by James McGee
“Not tonight,” Hawkwood said.
At that moment a customer at the adjacent table rose unsteadily to his feet, fumbled at the flap of his breeches and cast an eye towards the back of the room and the doorway leading to the privy. He was barely out of his seat when the girl reached over, grasped the empty chair and pulled it towards her. Spotting the move out of the corner of his eye, the man turned to remonstrate. “What the bleedin’ –?” Then his eyes fell on the culprit and his red-veined cheeks paled.
“Don’t mind, do you, Charlie?” the girl said, taking her seat. “Only I noticed you weren’t usin’ it.” Her dark eyes glowed.
For a second the man looked as though he was about to speak. Indecision moved across his face. Then his shoulders sagged and he shook his head. “Nah, that’s all right, Sal,” he said hollowly. “Best be goin’, anyway.” Turning quickly to avoid the embarrassed looks of his companions, he left the table and teetered off across the sawdust-smeared floor.
The girl turned back to Hawkwood as if nothing had happened. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah, you said you weren’t lookin’ for company.” She arched an eyebrow. “You sure? We could call one of the other girls over. They’ve got rooms out the back. We could have some fun, the three of us. How’s that sound? You up for it? I know I am.” She gave Hawkwood the eye once more. “I’m always up for it.”
“Another time,” Hawkwood said. “I’m waiting for someone.”
The girl placed her right forefinger between her lips, sucked on it suggestively and ran its moistened tip along Hawkwood’s sleeve. “Been waitin’ a while, though,’ aven’t you? You sure they’re going to turn up?”
“He’d better,” Hawkwood said. “There’s money in it if he does.” He took a sip from his mug. “Maybe you’ve seen him around? He said he’d be here. His name’s Doyle, Edward Doyle.”
The girl’s brow furrowed. “Can’t say as I know the name. What’s ’e look like?”
Like death, Hawkwood thought, but didn’t say so.
The girl listened to Hawkwood’s description of what Doyle would have looked like if he’d had a pulse and all his teeth, and then shook her head. “Sorry, sweet’eart. Still don’t ring any bells. You sure ’e meant the Dog? There’s the Dog and Dray over the other side of Long Lane. Maybe you’ve got the wrong place.”
“Bugger,” Hawkwood said. He clicked his tongue. “Just my luck.”
“What sort of work was it, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“There’s a man wants some hog carcasses delivered. Only a morning’s lifting and carrying, but there’s a shilling or two in it.” Hawkwood frowned and added glumly, “Looks like I’ll have to find somebody else.”
“There’s plenty in ’ere who’d be up for it.” The girl jerked her head towards the counting table.
Hawkwood followed the gesture. “You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll try a couple of the other places first though, seeing as we’re mates. What was that place you mentioned? The Dog and Dray, was it? If he doesn’t turn up there, I might come back.”
“I’ll look forward to that. Meantime, I can ask around, if you like. If I hear anything an’ you come back, I’ll pass it on. What’s your name, by the way? You never said.”
Hawkwood took a sip of grog. “Matthews.” He kept his face straight.
“What do they call you?”
“Jim.” Hawkwood took another swallow. The porter tasted as if it had been laced with fulminate. He tried not to grimace.
She smiled at him again, indicating that the attempt had not been a total success. “You sure I can’t tempt you, Jim Matthews?’ Cos you were definitely lookin’ a bit lonely sittin’ here on your own.”
“The answer’s still no,” Hawkwood said.
The girl hesitated, then shrugged philosophically, pushed back the chair and stood up. “Ah, well, can’t blame a body for tryin’. Your loss, sweetheart.”
Blowing him a kiss, she headed towards the back of the room. Hawkwood watched her disappear beyond the veil of tobacco smoke and the tightly pressed bodies. He sensed she knew he was watching her by the exaggerated sway of her hips, though she did not turn back to check.
There was a definite easing of tension at the next table, he noticed. The stilted conversation became more animated. A couple of the men were giving him curious looks, presumably wondering why he wasn’t following the girl out. Let them wonder, Hawkwood thought. He considered the girl’s prospects. He recalled a story he’d been told about sharks, sea predators that had to keep moving and eating to stay alive. He thought about the girls plying for trade. Their lives seemed very like the shark’s: every day spent in an endless trawl for prey. In that regard, each of them was as lost in hope as the men lining up at Hanratty’s table.
