“Will he be able to get the boy out of Ireland?”
“ ’E’ll be able to get ’im a passport, probably American. ’E ’as contacts. It’ll take a few days, but with a passport ’e’ll get the kid out.”
Rossett took another drink and tapped his lit cigarette against the side of his glass. Chivers watched him and then leaned in close.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to drop you in it. I like the kid. I like you. I just ’ad to do what I ’ad to do. You understand? I’m tryin’ to get by, tryin’ to survive. This ain’t easy, the way I live.” Chivers shook his head sadly before continuing. “I’m up to my eyes in shit, shit from the Germans, shit from the resistance, shit from me missus. I’m just tryin’ to survive, do you know what I mean?”
“We’re square for now, but do it again and you’ll be sorry. Understand?” Rossett looked at Chivers, who nodded back.
“Yeah, I understand.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes before a shadow appeared at the door and the flat knock-knock of a fist echoed round the pub, which fell silent as the barmaid crossed the floor and pulled back the bolt.
Rossett watched the big man behind the door drop his hands out of sight as he waited to see who came in. The barmaid stepped back and a tiny figure followed by two hulking dockers entered the bar. Chivers nudged Rossett’s leg under the table.
“That’s him, the little fella.”
The tiny figure patted the barmaid on the behind as she passed him and the three men followed her to the bar. The murmur of voices resumed and Rossett watched as the men took their drinks and looked around the pub. Rossett wasn’t fooled by the seemingly relaxed nature of the group. He knew he was being sized up, so he attempted to affect an air of relaxed disinterest, taking another sip from his pint and occasionally flicking his cigarette with his thumb.
He knew he was a bad actor, but realized Chivers was worse as soon as the old man pretended to take a drink from his empty glass and then gave a hearty “aah” of satisfaction.
Eventually, the three men broke from the bar and headed toward Rossett and Chivers.
Flanagan sat down opposite Rossett at the small round table while the two other men pulled up seats behind their boss. Flanagan took a drink from his pint and then gestured to the empty glass on the table in front of him.
“Could I get you fellas a pint?” he said with a hard Northern Irish accent. Although the question was friendly, the tone wasn’t.
“No,” said Rossett.
“Yes,” said Chivers.
“I should have known better than to ask you, George. Here, get these fellas a pint now,” Flanagan said without looking around, and the younger of his two lads stood up and went to the bar. Rossett looked at the remaining heavy, who stared back, dead-eyed like a shark, sipping at his beer and licking the thick mustache that was asleep on his top lip.
“How’ve you been keeping then, George?” Flanagan asked.
“Not too bad, Pat. Duckin’ and divin’, you know ’ow it is.”
“Ducking and diving, you say? I heard the only thing you’ve been ducking is Sterling’s boys.”
“We ’ad a misunderstandin’, that’s all.”
“I heard there was a misunderstanding down the timber yard, as well.” Flanagan looked at Rossett as he said this and Rossett stared back, giving nothing away, although he felt sure that there were no secrets left around the table, and that Flanagan knew all there was to know.
“Was there? I’ve not been around, Pat.” Chivers bluffed it and failed badly, his quavering voice giving the game away.
Flanagan chuckled and took a sip of his drink, and the three of them sat in silence until the younger heavy returned with two pints and three glasses of whiskey on a tray. He placed each of the drinks down without speaking and then resumed his seat behind his boss, putting the tray on the floor.
Rossett looked at the whiskey and made a silent vow not to drink it. The vow lasted for less than three seconds. Flanagan picked up his drink and held the glass up.
“To old friends and new friends,” he said. Chivers picked up his glass and chinked it against Flanagan’s, then looked at Rossett, waiting for him to join the toast. Rossett frowned, picked up the whiskey, and chinked his glass against the others, and all three men took a drink.
The whiskey was harsh, and Rossett grimaced and twisted his head on his burning throat before putting down the glass and reaffirming his oath to not drink anymore. This time, he meant it.
“So, what is it you’re after, George?” Flanagan sat back and clasped his tiny hands on the table in front of him, adopting the pose of a bank manager chatting to a customer.
“My friend John here needs something taken out of the country.”
“Would that be the Jew?” Flanagan turned to look at Rossett, who suddenly felt less assured than he had a few moments earlier. The little Irishman smiled at Rossett, baring pearly white teeth that looked slightly too large for the face they sat in. “Oh, sure now, there’s no secrets round here, Detective Sergeant Rossett. We’re old friends, you and me, from before the war. Do you not remember?”
Rossett dropped his hands into his lap and regretted putting the Webley in the small of his back. The closeness of his chair to the wall would make drawing the pistol difficult; he’d have to push the table over with one hand while reaching for the gun with the other. He eyed the two men behind Flanagan and saw they too had dropped their hands out of sight.
The odds weren’t good.
“I don’t recall us meeting,” he said.
“Sure now, and why would you? It was a long time ago, water under the bridge,” Flanagan replied, waving his hand to assure Rossett.
It didn’t work.
Chivers looked from Flanagan to Rossett and back again. Rossett stared at the little Irishman and a dim flicker of recognition stirred in his memory of an arrest a long time ago, back in his beat days at Wapping.
