Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child

by Harry Bowling

  Dougal hummed quietly to himself as he strolled through the dark night and thought about the job in hand. It wouldn’t have been possible to arrange it this way a few weeks ago, he knew. The stumbling block would have been Billy Sullivan the barman. Dougal knew from his informant that the publican had picked a tough, hard man to keep an eye on the pub, a local man who had once been a very good fighter and was well respected by all who knew him. Dougal also knew that it was Billy Sullivan who had stopped the fight and very nearly killed one of the men he had sent to cause trouble at the pub. Things were different now, however. Billy Sullivan did not wait until Terry Gordon returned home, instead he was out of the pub by eleven fifteen, twenty minutes past at the outside, then Patricia put the bolt on the side door and awaited her husband’s double knock.

  Dougal prided himself on his efficiency. The man he had used to keep the outside of the pub under surveillance had been told to make a note of when the local policeman walked past on his beat, as well as any other regular occurrences between closing time and midnight. Things had not worked out too well the last time he plotted against the publican, and there was no margin for error on this occasion. Everything had to be planned down to the last detail.

  Dougal glanced at his wristwatch as he strolled past the Kings Arms. It showed ten minutes to closing time. So far so good, he told himself. No one would be likely to walk out of a pub at that time of the evening and the night was dark. No one would recognise him in this area anyway. He would be able to accomplish what he had set out to do and be off, like a thief in the night.

  He reached the first junction in Jamaica Road; it had taken him just five minutes. Another five minutes in the same direction, then he would turn round and walk back at the same pace towards the Kings Arms. By that reckoning he would reach the opposite side of the road to the pub at ten minutes past the hour, little time to wait, and little time to be noticed, before Sullivan left the place. It was a stroke of good fortune that the barman now left earlier, he thought. His man had told him of the rumours he had heard. It appeared that Sullivan and Patricia had been getting over-friendly towards each other and Terry had become suspicious and warned his barman off. There was a further benefit to be had from such rumours, Dougal thought. If all went well, then Billy Sullivan would be the prime suspect.

  The Scot turned back and walked steadily towards the Kings Arms. When he arrived at nine minutes past eleven he could see the two pensioners still chatting away. ‘They’re late, why don’t they shove off?’ he cursed aloud. As if hearing him, the two old men turned and began to walk away from the pub, and then five minutes later Billy Sullivan emerged from the side door which led out into Page Street and walked briskly away down the turning.

  Now, thought Dougal. There must be no slip-ups. This time it was for real.

  His two knocks were answered by Patricia, and when she saw him and tried to scream he stifled her with his large hand over her mouth. He leaned back against the door to close it then took the heavy service revolver from his overcoat pocket and pressed the barrel against her temple. ‘I’m ganna take my hand away from ye mouth, woman, an’ if ye utter a sound I’ll kill ye where ye stand. Understood?’

  Icy fingers of fear grasped her insides and Patricia nodded in panic. Dougal put his face closer to hers as he held the gun against her head. ‘I’m serious, lassie, so be warned,’ he snarled.

  She nodded again with terror in her eyes, staring at the revolver held in his large fist.

  ‘Right then, put the bolts on,’ he commanded.

  Patricia knew Dougal only too well. He had a sadistic streak to his nature, and she had been on the receiving end of it more than once in the past. Her mind was racing. He was out to kill Terry, and her too, she had no doubt. What could she do? She must warn her husband somehow.

  Dougal’s cold eyes dared her to resist him as she slid the bottom bolt first then reached up to slide the top bolt, her body between him and the door. Her free hand made a short movement before Dougal spun her round roughly and backed her along the short passageway into the small room which divided the two bars.

  ‘Sit down and be quiet,’ he ordered.

  ‘What d’yer want wiv us, Dougal? We’ve not ’armed yer,’ she said, her voice shaking with fear.

  ‘That scum of a husband took ye from me,’ Dougal hissed. ‘Not content with that, he’s after fixing young Bruce. I’m on to him though, lassie, be sure o’ that. I’ve got a present for that no-good scum-bag o’ yours. He’ll get it right between the eyes,’ he snarled, waving the revolver inches away from her terrified face.

