‘If I stay, you won’t need them any more.’ He kept his tone neutral. He would not pay the bastards. He had brought all the protection he needed. His hand slipped down to touch the hilt of his revolver. He had fought on the walls of Delhi, had defended the British cantonment at Bhundapur and ridden with the Bombay Lights at Khoosh-ab. He had no need of anyone else.
‘They’re bad men, Jack.’
His mother matched his tone. He noticed she did not try to change his mind. He was her son and she did not doubt him. He felt something stir deep within him.
‘They do not know me.’ This time it was Jack who reached out. He took his mother’s hand and held it tight.
‘Maggie!’ Mary’s son, Billy, poked his head around the door. His young face betrayed his fear. ‘Mr Shaw is here. He wants you. He’s clearing the place out.’
Jack’s mother did not move. She stayed still, her eyes locked on to her son’s hand wrapped around her own.
‘Is that him?’ asked Jack.
Maggie nodded.
‘Then I’ll give him the good news myself.’ He patted her hand then got to his feet. He flashed a smile at Billy. ‘You might want to stay back here, lad.’
‘Why?’ The answer was quick. ‘You going to fight Mr Shaw?’ The boy did not look horrified by the idea.
‘No. Least I don’t plan to.’
Young Billy’s face fell. His eyes focused on the holstered revolver on Jack’s hip. ‘Can I take your gun for you?’
‘No.’ Jack saw the boy’s eagerness ‘But if you don’t give me any shit for a week, I’ll teach you how to clean it.’
‘Deal.’ The boy snapped the answer, then his face fell. ‘You might not be alive in a week.’
Jack felt the stirrings of a smile. ‘Is this Mr Shaw that bad?’
The boy bit his lip, then nodded.
‘Well you had better take me to see this monster.’ He gestured at the door. ‘You go first, Ma. We don’t want to alarm Mr Shaw.’
His mother rose to her feet and walked to the door, only pausing when she came level with her son. She looked up, her head tilted back as she studied his face.
‘You know what you are doing, Jack?’
‘No.’ Jack found his smile. ‘I never do.’
His mother grinned back. ‘Well then. Let’s get this done.’ She turned and flapped a hand at young Billy. ‘Get on with you, you little scamp. Let’s go give Mr Shaw the happy news.’
She bustled out. Jack let her go. His hand slipped to his holster, his fingers deftly undoing the buckle on the flap to free the revolver within. He had lied to his mother. He knew exactly what he was doing.
‘About time, Maggie. I don’t appreciate you keeping me waiting.’
Jack heard the arrogant tone in the voice that greeted his mother as he followed her into the bar. The palace was empty. A single figure was leaning against the counter, whilst a much larger man stood by the door that led to the street. He saw the silhouettes of the crowd milling around on the far side of the plate-glass window, waiting to be allowed back inside the palace. The two men had cleared the customers away so that their business could be conducted in private
‘Good evening, Mr Shaw.’
There was fear in his mother’s voice. It brought him up short. He did not think he had ever heard her sound truly frightened before. She had always greeted the world with a laugh and a smile, her blarney as much of a draw as the watery gin she served.
‘Who’s this?’
Jack had been spotted. The man called Shaw stood straight, staring at him. His heavy coat flapped open, revealing the thick cudgel held on a string attached to his belt.
‘He’s my son.’ Maggie walked behind the bar. Some of her former confidence seemed to return as she took her usual place. ‘You and your man want a nip of something?’
Shaw nodded by way of reply. He kept his eyes locked on Jack. Behind him, the second man stayed by the palace’s door, cudgel in hand.
Jack returned Shaw’s gaze calmly, but said nothing. He would let the other man play his hand first.
Shaw fixed Jack with a slow smile. It did not reach his eyes. ‘What’s your name?’
Still Jack said nothing. Shaw was a hard-looking man. His face was covered by a thin beard, and he bore three small scars in a row across one cheek. He stood an inch or two over six feet tall. Jack had noticed the way that he leaned against the bar with casual confidence, the kind that only came with
the sure knowledge of being able to handle any man who came against him. He was a threatening fellow, and Jack understood his mother’s fear, even if he did not share it himself.
Jack moved slowly, his eyes assessing the man by the door. He was big, but unlike Shaw, he did not have the build of a fighter. He was stout, with a large belly, and he carried a cudgel in his right hand, the thick foot-long oak shaft that was such a common weapon in the rookery. To Jack’s eye he did not look dangerous. Not like Shaw.
Walking behind the bar, Jack took his place at his mother’s side. He kept his eyes fixed on Shaw the whole time. He sensed the simmering anger in the man’s gaze as his question remained unanswered.
‘You know why I’m here, Maggie.’ Shaw shifted his attention to Jack’s mother.
‘I’ve got your money, Mr Shaw. But by my tally you are a few days early.’ Jack’s mother placed a quart of gin in front of the man who had emptied her palace. She pushed another to the bar’s far side for Shaw’s henchman, who was watching on from his place by the door.
‘No, you don’t have that right.’ Shaw slipped his pork pie hat from his head before placing it carefully on the counter. ‘I would never make a mistake like that. The money is due.’ The last sentence was delivered deadpan. Shaw’s eyes flickered back to Jack, who still stood beside his mother, his face impassive. ‘Are you going to stand there and stare at me all night, chum?’
Jack did not deign to answer. He knew Shaw’s business well enough. Protection rackets had been going on as long as there had been men strong enough to deliver the threats that forced people like his mother to pay them. He did not recall Shaw from his time in the palace. When Lampkin had been master, there would have been no talk of protection, unless it had been his mother’s old man making the demands.