“I think I remember, was it theft?”
“Money with menaces. There were no charges, and you played a fair hand, Detective Sergeant. I’m sure we’re among friends now.”
Rossett remembered there had been rumors of a crew of Irishmen demanding protection money from local businesses. Rossett had stumbled across a beating being handed down one evening at a shop near the docks, cracked a few skulls with his truncheon, and dragged a few lads to the cells, but the shopkeeper hadn’t pressed charges against his assailants and they’d walked the next day.
Rossett recalled that the Irish had moved on to new pastures. He guessed they had spread back into the area once the invasion was complete. There was a lot of money to be made smuggling to and from a neutral Ireland, and the IRA was looking for new income streams after things had tightened up in the north.
“So what can I do for you, Sergeant? Is it the Jew boy?”
Rossett nodded.
“I hear you normally use other methods to get them out of the country.” Flanagan smiled at his own joke, and Rossett saw one of the men behind him chuckle and glance to his partner before returning his gaze to Rossett.
Flanagan took a drink and then shifted his gaze to Chivers, slowly, taking his time.
“What’s your end in this, George?”
“I just want the kid sorted, that’s all.”
“Forgive me, George, but I’ve known you a long time, and you don’t do anything for nothing, so what’s in it for you?”
“His life,” Rossett said, and all eyes turned to him.
Flanagan nodded and took another sip of whiskey.
“So you’ve found out about George’s little line in selling information, Detective Sergeant? I would have thought that would have made you two bosom pals?”
“How he earns his money isn’t my concern. My only concern is the boy. Can you get him out of the country?”
Flanag
an smiled warmly and then took another sip of his whiskey.
“I can get anything out of the country, and, for that matter, anything in. You don’t need to worry about whether it can be done. You just need to worry about if you can afford it.”
Rossett nodded and reached into his coat pocket. Both men behind Flanagan seemed to flinch as Rossett moved, but Flanagan merely smiled that smug smile, waiting for the bargaining to commence.
“How far will this get him?” Rossett placed his handkerchief on the table and nodded his head toward it.
Flanagan broadened his smile.
“I do like a good surprise. Now, I wonder what we have here then.” He reached forward and unfolded the handkerchief on the table carefully, one fold at a time, until he exposed a solitary diamond in the center of the white cloth.
Flanagan’s hand hovered over the stone. His fingers reached out to it but seemed unable to pick it up, as if the stone was pushing him away. The Irishman looked up at Rossett and then back down at the diamond before finally picking it up off the table.
“Would you look at that now?” he said softly to himself, leaning back so as to hold the gem up in front of his eyes.
The two heavies behind him strained to see what Flanagan held. Rossett took the distraction as an opportunity to shift in his chair and reach around his back to pull the Webley free of his waistband and slip it into his pocket. Once the gun was secure he took a sip of his beer and leaned back in the seat again.
“I take it that will get the boy to Dublin?” Rossett broke the spell.
“That it will,” Flanagan replied.
“And any papers he needs to get onward out of Ireland?”
“Aye.”
“Will two of them get someone else out?”
Flanagan lowered the stone. Gradually regaining some composure, he focused again on Rossett.
“Two of them?”
“The boy and his female guardian.”
“Getting two people out is much more difficult than one.” Flanagan gave the smile again, and Rossett noticed that he had folded his fist around the diamond and was clutching it to his chest.
“ ’Ow much to get three people out?” Chivers spoke this time, waving his hand at Rossett, who looked at him, concerned.
“Three? At this rate we’ll be evacuating half of London.” Flanagan was now leaning forward, his glee barely contained.
“It’s just two,” Rossett said.
“It’s three,” Chivers looked at Rossett. “You’re goin’ too, man. There’s nothin’ left ’ere for you.”
“What’ll it be, gentlemen? Any more for anymore?” Flanagan smiled, took a drink of whiskey, and swilled the glass under his nose, raising his eyebrows with the slightest of winks at Rossett.
Rossett looked at Chivers and shook his head.
“We need a minute,” Chivers said to Flanagan and stood up from the table, grabbing Rossett’s sleeve as he went. Rossett rose and followed the old man to the bar.
“Whatever you think of me, whatever I’ve done to you and the boy, all of it doesn’t matter right now. None of it was personal. I just did what I had to do, understand?” Chivers leaned in close to Rossett. “So what I’m sayin’ to you now, I’m saying as someone who’s lived a bit . . . both sides of the law. Someone who’s survived, yeah?”
Rossett nodded.
“Right. Then you’ve got to think about this. You’ve got a chance, better than any chance you’ll ever get, and you’ve got the means to start again.”
“I can’t go. I’ll be slung in prison as soon as my feet touch the soil in Canada,” Rossett whispered, leaning in close to Chivers while looking over his shoulder at the three Irishmen sitting some twenty feet away.
“Don’t you understand? When you get to Canada, you won’t be John Rossett; you’ll be whoever these fellas ’ave put on your passport. This is a new start for you. If you want, you can be the boy’s father, and you can even be married to the bird! You can be anything you want to be. This is a new life, another chance. For God’s sake, you don’t even have to go to Canada, you can head to America.” Chivers grabbed Rossett’s arm as he spoke and Rossett found himself dumbly staring at the old man as the realization struck home.