Following their brief encounter, Hawkwood doubted the girl would be without company for long. She had the looks and she had the wit, and there were plenty of customers in attendance, so the queue for companionship wasn’t about to shorten any time soon.
Hawkwood took a look around. A new batch of woebegone souls had begun to file past the pay-table. Another half an hour, he decided, and he’d call it a night. He caught the eye of a serving girl and held up his mug. He’d convinced himself that the grog wasn’t too bad. In any case, once the first swallow was out of the way, it didn’t really matter because he wouldn’t be able to feel the inside of his mouth anyway.
7
Sawney was in the cellar, stacking bodies by the light of a lantern, when he heard the heavy tread on the stair.
“His ’Oliness ’as turned up, Rufus. Didn’t know we was expectin’ ’im.”
Sawney cursed savagely. The body he’d been trying to prop against the wall was wrapped in a filthy sheet, but the ends of the sheet had come loose and the grey-faced corpse, which was beginning a slow emergence from its state of rigor mortis, was proving to be a bit of a handful.
“Rufus?”
“I heard you, Maggsie. I’m not bleedin’ deaf.”
Sawney tried again. This time, he managed to get the corpse’s arm to stay inside the sheet. Lucky it was a female. A male would have been heavier and more difficult to manoeuvre.
“Come ’ere.’ Old this,” Sawney snapped. “Bleedin’ sow’s all over the place.”
A hulking shape appeared over Sawney’s shoulder. “What do you want me to do?”
Sawney nodded towards the arm, which had flopped loose for the third time. “Just keep the bloody thing tucked in while I wraps ’er up. And mind what you’re doin’. I want to make sure we deliver ’er in one piece.”
“What do you think she’ll fetch?”
Sawney reached for the corner of the sheet. “Four maybe.” He clicked his tongue and looked around the room. “Not a bad night’s work.”
Abel Maggett grunted. “Too right. Mind you, gettin’ ’er over that bleedin’ wall was a bitch. Damned near done my back in.” The big man pressed a meaty hand against the base of his spine and winced.
Sawney studied his companion with a jaundiced eye. He was by no means a small man himself, but Maggett towered over him by at least a foot and he was big with it. A slaughter-man by trade, Maggett was capable of hefting pig carcasses three at a time. The thought that the big man had put his back out lifting a woman’s cadaver over a five-foot wall was laughable. That was Maggett for you: a real caution.
The knot in the sheet secured, Sawney stood back and admired his handiwork. All told, there were five bodies awaiting delivery: two grown males, a male child and two females. Definitely a good haul.
Sawney knew they’d have to move them soon, however. The wintry weather was a boon, the cellar was ice-cold. Even so, it wouldn’t be long before the bodies would start to turn. Sawney was already having doubts about the child’s corpse. He thought he’d detected some leakage when he’d wrapped the thing. The quicker they passed the bodies on, the better. Once decomposition started, prices would drop significantly. True, they could always chop the bodies into bits and sell the parts se
parately, but it was a messy business and he didn’t want to go down that road except as a last resort.
He turned to Maggett. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs.” The big man nodded towards the five sheet-entwined bodies. They reminded Maggett of caterpillar cocoons. “When do you want to move ’em?”
“It’ll have to be before sun-up. Maybe later tonight. Can’t risk carrying them through the streets in broad daylight. We’ll use the cart.”
Maggett grunted in acknowledgement. His massive chest strained against the material of his shirt and the buttons of his dark moleskin waistcoat.
Sawney lifted the lantern from its hook. “Right, let’s see what the bugger wants.” Taking a last look around the cellar, Sawney led the way up the stairs and entered the room with Maggett at his back. He frowned at the sole occupant, who was pacing the floor like a cat in a cage. “I thought we ’ad an agreement. You weren’t to come callin’, ’less you was invited. I don’t recall sendin’ word that I wanted to see you.”