  ‘Terry’s workin’ wiv Bruce, not against ’im,’ she cried. ‘Go an’ talk ter yer bruvver, ’e’ll tell yer.’

  ‘Bruce always had a soft spot for that Sassenach,’ Dougal growled. ‘He’s been took in, but I’m not. I can see through it all. Bruce’ll come to thank me one day.’

  Patricia sat rigid in the armchair. Maybe there was a chance to catch Dougal off guard and run for it, she thought, but there would be no time to slide the bolts before he reached her. Her eye caught the large glass ashtray on the table. Maybe she could stun him, just long enough for her to reach the street. It was a slim chance but better than waiting for Terry to walk into a bullet.

  Dougal had noticed her glance. ‘Sit back in that chair,’ he grated, pulling the other armchair round until it was between her and the open door of the small room. ‘We won’t have long to wait, so let’s spend a few minutes talking about us,’ he said quietly.

  Josiah Dawson was beginning to feel at home being the street’s warden. Most of the folk in the turning knew him and nearly everyone passed the time of day, or in his case the time of evening, as he went about his business. He had been careful not to antagonise the more volatile tenants with his requests for them to keep within the blackout regulations, and he had come to terms with his problem of talking to people. He had tried hard, and now his range extended a little further than the basic grunts he once made to get away quickly. He had even engaged Sadie and Maisie in polite conversation on more than one occasion recently, and as he prepared to do his rounds he felt in control.

  ‘Try not ter be too late, there’s a dear,’ Dolly told him. ‘I’ve got a nice pot o’ soup simmerin’ over the gas.’

  Josiah whistled to himself as he walked along Page Street, but as he passed the Salter residence he scowled. How could a clown like Maurice Salter sire such beautiful daughters? he pondered. But then he and Dolly had sired Wallace, and there was nothing wrong with him and Dolly. ‘It must be the luck of the draw,’ he concluded aloud.

  As Josiah neared the Kings Arms he spotted a glimmer of light showing through the thick glass portlight in the top of the side door. It was unlike the Gordons to be so careless, he thought. Well, they’d have to be told just like everyone else. The warden hoisted his gas mask and helmet higher onto his shoulder as he stopped at the door of the pub, preparing his few civil words of warning.

  Inside, Patricia was fighting back her tears. ‘I’ve bin on ter Terry ter get away from it all,’ she faltered. ‘Why can’t yer leave us alone? We’ll move away an’ be no trouble to you or yer family.’

  ‘It’s too late for that,’ Dougal growled, his cold eyes glaring at her.

  The gentle double tap on the door galvanised the Scot into action and he motioned to Patricia with his revolver. ‘Remember, lassie, I’m right behind ye. One wrong move and ye’ll get it first, understood?’

  Patricia’s heart was pounding. The tap on the door was not Terry’s. He always knocked firmly. She could feel the gun in her back as she walked fearfully to the front door and reached for the bolts, hoping against hope that the purposely displaced blackout curtain had caused Josiah or the local bobbie to investigate. She opened the door and saw the street warden standing there, and the look of disbelief on his wide face as he caught sight of Dougal standing behind her.

  ‘Good Gawd! I don’t believe it! I jus’ don’t believe it,’ Josiah cried. ‘Dougal McKenzie.
What the bloody ’ell are you doin’ round these parts?’

  Dougal had been caught off balance by the sight of Josiah standing in the doorway. ‘Just a friendly call, we’re old acquaintances,’ he said awkwardly.

  Patricia suddenly moved sideways, her back slamming against the passage wall. ‘Mind! ’E’s got a gun!’ she cried out.

  Dougal stood facing the heavier man, not knowing what to do next, and the street warden shuffled his feet, his face suddenly wreathed in a stupid grin.

  ‘What the bloody ’ell’s goin’ on ’ere?’ Josiah asked.

  Dougal made to push his way past him and into the street but the warden’s large hand pressed against his chest. ‘Is ’e troublin’ yer, gel? Dougal was always troublin’ somebody,’ he growled. ‘’E was the same on the Moor. Tried it on me once, ’e did, till I put ’im in ’is place.’