“But I . . .”
“I what? You’ve nothin’ ’ere, and now you’ve a chance. Use the diamonds to get away!”
“But they’re Jacob’s.”
“ ’Is grandfather wanted them used to look after the boy, so use ’em. Go with ’im, be with ’im, ’elp ’im grow up and start again.”
Rossett slowly started to nod in agreement.
“I suppose . . .”
Chivers gripped tighter on Rossett’s arm and led him back to the table, dragging him down into his seat. Flanagan leaned forward again, and Rossett noticed the little man had poured some of Rossett’s whiskey into his own glass while they had been away.
“Could they make it to America?” Chivers asked Flanagan, who held out his hands in an open gesture.
“For the right price they can go to the moon.”
“What about papers?” Chivers probed again.
“I can get U.S. passports from Dublin, and we have brothers in Boston who can arrange things at that end. Like I said, I can do anything for the right price.”
“What would that price be for three?” Chivers leaned back and took a sip of his drink. Rossett watched and saw the old man in a new light.
Flanagan rubbed his chin theatrically and then placed the diamond he was still holding on to the handkerchief in front of him on the table. As he thought, he carefully folded the handkerchief back over it, as if putting a child to bed.
“Well, I’ll have to have this thing looked at by a friend, but assuming it’s genuine . . .”
“It’s genuine,” interjected Chivers.
“Well, assuming it is, and the others are of similar quality . . .”
“They are.”
“I’d want five of them, one for the boy, two each for the adults.”
“Does that include the necessary papers at the other end?”
“That’s an awful lot to ask for.”
“Papers included or no deal, Pat.”
“Jesus, George.”
“You’re making a packet ’ere, Pat, and you know it.”
“Aww, go on then, papers included, for five stones, all the same size as this beauty.”
“Deal,” said Chivers, sitting back and slapping the table with the palm of his hand, making the glasses jump.
Rossett looked back and forth between Chivers and Flanagan, who sat smiling, waiting for some confirmation from him.
“All right, five diamonds,” he said after a pause. “Two up front, three on completion. We all travel together, and we go quickly, as soon as possible.”
“Is tonight soon enough?” Flanagan replied. “I’ve a boat crossing to Cork on the tide, the Iris. She has the necessary amenities to get you out of London. Once in Ireland you’ll have to wait a few days, but things will be quieter there. I have friends who will look after you.”
Rossett beckoned Flanagan in close and leaned forward.
“If you double-cross me, or let me down, you’ll wish you’d never been born, Flanagan. I’ll take you apart bit by bit and make you eat yourself, do you understand?”
Flanagan smiled and raised a calming hand to his two men, who had by now stood up behind him defensively.
“Detective Sergeant, let me assure you, I know all about you and your reputation. I also understand your concerns as to placing yourself and your . . . charges . . . in the hands of others. But you can rest assured, I trade on my reputation. I’m a man who cannot afford to let his customers down. Not because I’m scared of them, far from it, but my failure to deliver on my promises would be an issue for future business. Do you understand?”
&n
bsp; Rossett nodded.
“I’ve worked with Pat for a long time,” Chivers said placatingly behind Rossett.
“Just so we understand each other,” Rossett said.
“We do.” Flanagan drank the last of his whiskey, then set the glass down with a bang on the table like an auctioneer’s gavel. “Until tonight, gentlemen. George, you know where, at the stairs. I’ll see you at eleven. Don’t be late now. Time, tide, and Pat Flanagan wait for no man.”
Flanagan stood up and walked away from the table with purpose. His two men sat and stared at Rossett for a moment before slowly rising to their feet, nodding to Chivers and following their boss.
It was only after they had gone that Rossett noticed his handkerchief and the diamond had disappeared with them.
“That’s it, boy, deal done.”
“Can we trust him?”
“ ’E’d cut your throat for a fiver, but if ’e says ’e’ll do somethin’, ’e’ll do it. ’E’s never let me down in all the years I’ve known ’im.”
Rossett glanced at the old man and raised an eyebrow.
“So, if I can trust you, I can trust him. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m your security at this end,” said Chivers. “If I don’t ’ear from you, I’ll let it be known Flanagan ’asn’t delivered.”
“And if he takes you out as well? These diamonds are worth a lot of money. They can make a man do things he wouldn’t normally.”
“If ’e lets me down, if ’e comes after me, ’e’s got the communist resistance on ’is tail. If ’e lets down that bird you’re with, ’e has the royalist resistance on ’is tail. Don’t forget, I can get word to Sterling to let ’im know where ’is niece ’as gone and ’oo she’s with if I ’ave to.”
“Sterling wants you dead.”
Chivers waved a dismissive hand.
“A crate of machine guns and ammo will sort ’im out. ’E likes to think ’e’s in charge, but I know what strings to pull. You’re on your way, son. You’re gettin’ out of it.”
Rossett sat back in the chair and looked around the pub before lifting his beer.
The Darkest Hour: A Novel Page 36