Verger Lucius Symes stopped pacing and blinked nervously. Lit by the candlelight, his face bore an unhealthy waxen sheen.
“Well?” Sawney rasped. “I ain’t got all bleedin’ night. What is it? You after your cut, is that it? I told you it was on the usual terms. You’ll get yours when we get ours, and that won’t be until later. I’ll get one of the Ragg boys to drop your share round in the morning.”
Sawney turned to Maggett, shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “Christ, all that lifting’s done my head in. An’ I could murder a wet. I’ve got a throat as dry as a witch’s cunny. Verger looks like he could do with a tot of somethin’ as well. Maggsie, you’re forgettin’ your manners. Get some mugs and open a bottle.”
Maggett frowned. “We ain’t got no mugs, Rufus. Ain’t got no booze neither.”
“Bloody hell.” Sawney raised his eye to the ceiling. “We’re in a bleedin’ pub, for Chris’sakes. Use your noggin.”
Maggett’s wide brow furrowed at the change of tone.
As if to illustrate Sawney’s point, a burst of gin-soaked laughter sounded from the other side of the wall, reminding them that the busy, smoke-filled taproom was only a few feet away.
Sawney sighed. “Go and get some, and tell Hanratty to put it on the slate.”
For someone of his stature, Maggett could move remarkably quietly. Sawney watched him steal out of the room and shook his head again, half in amusement, half in weary exasperation. Maggett was a staunch companion with many excellent qualities, brawn, loyalty and obedience being chief among them. But there were times when he could make a fence post look intelligent.
As Maggett disappeared, there came the sound of a second person’s footsteps and the swish of skirts from the passage outside. There followed a brief murmured exchange and then another, smaller figure appeared in the open doorway. The verger’s eyes widened momentarily.
Moving into the room, the girl slipped an arm round Sawney’s waist.
“’Ello, darlin’,” Sawney said. He turned and nodded towards the verger. “Look who’s come to visit.”
The girl stared at the verger. There was no welcome in her expression.
The verger stared back then his eyes moved to Sawney. “You didn’t have to do it.”
“Sorry, Verger – do what?” Sawney looked at the girl and raised his eyebrows as if to ask her if she knew what the verger was talking about. The girl shrugged.
“Kill him like that,” Symes said.
“Ah,” Sawney nodded sagely, running a tongue over yellowing teeth. “You mean young Doyle.”
“Why?” The verger repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Sawney put his head on one side. He looked like a stoat studying a rabbit. “Because I could.”
The verger blinked.
“Well, what the ’ell did you think was going to happen to ’im?” Sawney rasped. “You think I was just going to give ’im a tap, tell ’im he’d been a naughty boy and send ’im on his way?” Sawney shook his head. “Couldn’t have him ’arbourin’ ideas above ’is station, could I? Should’ve remembered he was playin’ with the big boys. He knew the rules and he broke ’em. In my book, that meant he ’ad to pay. Had to set an example for the rest of them, else there’d just be bleedin’ chaos. Can’t have that, might disrupt business. And right now business is good.” Sawney paused. “And you should know,” he added pointedly. “So don’t come whining to me ’cause you don’t like my methods.”
Releasing himself from the girl and taking a step forward, Sawney wagged his finger. “You knew what you were getting into, just as much as Doyle. You’re a paid-up member, Verger, and it’s us who pays you – handsomely, as I recall.”
The verger paled.
“Not to mention the perks,” Sawney continued. “Like young Sal here, tootin’ your flute whenever you drops by.”
The verger’s gaze flickered to the girl. Her expression was just as dark as Sawney’s and the verger’s throat constricted. There was an unblinking intensity in those midnight-tinted eyes that seemed both feline and wild. As he stared at her, he knew, despite the threat in Sawney’s tone, that it was the girl who was undoubtedly the more dangerous.
“What?” Sawney said mockingly. “Don’t tell me you want out. Jesus, that’s it, ain’t it? You’re here to tell us you’ve had your fill. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but it don’t work like that. You ain’t out till I tell you you’re out. This ain’t a bleedin’ – what do they call it? – Democracy. Besides, the season’s only been up and running for a month. We’ve still got another five to go. The schools are open, terms have started and they’ll be wantin’ bodies. It’s our job to supply them, as fresh as possible. That’s what they pay us for.”
