Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child

by Harry Bowling

  The bookmaker stared at Frank’s sweating face for a few moments and then he nodded. ‘Go ahead, make the phone call,’ he said quietly.

  Frank picked the phone up in his shaking hand and dialled a number quickly. ‘Hello, is that you, Peggy? Peggy, look, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m in a bit of a fix. No, it’s nothing serious. I’ve got a bit of a financial problem. I can’t talk over the phone. Yes, I will. No, I can’t wait until this evening. I need to see you now. All right, in one hour. ’Bye, Peggy.’

  Alan got up and stretched leisurely. ‘That sounds encouraging. Now listen, Frank,’ he said with emphasis. ‘I’ll be back in this office at five sharp, and you’d better be here, with the money. I prefer not to spell out the alternative. I’m inclined to have a weak stomach where such matters are concerned. Anyway, I know you won’t let me down, because if you do, your yard, office and transport will be burned, and you’ll be in no fit state to travel far, certainly not to that lovely wife of yours. By the way, how is Bella? Keeping fit and well, I hope.’

  Frank looked down at the floor. ‘She’s well,’ he mumbled.

  Alan Wichello turned on his heel and walked to the door. ‘See you at five sharp,’ he said with a smile.

  Maurice Salter got dressed hurriedly while his three daughters stood together on the landing, and when he came out of his bedroom tucking his collarless shirt into his trousers, they berated him.

  ‘Yer wouldn’t listen, would yer?’ Brenda hissed at him.

  ‘We said yer shouldn’t ’ave broadcast it,’ Barbara growled.

  ‘Yer’d better get yer finkin’ cap on, or you’ll be in trouble this time,’ Lily warned him.

  Maurice looked serious as he hurried down the stairs and walked into the parlour. ‘Morning, gents. Nice day,’ he said with as much gusto as he could muster.

  The two American military men stood up and nodded to him. ‘We’ve been entertained by your cute daughters,’ the shorter of the two said. ‘You’re a lucky man.’

  Maurice grinned. ‘They keep me on me toes, that’s fer sure,’ he replied, glaring briefly at Brenda.

  ‘Mr Salter, I understand from talking to your daughters that they were walking out with Army Air Force personnel from Uxbridge, is that correct?’

  ‘If they say so,’ Maurice replied.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ the taller man asked.

  Maurice plunged his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked forward on his toes. ‘Fer a start, I don’t allow no boy friends in this ’ouse while I’m workin’, pal,’ he said. ‘Now, I work awkward hours, like two ter ten an’ ten ter two. Sometimes I do a split shift an’ ovver times I do a double shift. I do roll-over shifts an’ early shifts on a spread-over, so yer see I ain’t at ’ome much, unless I do a two-week roller. D’yer get me meanin’?’

  The two officers looked at each other with puzzled frowns on their faces.

  ‘I think we understand,’ the shorter of the two replied hesitantly. ‘But to come to the point. There’s been a spate of filching going on at the base and we’re the appointed investigative officers.’

  ‘Go on,’ Maurice said, taking his hands out of his pockets and folding his arms.

  The tall officer took out a notepad from his breast pocket and consulted it for a few moments. ‘Corporal Hiram T. Doppelheimer, Private first class James McKinny, and Master Sergeant Thomas Kanetsky. Do those names mean anything to you?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t ask me, I didn’t go out wiv ’em,’ Maurice said sharply.

  ‘No, but your daughters did,’ the officer said quickly.

  ‘Gels, come in ’ere,’ Maurice ordered. ‘You ’eard those names. Was those the fellas yer went out wiv?’

  The three nodded sheepishly and Lily pushed her way to the front.

  ‘’Ave they bin wounded?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘They’ll most likely be shot when we catch up with them,’ the tall officer replied. ‘They’ve been running a very lucrative business in silk stockings and other items. Did they ever offer you ladies silk stockings or lingerie in large quantities?’

  Lily looked at her sisters and then at the two American officers. ‘James offered me a pair o’ silk stockin’s once, but I wouldn’t accept ’em,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh, and why not?’

