteously purchased. They haggled at great length to finally reach an agreement of a thirty per cent reduction off the retail price of the proposed consignment.
Bob Marley was about to leave the premises reasonably well satisfied with the negotiations when Isaac Isaacson beckoned him to come closer. He explained in an urgent whisper that he was long owed a certain sum of money for a gold and diamond bracelet sold to a Miss Myrtle Manners, the governess of a well-known brothel in the Strand known appropriately enough as 'Girls with good Manners'. This 'Governess o' whores', he claimed, had flatly refused to pay him the final two instalments, a sum of three hundred pounds, claiming he had overcharged her and pointing out, with the least amount of subtlety, that she enjoyed the special patronage and protection of a senior police officer in the Haymarket watchhouse.
'You can cut, maybe a little, this person, ja?' Isaacson enquired of Bob Marley.
'Most certainly!' Marley replied. 'It'd be me pleasure to be o' service, Mr Isaacson.' He paused and scratched his eyebrow with the tip of his forefinger. 'Though it'll cost ya anuvver ten percent orf the cost o' the yacks. O' course, if ya wants a really nasty acid job, right down a cheekbone, and includin' a little turn o' the blade to slice away the corner o' the gob so it don't fit proper no more, it could be a little extra.'
Isaac Isaacson grew suddenly pale and threw his hands up in alarm. 'No, no! Ten per cent, no more, please, I beg you! A small violence only, if you please!'
Bob Marley grinned. 'Fer ten percent I can do ya a nice little job, Mr Isaacson. Gimme two days. Reckon you'll 'ave the yacks ready by then?'
The jeweller nodded, hunched his shoulders and spread his hands. 'A little cut, no more!' he begged again.
Bob Marley left the Haymarket and made his way to the Hare and Hounds in Rosemary Lane almost directly opposite the Methodist Academy of Light Fingers. He had not long to wait before he observed a boy leave the Academy in an old coat that fell to beyond his knees, the sleeves rolled up to fit his scrawny arms, bare feet showing below ragged trousers. The brat crossed the street to enter the tavern and Marley observed him to be snotnosed, dirty and small, with the pinched, rodent-like features of a street urchin. He appeared to be about ten years old as he placed two pennies down on the counter and ordered a daffy of gin.
'Make that a shant, m'dear!' Marley called to the barmaid.
The barmaid and the urchin both looked up at Marley. 'Suit yerself,' she said, picking up a bigger glass.
'And a double o' yer best brandy, love. I'll pay fer the lad's.'
The boy looked up at Bob Marley. 'You a turd burglar, mister?' he asked, swiftly taking up the two pennies on the counter and dropping them into the pocket of his coat.
Bob Marley enquired if the urchin knew Sparrer Fart.
'Maybe I does and then maybe I doesn't,' the boy replied cheekily.
'Tell 'im I wants to see 'im, two o' the clock termorra, in 'ere. Tell 'im no 'ard feelin's, I wants a job done, Bob Marley wants a job done. Got it?'
The boy nodded.
Marley lifted his head and called to the barmaid. 'Another gin fer the lad, love!' Then he placed a shilling on the counter and without a further glance at the boy he left the tavern.
• • •
Sparrer Fart was waiting for Marley when he entered the Hare and Hounds the following day. He was wearing a slightly battered top hat, coat and breeches all of which fitted him surprisingly well, though his entire outfit, including his shirt, neckerchief and scuffed boots, bore the signs of having been placed upon his tiny body some months previously and not having since been removed for the purposes of laundering. His face seemed also to have missed this opportunity to wash. Sparrer looked somewhat apprehensive as Bob Marley approached, backing into the safety of a group of men standing at the bar and glancing quickly over his shoulder to ascertain the shortest escape route should he have to make a sudden dash for it.