Sawney gazed at the verger, who was looking like a man who’d lost a guinea and found threepence. “No, wait, you weren’t actually thinkin’ of leavin’ of your own accord? You ain’t that naïve, surely? When will you learn? We own you, Symes. We pay you, so we own you. You ever wondered what might happen if the vicar and the parishioners got to know about your little hobbies? I know you’re not strictly what they call a man of the cloth, but you’re close enough. What do you think they’d say if, durin’ next Sunday’s service, young Sal here interrupts the sermon to tell everyone that she sucks your cock of an evening in a back room of the Black Dog pub? You really want to go down that road? No, I didn’t think so. And I’ll tell you this, so there’s no misunderstandin’: dropping the word to the vicar and ’is parishioners will be the best thing we do to you.” Sawney leaned in close so that his face was inches away from the verger’s. His voice dripped quiet menace. “You get my drift?”
A rattle of tin mugs and the clink of glass from the doorway interrupted the moment.
“I got us a bottle, Rufus,” Maggett announced. “On the slate, like you said.” The big man appeared oblivious to the tension in the room.
Sawney straightened. “Did you now, Maggsie? Well done. Just what the doctor ordered. How about you, Verger, a drop of grog to wet your whistle?”
The verger remained silent. Sawney sighed theatrically. “Jesus, don’t tell me there’s more?”
“You crucified him.” The verger’s voice trembled.
Sawney took the bottle from Maggett’s hand and poured three fingers of gin into one of the mugs. He took a sip and smirked. “Just my little joke.” He raised the mug to his lips once more and paused. “No,’ ang on, in fact it was Sal’s idea.” He turned to the girl. “That’s right, ain’t it?”
The girl did not reply. Turning her head in the verger’s direction, she stretched out her arms and raised them to shoulder height.
“Bloody rotten way to spend Easter,” she said, then giggled.
The verger stared at her in horror.
“I tell you, Verger, she’s a wag,” Sawney said. “Has me in stitches, so she does, seein’ as it’s closer to Christmas than Easter.” Sawney held out the bottle. “Here you go, Sal, get your tongue round that. You sure
you don’t want a snort, Verger? You’re looking a bit peaky.”
“You took out his teeth and tongue.”
“Too right,” Sawney said. “There’s good money in teeth, especially sound teeth, and young Doyle’s teeth were sounder than most. There’s plenty of toffs out there who’ll pay good money for a new set of canines. It’s all the rage. Did I ever tell you about that time I broke into the vault of that meetin’ house in Shoreditch? Can’t recall how many stiffs they ’ad down there, but I do know it took me three hours to get the teeth out of ’em. Earned myself sixty quid, though. It beats shovellin’ shit. An’ I’ll tell you another thing: there’s not a tooth-puller in London that ain’t been supplied with teeth dug up from an ’ospital field.” Sawney waited for the information to sink in before adding, “An’ I’ll guarantee there’s more than one politician sportin’ teeth taken from some poor bastard lying dead on a Spanish battlefield. I should bleedin’ know.”
“The police said the tongue was cut out as a warning.”
“Did they now? Well, there’s truth in that, I’ll not deny it. And I’ll wager it’ll do the trick, too. We’re the top dogs here, not Naples and his bleedin’ Borough Boys. Us. The sooner they start takin’ us seriously, the better. There’s a good living to be made for all of us, you included, Verger. So long as nobody rocks the boat …” Sawney paused. “You said it was the police who told you it was a warning?”
The verger nodded. “I had to raise the alarm. It would have seemed odd if I hadn’t.”
“You did your duty, Verger. Wouldn’t expect anything else from a fine, upstandin’ citizen like yourself. Don’t worry about it. Bloody Charleys couldn’t find water if it was rainin’.”
“The man they sent wasn’t a Charley. He was some sort of special constable.”
Sawney shrugged, unconcerned. “Amounts to the same thing. They ain’t much better.”
“This one might be,” Symes said. “He’s next door.”