  ‘’Cos ’e wanted ter put ’em on me,’ Lily said indignantly.

  ‘No mention of sales?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Certainly not,’ Brenda cut in.

  ‘’Ere, wait a minute,’ Maurice butted in. ‘Why ’ave yer come ter see us? Yer don’t fink we’d get involved in anyfing dodgy, do yer?’

  ‘Well, we got your address from the post room,’ the shorter officer said. ‘There are letters from your daughters addressed to those three sons of bitches waiting to be re-routed to the front. We have to follow up any leads, you understand.’

  ‘’Ere, as a matter of interest, ’ow much did they get away wiv?’ Maurice asked.

  ‘It must run into thousands of dollars,’ the short one replied.

  ‘Good Gawd!’ Maurice exclaimed. ‘Well, I ’ope yer catch’em soon, or they’ll end up drainin’ yer dry. I’m sorry I can’t ask yer ter stay fer a bite, I’m just goin’ on me spread-over shift an’ it starts at nine most evenin’s, unless it comes on a short month, then we get what they call a doubler, that’s except Christmas Day and Good Friday. Yer know what I mean.’

  The two officers stepped out into the fresh air with a sigh of relief, and as they started off along the street with their heads buzzing, Mrs Haggerty came up, ‘ ’Ere, ’ave you brought the silk stockin’s?’ she asked them.

  Maurice pulled terrible faces at her behind the officers’ backs, trying to attract her attention, and when he finally caught her eye he drew his finger across his throat.

  ‘Who’s been selling silk stockings around here then, lady?’ the tall officer asked her.

  Mrs Haggerty had been married to a chancer for years and she had learned to be quick with an answer whenever the police called at her door. Maurice’s frantic signalling was more than sufficient to put her on guard.

  ‘Well, as a matter o’ fact I see the pips on yer shoulders,’ she began tactfully. ‘So I ses ter meself, Ginny, I ses, them blokes are American officers. Now, we don’t get many officers round these parts, yer understand. Anyway, I ses ter meself, Ginny, I ses, I bet them blokes is givin’ stockin’s away.’

  ‘And what makes you think we’d be giving silk stockings away?’ the short officer asked.

  ‘Well, that’s what the ovver American soldiers said,’ Ginny Haggerty replied.

  ‘What soldiers?’

  ‘Those ones who’ve bin walkin’ out wiv the Salter gels.’

  ‘What exactly did they say?’

  ‘They said that only the officers get silk stockin’s an’ they ’ad ter put up wiv sticks o’ chewin’ gum,’ Ginny replied. ‘I don’t fink it’s fair. After all, yer all in the war tergevver, same as our fellas are. ’Ere, by the way, are yer goin’ over ter France like the rest of ’em?’

  The two officers exchanged sharp looks and hurried off along the street. When they reached their Jeep in Jamaica Road, the taller of the two jumped in and leaned over the shoulder of the driver. ‘Let’s get the hell outta here,’ he said urgently. ‘The whole street’s suffering from battle fatigue.’

  Chapter Forty

  Peggy Harrison felt no pity or warmth of any kind as she sat listening to Frank Galloway’s pleadings, only a cold anger welling up inside her. There was nothing left, only contempt for the man who had used her, and she shook her head firmly. ‘No, Frank. I won’t. I’ve come to your aid more than once, but enough’s enough,’ she told him.

  ‘But, Peggy, there’s no one else I can turn to. You’re my last chance,’ he begged. ‘Those men will do for me, as sure as I’m sitting here.’

  Peggy would not be moved. ‘You should have thought of that before now,’ she countered. ‘I begged you to give up that gambling. I told you it woul
d be the finish of you, of us, but you wouldn’t listen. No, Frank, I won’t lend you another penny.’

  Frank got up from his chair and went over to her as she stood by the fireplace, putting his arms out to her.