  Dougal’s hand came up and the revolver was pointing in Josiah’s face. ‘Move out of me way, Dawson, or I’ll use this,’ he snarled.

  Patricia slipped forward on a dead faint and as Dougal flinched, Josiah grabbed the gun with one hand, forcing it upwards and away from him and at the same time threw a punch from his shoulder with the other hand. The blow caught Dougal under the chin, snapping his head backwards. The gun went off, sending ceiling plaster crashing down as the Scot sagged. Josiah had a firm grip on the gun now and his strength was too much for the ageing villain. Soon Josiah had wrenched the gun free and another carefully placed blow with his clenched fist sent Dougal onto his back, his head slamming against the lino-covered floorboards.

  Suddenly people were at their front doors having heard the blast of the gun. Albert Lockwood came hurrying over with an overcoat thrown over his pyjamas. ‘What’s goin’ on?’ he shouted.

  ‘Phone the police,’ Josiah ordered, feeling very important at that minute as he stood over the supine Dougal, one foot resting on the mobster’s chest.

  As Albert hurried back to his shop, a taxi pulled up in the turning and Terry Gordon stepped down, his face going white as he saw the commotion and then spotted his wife lying in the doorway. ‘Oh my Gawd!’ he cried out.

  ‘She’s jus’ fainted, she’ll be all right,’ Josiah said reassuringly. ‘We’ve ’ad a spot o’ trouble ’ere wiv the blackout ternight, but it’s all under control.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  The cold winter slowly gave way to a warm spring, and with it came the early flowers blossoming in window boxes and in back-yard tubs. By May the sky was usually blue, with high drifting clouds and light refreshing breezes which carried away the smells of the factories, the river mud and the spice wharves. Council water carts soaked the dry backstreets and children played hopscotch and knock-down-ginger, missing their young friends who had been taken away to less dangerous surroundings. Women stood on doorsteps discussing the mild weather, Germany’s invasion of Denmark and Norway, and Maurice Salter.

  ‘I say good luck ter the bloke,’ Maisie remarked. ‘After all, the man’s bin on ’is own fer a lot o’ years an’ ’e’s brought them gels up a treat. Credit to ’im, they are.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ Sadie replied, ‘but the woman’s already got an ole man.’

  ‘Be honest, Sadie, when was the last time yer saw ’im?’ Maisie snorted. ‘All right, I know the feller’s in the merchant navy, but I fink they’ve split up anyway.’

  Sadie tucked her hands into the armholes of her flowered apron. ‘P’raps yer right,’ she replied. ‘I can ’ardly remember what the bloke looks like. I know ’e ’ad a mop o’ ginger ’air.’

  ‘Well, I say good luck ter the both of ’em,’ Maisie persisted. ‘After all, yer gotta take yer pleasures while you can. None of us knows what’s in front of us.’

  Sadie sighed deeply. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve ’ad any pleasures, Mais. It takes my Daniel all ’is time ter get up in the mornin’ these days. Mind you, ’e’s bin a good ’un. Never shied away from work, when it was goin’. Trouble was, there never was enough of it. Still, we managed ter bring our tribe up. All nicely settled they are, but I still worry about my Billy. ’E’s missin’ Annie an’ the kids.’

  ‘Is Billy still workin’ at that barman’s job?’ Maisie asked.

  ‘Yeah, ’e’s still there,’ Sadie replied. ‘I’ve lost count o’ the times I ’eard ’im say ’e’s gonna pack it in. I ’ope ’e ain’t got ’is eye on that landlady. Yer know what men are like. Can’t be on their own fer more than a few weeks.’

  ‘They’re not all the same,’ Maisie countered. ‘Maurice Salter ain’t bin walkin’ out wiv anybody before this one, not ter my knowledge.’

  ‘’Ow would you know?’ Sadie said sharply. ‘The Salters ain’t bin livin’ in the street more than five minutes.’

  ‘Dolly Dawson told me that Maurice wouldn’t look at anuvver woman after ’is wife died,’ Maisie replied. ‘Dolly used ter live near the Salters.’