Bob Marley pushed into the group and extended his hand, smiling. 'I oughta beat the livin' shit out of ya, Sparrer!' Sparrer Fart backed away, ready to make a run for it. The barmaid looked at Marley questioningly. 'Brandy, love, the best o' the 'ouse!' Marley turned back to Sparrer, who now stood alone. 'What's your poison, gin is it?' The urchin nodded.
'C'mere, I'm not gunna 'arm ya,' Marley said, walking over to where Sparrer stood. The barmaid brought their drinks over. '
'Ow's the fingers?' Marley enquired. 'Not drinkin' too much is ya? 'Aven't lost yer touch, I most sincerely 'opes?'
Sparrer Fart took the gin the barmaid placed in front of him, then he looked up at Bob Marley, his eyes large, his expression most contrite. 'I'm sorry what I done, Mr Marley,' he said tentatively.
Bob Marley lifted his drink and held it up. 'Cheers! Never say you is sorry, boy! Sorry be the sign o' a weak man!' He up-ended the glass and swallowed its contents in one gulp. 'Ahh! Same again, love!' he shouted to the barmaid.
'I wouldn't 'ave! I swear I didn't know she was gunna shop Ikey!' Sparrer said.
'Course ya didn't! 'Ow much she give ya?'
'Four quid,' Sparrer lied.
'Ya was robbed! Sovs or what?'
Sparrer shook his head. 'Soft. It were good paper though, not fake.'
Marley clucked his tongue. 'Never take no paper money, boy! Gold! Don't never take nuffink else, that is, if ya wants respect.'
/> 'I don't think as I can afford respect what's always gold,' Sparrer said softly, taking a tiny sip from his gin.
'Lemme see yer 'ands. 'Old 'em out, spread yer fingers.'
Sparrer held his hands out and spread his fingers. They were tiny, dirty and beautiful, and they remained perfectly steady.
'Nerves! 'Ow's yer nerves?'
'I'm still the goodest, still the best o' everyone!' Sparrer boasted.
'Oh yeah? 'Ow does I know that?' Bob Marley challenged, amused at Sparrer's confidence.
Sparrer Fart dipped into the side pocket of his jacket and produced Bob Marley's gold hunter, handing the watch back to him.
'Jesus!' Marley exclaimed. He shook his head admiringly. 'Didn't never feel ya touchin' me! You're good, Sparrer, I'll give ya that!'
Sparrer shook his head. 'Nah! If ya was Ikey, he'd o' caught me. We don't get 'nuff trainin' since 'e's gorn away.' He took a sip from his gin and looked up at Bob Marley with big eyes. 'Academy's fucked!'
'You'll do nicely, lad,' Marley said, giving Sparrer's shoulder a comforting squeeze. 'Very nicely.' He explained what he required. 'There's three sovs in it fer ya, plus the worf o' the lift, three sovs in gold, what's got the King's 'ead on it,' he emphasised. He stabbed a finger at Sparrer Fart. 'But mind ya bring me silver, a good 'un!'
• • •
Marley met Sparrer in the Hare and Hounds at ten the following evening. In a leather satchel he carried the one hundred fob watches Isaac Isaacson had obtained for him.
'Well then, lad, 'ow'd ya go?'
Sparrer dug into his pocket and produced a silver hunter which he handed to Bob Marley.
'Like ya said, Mr Marley, not too cheap not too 'spensive, sterlin' silver, worf fifteen sovs new!' Sparrer declared expertly.
Bob Marley examined the watch. 'Jesus, Sparrer, it be monogrammed! Look, J. R., that be the 'nitials o' the cove ya nicked it from!'
Sparrer shrugged. 'Ya didn't say nuffink 'bout that. Do I still get me five sovs then?' he asked hopefully.
Bob Marley counted five gold sovereigns into Sparrer's tiny hand, then added three more.
'Ya done good, lad. I didn't say nuffink 'bout no 'nitials.'