  ‘No, Frank, I’m adamant,’ she said firmly, backing away from his grasp. ‘You’ll get no more help from me. I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to. Theo’s money’s all gone. There’s just my monthly income, and it’s barely enough as it is.’

  Frank lurched forward, beads of perspiration standing out on his flushed face. He took her roughly by the shoulders and shook her. ‘You must help me or I’m dead. Can’t you understand?’ he cried, his voice rising hysterically.

  ‘And can’t you understand? I’ve no money to give you,’ Peggy shouted at him, turning her head away from his sour breath.

  ‘What about that jewellery?’ he said, his voice pleading. ‘There’s that necklace I gave you, and the ring. I’m desperate, Peggy, can’t you see?’

  He held her tightly against him in his helplessness, and she felt nothing but a faint disgust. He had been so romantic once, so good to be with, but there was nothing left now. He had slowly killed all the love she had for him by his treatment of her, his cheating and lying. All the promises of going away together, all the oaths swearing undying love for her and her alone were just empty words, spoken on the wind and now blown away for ever. He had changed so much; his hysterical behaviour left her feeling dead inside.

  ‘Take the necklace,’ she said angrily as she ripped it from round her neck. ‘Take the ring,’ throwing it at him as he backed away from her.

  Frank went down on his hands and knees, mumbling to himself as he fumbled for the small gold band.

  ‘Now get out!’ she cried, fighting back angry tears. ‘I never want to see you again, not ever.’

  Frank climbed to his feet, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment he stood staring at her, then he turned and hurried out of the house, staggering down the front steps and wincing as the constant pounding in his head increased in intensity. He collided with a young woman in the street, bundling her against the railings as he dashed past without a word of apology. They were all deserting him, like rats leaving a sinking ship. Well, he would not founder. He’d show the lot of them, he told himself as he stopped and leaned against the railings to catch his breath.

  ‘Are you all right?’ a voice called out to him.

  He released his grip on the cold iron and glared at the old man who stood looking at him with concern. ‘Of course I’m all right,’ he said quickly. ‘They want me to go under, but I won’t, you’ll see. I saw the picture in the paper and I could tell they were mocking me.’

  The old man turned away, feeling sad for the wild-eyed stranger who was evidently yet another uncounted victim of the war.

  Frank hurried on, his tortured brain aware that time was fast running out for him. They would be waiting back at the office, but not for long. They were sure to come looking for him and exact their revenge. He must hide. He must find some secure place where he would be safe from them, with someone who would watch out for him and tend his needs. But where, with whom?

  The clattering tram gave him the answer as it passed by and he happened to see its rear destination sign: Rotherhithe.

  Sammy McCarthy was whistling happily to himself as he applied the white paint to the rotting windowframe. He had been glad to see the back of that warring family at long last and the ten-shilling note sat comfortably in his trouser pocket as he worked. The new tenants seemed a nice sort of family, and the man had enough spare pennies to pay for a few extra services.

  Sammy put down his brush and wiped his sticky hands on a rag that he took from his back pocket. Time for a break, he thought, grunting as he sat himself down on the front steps of the block and took out his tobacco tin. As he was rolling himself a cigarette, he looked up to see a well-dressed man approaching him.

  ‘I wonder if you can help me,’ Frank Galloway said as he reached the caretaker.

  ‘That depends,’ Sammy replied, drawing on his cigarette and thinking that the man looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘I’m looking for Gloria Simpson,’ Frank said, trying to appear casual despite his anxiety.

  ‘D’yer know ’er?’ Sammy asked suspiciously.

  ‘She’s an old friend, as a matter of fact,’ Frank replied, forcing a smile. ‘I’ve been away on business and I wanted to look her up.’

  ‘I thought I knew the face,’ Sammy said, studying the end of his cigarette.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Frank said, becoming more anxious as the pain in his head started up again.

  ‘You was a client o’ Gloria’s. I remember yer face,’ Sammy said, stroking his chin. ‘Never ferget a face, I don’t. I ’ave ter look out fer the gels, yer know. There’s bin some very funny geezers ’angin’ round ’ere lately.’