  Sadie sniffed contemptuously. ‘I should’t take all she says fer gospel, Mais. The woman does go on a bit, an’ since ’er ole man got ’is name in the paper fer that turn-out at the Kings Arms, she’s bin struttin’ around like a bloody peacock in season.’

  Maisie merely nodded. She had always found Dolly to be a very friendly soul who would do anyone a good turn. Dolly had a lot to put up with, she thought. Wallace was constantly causing her problems and the poor woman had been very upset when he walked out of his job. Sadie Sullivan was getting bitter in her old age.

  ‘Well, I’d better get meself indoors,’ Sadie said. ‘There’s a pile o’ washin’ waitin’ ter go in the copper an’ ’e’ll be wantin’ ’is tea.’

  Maisie smiled her goodbye and Sadie went into her parlour. She flopped down in the comfortable armchair to rest her feet on the fender. ‘Maisie Dougall’s gettin’ more and more gullible in’er old age,’ she said to herself.

  On Friday evening there was a family gathering at the transport yard in Salmon Lane. Carrie was in the scullery with Danny’s wife, brewing tea, while the men sat together in the parlour with Nellie who was busy working on a piece of embroidery. Billy Sullivan was there too. He had been invited along by Danny who was well aware of his friend’s painful loneliness.

  ‘So what d’yer reckon’s gonna ’appen now, Billy?’ Joe asked.

  Billy shrugged his shoulders. ‘That turn-out wiv Dougal was a blessin’ in disguise,’ he replied. ‘Apparently there’s a lot o’ reporters sniffin’ around at the Elephant an’ Castle an’ everybody’s stayin’ quiet till it cools off a bit. Terry don’t say much these days but I reckon ’im an’ ’is wife are gonna get out o’ the pub soon as they can. I’ve ’eard a few words dropped ’ere an’ there.’

  ‘I thought you was gonna get out yerself before now,’ Danny cut in, winking quickly at Joe.

  ‘Terry asked me ter stay on fer a while longer,’ Billy replied, looking a little embarrassed. ‘’E was worried about anuvver visit.’

  ‘From what yer’ve told me, I’d say that bloke’s asked fer trouble,’ Danny said plainly. ‘’E can’t expect you ter keep the peace. If they come round mob-’anded, yer’d be in the shite.’

  ‘Well, I don’t expect it ter be fer much longer,’ Billy replied.

  The ladies came into the parlour, Carrie carrying the tea tray and Iris the sandwiches, and for a while the affairs of the Kings Arms were forgotten. The conversation turned to Rachel, and Carrie’s face brightened. ‘We got a letter yesterday from ’er,’ she said. ‘She’s nearly finished ’er trainin’ an’ then she’s bein’ posted. We expect ’er ’ome in a week or two.’

  ‘’Ow does she seem?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Well, it’s ’ard ter tell,’ Carrie replied, ‘but she’s bin to a few dances at the camp. I fink she’s slowly comin’ ter terms wiv losin’ Derek.’

  Danny smiled fondly as he looked up at the mantelshelf and saw Rachel’s photo. ‘I’ll always remember that night we ’ad that do fer Ellie Roffey at the gymnasium,’ he said. ‘Rachel looked really beautiful in that green d
ress wiv ’er ’air piled up on top of’er ’ead. I remember all the lads was fallin’ over themselves ter get a dance wiv ’er. Christ, it seems years ago.’

  Carrie nodded. ‘She’s all grown up now, Danny. I’m dyin’ ter see ’er again. I do ’ope she’s gonna be all right.’

  Joe slipped his arm round Carrie’s shoulders. ‘She’s gonna be fine,’ he said quietly. ‘She’ll meet someone else pretty soon, mark my words.’

  Billy was staring at Nellie’s nimble fingers as they worked at the embroidery, his thoughts far away. Annie’s last letter had intimated that she was thinking of returning to London if things remained quiet. He had a momentary feeling of elation at the thought of her sharing his bed once more, but in his heart he knew that it would be a mistake for her to come back now. The war was going badly and he felt that it would only be a short time before London and the other big cities were bombed. He had talked about it to Danny and he had said that he was thinking of persuading Iris to get out of London with the children.