Sparrer looked pleased. He was rich enough to eat and get drunk for a week and sit in on an endless game of cribbage. 'Thanks, Mr Marley, I done me best, sorry I fucked up.'
'Got a yack o' yer own, then?' Bob Marley asked suddenly.
Sparrer shook his head in alarm. 'Too dangerous in me profession! Pigs might find the cove I nicked it from, it'd be the boat fer me, fer sure!'
Bob Marley's hand went into his pocket and produced a handsome nickel-plated fob watch which he placed on the bar counter. Then he pulled out a watch chain and dropped it beside the watch.
'Take it, it be your'n.'
Sparrer looked confused. 'Huh?'
Marley laughed. 'A present, fer yer birfday!'
'I don't 'ave no birfday,' Sparrer said quietly, still bemused. 'Ya didn't nick it, did ya? Cos, if ya nicked it I can't 'ave it.'
'Nah, it were a bonus for doin' a job, a little favour fer a friend like.' He pushed the watch over to Sparrer. 'G'warn, take it, everybody's got a birfday even if they don't know when it be.'
Sparrer picked up the watch in one hand and the chain in the other, appearing to weigh both in his hands. 'I ain't never before seen a new one what's not nicked.'
'Guaranteed, honest to Gawd nab proof that is. Pig come up to ya, ask ya where ya got it, tell 'im it's kosher, Isaac Isaacson o' Drury Lane, "Jeweller to Thespians and Gentlemen, Established 1792"!'
Sparrer's eyes shone as he realised that the watch was safe for him to own. 'Thanks, Mr Marley, thanks a lot!' he said clicking open the lid and looking at the pristine face of the watch. Then he closed it and clipping the watch onto the chain placed it into his fob pocket, looped the chain over his tiny belly and fitted the crossbar at its other end into its appropriate buttonhole. The chain was much too long for his narrow torso and dangled in an arc to below his crutch. 'I never 'ad a watch o' me very own,' Sparrer said excitedly.
'Mazeltov!' Bob Marley said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. 'One good turn deserves anuvver!' He pointed to Sparrer's fob pocket. 'What's the time then?'
Sparrer took the watch from its pocket and expertly clicked it open again. '
'Arf past ten o' the clock,' he said proudly.
'Read what it says,' Marley demanded.
The boy looked up at Bob Marley, then down at the inscription inside the watch cover as though he had seen it for the first time. He touched it lightly with his forefinger tracing the words inscribed into the metal as though by feeling them they might reveal their meaning to him. Bob Marley cleared his throat.
'No, don't read it, Sparrer! Lemme tell ya what it says,' he said quickly, rescuing the urchin. 'I sort o' composed it meself, see. So it be better said than read, knows what I mean?' Bob Marley leaned back as though thinking for a moment. 'It says: "To S. F. – A man's repitashin be more variable than gold! B. M."'
'What's S. F. and B. M. mean?' Sparrer asked.
'S. F. stands fer Sparrer Fart, that bein' you… and B. M., why that's yers truly, the same what's talkin' to ya and whose repitashin be more valiable than gold!'
'Thanks, Mr Marley. ' Sparrer touched the inscription again with his forefinger. 'S. F., eh? Blimey, that be me!'
Marley laughed and pointed to the watch. 'Tempus fugit, that means "Time flies", I gotta scarper.' He threw down what remained of his brandy. 'Ya done good, Sparrer, cheer'o then.'
Sparrer didn't quite know why, but as he watched Bob Marley's back retreat out of the tavern door he wanted to bawl.
At near enough to ten o'clock the following morning, Bob Marley knocked on Hannah's door. Hannah's expression was at once anxious when she saw who it was.
'Bob!' Then she added quickly, but in a whisper, 'You 'asn't got 'em, 'as ya?'
Marley grunted and held up the bag.
Hannah, unable to conceal her excitement, invited him into the parlour. 'Wait, I'll get brandy! 'Ere, sit. 'As ya eaten?' She didn't wait for Marley's reply but left the parlour and moments later appeared with a large biscuit tin, a glass and a bottle of brandy.'