  ‘Well, I can assure you Gloria will be glad to see me,’ Frank said, fishing into his trouser pocket and handing the man a ten-shilling note.

  Sammy’s eyes lit up. Business was booming, he thought. Two ten-shilling notes in one day wasn’t bad. ‘Well, in that case yer better go up,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards the block entrance. ‘’Er flat’s on the top floor. It’s all right, she ain’t got a client wiv ’er right now.’

  Frank nodded his thanks and climbed the steep stairs. It was good to get off the street, he thought. It would be good, too, to sit down out of the heat and let the headache pass. Gloria would take care of him, she always did. She wouldn’t hold it against him that he had sent her away from his house rather quickly. After all, it would have been disastrous to let Bella catch her there. She was a good girl, was Gloria. She’d take care of him.

  Frank was puffing hard as he reached the top floor and knocked on the door. His head was pounding again and for a moment he swayed, putting his hand out to steady himself. At that moment the door opened and Gloria stood framed in the opening. Her eyes widened as she saw who it was and she made to close the door on him.

  ‘Don’t, Gloria. I must talk to you,’ he said pleadingly. ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’

  She hesitated, then stood back to let him in.

  ‘Can I sit down for a few minutes?’ he asked her.

  Gloria motioned to the settee without speaking, her eyes fixed intently on him as she noted the fear on his face. For an instant she felt pity, but the incident at his house came flooding back into her mind and she realised that she could be in grave peril.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as he slumped down into the cushions and dropped his head in his hands.

  ‘My life’s in danger,’ he said flatly. ‘There’s a couple of men after me and when they catch up with me they’re going to kill me.’

  ‘What’ve yer done?’ Gloria asked.

  ‘They’re bookmakers and I owe them money,’ Frank told her. ‘I only need a few more days then I can raise the necessary cash. I need a place where I can stay. Somewhere they won’t find me.’

  ‘Well, yer can’t stay ’ere,’ Gloria said quickly. ‘I’ve got a livin’ ter get, an’ besides, I well remember the last time we shared an’ ’ouse.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry I got angry with you then, Gloria, but I was desperate,’ he said. ‘Bella was due home at any time and I had to let you go. Surely you understood?’

  Gloria sat down in the chair opposite and glared at him. ‘I came away wiv more than a few bruises. Yer wounded me pride,’ she told him. ‘I’ve never let a man do that ter me before, an’ I can assure yer I’d never stand it again.’

  ‘I wouldn’t lay a finger on you, believe me,’ Frank implored her.

  ‘Well, yer can’t stay ’ere, unless yer can pay the goin’ rate, an’ I don’t fink yer can,’ she said coldly.

  ‘Don’t send me away, Gloria. Those men’ll kill me for sure, and it’ll be on your head.’

  ‘Oh no. You can’t put that one on me,’ Gloria said angrily. ‘I’m not responsible fer what yer’ve got up to. I didn’t
ask yer ter get in the bookies’ clutches. Now yer’d better go. I’ve got a client comin’ soon.’

  Frank looked at her with wide, glassy eyes and she felt a cold fear run down the length of her spine. She had seen that maniacal look once before, when he attacked her at his house. ‘There’s a caretaker lookin’ after these flats,’ she said quickly. ‘ ’E watches out fer us gels. Any trouble an’ Sammy sorts it out.’

  ‘I won’t make trouble for you, I promise,’ Frank said, holding his hands up in front of him. ‘Just a few days, that’s all I ask.’

  ‘The answer’s still no,’ Gloria said firmly.

  Frank got up slowly from the settee. He could feel the pain in his head getting worse and he ran his fingers through his hair. Sweat lay in beads along his hairline and he was beginning to tremble. A red mist was forming at the edges of his vision and he mouthed a curse. ‘You’re all the same. Take, take, take. Never give, only take. It was mine, do you hear? It was mine, and now they’re laughing at me. I saw them in the paper. Laughing at me, they were. She laughed too, but I stopped her laughing. She won’t laugh any more.’