'Elp yerself, love, I'll fetch yer money,' she said, leaving the room once more.
Half an hour after Marley had left the police arrived at Hannah's house with a search warrant, discovered the watches and arrested her on suspicion of obtaining stolen property. She arrived at the watchhouse where she was to be retained overnight to hear that Bob Marley was also being held by the police.
Both of them were arraigned before a magistrate the following morning, Hannah being the first to stand in the prisoner's dock, where she pleaded not guilty. She asked for the clerk of the court to bring her Ikey's letter which she'd caused to be held in evidence. 'See 'ere, yer worship, where it says in me 'usband's letter,' she commenced to read the lines '… "I charge you to send me none but 'righteous' watches and not to touch even one what has been gained 'on the cross'. I shall require these to be of an assortment of nickel plate, sterling silver and gold. I believe these will here obtain up to six times the price of the watches purchased by you on the straight."'
The magistrate read Ikey's letter for himself and then looked up at Hannah. 'Hmm, I see that we shall not have the privilege of supplying your husband with accommodation in one of His Majesty's antipodean hostelries. We can only hope that the Americans may prove more successful at this task, eh, madam?'
Hannah smiled weakly at the judge. 'Yer worship, I 'as always been a good and obedient wife and I would not think to go against me 'usband's wishes and commands.' She dropped her gaze, wringing her hands piteously. 'I's a poor woman with four brats to feed and 'ousework to do.' She looked appealingly at the magistrate. 'What does I know about findin' one 'undred watches what's been nicked?'
'And how do you suppose these watches came into your possession then, madam?' the magistrate asked sternly.
Hannah pointed to B
ob Marley, manacled and seated between two constables in the court. '
'Im! I asks 'im to purchase on be'arf o' me 'usband one 'undred watches what's kosher, what's not nicked, but what's bran' new. 'E said 'e done it, but 'e didn't, did 'e? 'E gorn and got 'em on the cross!' Hannah suddenly clasped her hands together in front of her breasts and burst into tears. 'Oh, what shall become o' me children?' she wailed.
'You may stand down, Mrs Solomon.' The magistrate was not in the least affected by Hannah's tears. 'I shall presently call you to stand before me again.' He nodded at the clerk of the court, who rose from his seat and proclaimed.
'Robert Matthew Marley will take the stand!'
Hannah listened with increasing bemusement as Marley proved conclusively that the watches he'd obtained for her were unencumbered and purchased legitimately. To further support his case the respectable Haymarket jeweller, Isaac Isaacson, appeared as a witness for Marley, showing the number and names of the watches purchased by the accused as matching exactly the wholesaler's invoice. Bob Marley then produced in evidence Isaac Isaacson's own receipt to him. Furthermore, the Crown now admitted that none of the watches matched the serial numbers of those taken in the notorious Cheapside robbery.
The charges against Marley were summarily dismissed and the magistrate called for Hannah to appear before him again, whereupon he commenced to remonstrate severely with her for accusing the said Robert Matthew Marley, a man who had never been before the courts and whose reputation she had needlessly and maliciously impugned.
Hannah protested vehemently. 'Yer worship it were the police! They said them watches was stolen! I 'mediately supposed they was! I supposed that Mr Marley'd gorn an' nicked 'em, 'oping to profit from chargin' me the full price while 'avin' got 'em at a thief's rate!'
'And you did not think to ask Mr Marley for a receipt as proof that he'd made a legitimate purchase as you requested?'
'Yer worship, I were most pleased what Mr Marley 'ad done, knowin' as 'ow I 'ad served me 'usband's request wif promptness and exactitude. I am not accustomed to the ways o' doin' business, bein' a poor woman what knows nuffink about such things as bills and receipts and the general goin's on o' commerce!'
The Potato Factory Page 38