‘Who the hell are you?’ He asked the question in a mild tone, keeping his eyes on Shaw as he pulled a glass from beneath the mahogany bar. He did not look down as he flicked a brass tap, snapping off a perfect measure that filled the glass to the brim.
‘My, my.’ Shaw smiled thinly. ‘So you do have a voice. I was beginning to think you were a bit simple, like my Prussian friend over there.’ He nodded towards the man still waiting by the door before turning his baleful gaze back to the counter. ‘That’s a bold lad you bred, Maggie. Shame you didn’t teach him his manners.’
‘He’s back from the wars, Mr Shaw.’ Jack’s mother seemed to have mastered her fear. Her reply was firm. ‘He was a soldier.’
‘Was he now?’ Shaw looked Jack up and down. ‘You still a lobster, chum, or are you a runner?’
Jack downed his gin without tasting it. ‘I don’t like asking a question twice, but seeing as how we just met, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. So I repeat. Who the hell are you?’
This time Shaw laughed. He turned and looked back at his man. ‘You hear that, Schmitty. Maggie’s brat doesn’t know who I am.’ When he turned back to face the bar, the thick cudgel was in his hands. He swept it along the mahogany top, sending the two quarts flying. They shattered as they hit the floor, the gin splattering across the sawdust.
Shaw was not done. He smashed the cudgel down, slamming it violently into the counter, the sound of the impact like a gunshot. Then he pulled back, holding the cudgel upright, his face flushed and his body vibrating with an anger that was barely under control.
‘You want to know who I am?’ He spat on to the counter, then glared at Jack, the cudgel moving slowly back and forth in the air, held ready to lash out again. ‘I’m your worst fucking nightmare.’
Jack had not so much as flinched, standing composed in the face of Shaw’s violence even as his mother shuddered. And now he laughed. Shaw’s bold claim amused him. The man was hard, even for the rookery, but he was most certainly nowhere close to the devils that inhabited Jack’s nightmares. He had seen far too much to be frightened of a man with a stick.
‘It’s time you left.’ He spoke softly before reaching out to lay a soothing hand on his mother’s shoulder. He could feel her shaking. ‘I’ll clean up the mess, Ma.’
‘Jack . . .’
She started to speak, but Jack hushed her by lifting a single finger.
‘It’s all right, Ma. Let me handle this.’ He turned to look at Shaw, who still stood there, his cudgel ready to strike. ‘Like I said, it’s time you left.’
Shaw cackled. ‘Give us what we are owed, or by Christ I’ll tear this fucking place apart.’ He turned to his enforcer. On cue, the stout Prussian took a step forward, ready to do his master’s bidding.
Shaw turned back to face Jack. His mouth opened to say something, but the words never came out. He was staring straight into the muzzle of a Dean and Adams five-shot revolver.
‘Now then.’ Jack’s tone lacked all emotion. ‘I don’t know what’s been happening round these parts whilst I have been away, but I’m back now. This is my mother’s place and I’m going to be staying here a while. That means I’ll be looking after things from here on in. So I suggest you both leave.’
Shaw stood tall. He showed no fear, even with a handgun aimed at his face. ‘You don’t know who you are dealing with.’
‘I don’t give a shite.’ Jack held the revolver stock-still. ‘I don’t reckon you’re welcome here any more, Mr Shaw.’ He made the name sound like an insult. ‘I’m asking you one last time to leave.’
Shaw stared at Jack. then slowly lowered his cudgel. ‘You’re going to regret this, chum. You mark my words.’
‘That’s as maybe.’ Jack lifted the revolver a fraction, filling the end of the barrel with Shaw’s flushed face. ‘But not half as much as you’ll regret not fucking off right here and now.’
Shaw took a step backwards. He looked at Jack’s mother, who was holding on to the edge of the counter as if her world was spinning around her.
‘Are you not going to set your lad straight, Maggie? You know who I am and what I’m capable of. You want to be a part of his malarkey? If I leave here tonight without my tin, then our arrangement is finished. I won’t protect you no more.’
Maggie let go of the bar. ‘I reckon it’s time you left, Mr Shaw. My Jack is back now. We don’t need your protection any more, not now we have a man about the place again.’ She stood straighter, then glanced at her tall son before glaring at the man who had taken her money. ‘I’ll ask you kindly not to call on us again.’
Shaw started to laugh. ‘Are you sure about this, Maggie? I don’t want it said I didn’t give you a chance to reconsider. We’ve been friends too long for that. You sure you know what you’re doing?’
Jack’s mother lifted her chin defiantly. ‘I do.’ Her voice wavered, but she stood firm.
‘So be it.’ Shaw nodded, acknowledging her decision. ‘You had better be ready to face the consequences.’ He glowered at Jack. ‘Both of you.’
‘Oh, we’ll be ready, Mr Shaw.’ Maggie was warming to her new role. ‘This is my place. We managed well enough when my John was alive. My Jack is twice the man he ever was, so I reckon we’ll be fine now he’s back.’
‘Very well.’ Shaw reached forward and removed his pork pie hat from the bar. ‘I’m right sorry it has come to this, but it is what it is.’ He settled his hat on his head, then fixed his eyes on Maggie. ‘As of now, you’re no longer under my protection. You understand that you’ll have to pay for making me leave without my tin. I can’t let it pass. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation, not good at all.’ His expression hardened. ‘I’ll make you regret siding with your mongrel bastard, Maggie. By God, I swear you’ll rue this day.’
He brought his simmering anger back under control with difficulty, then turned on his heel and strode towards the door. He paused on the threshold, his right hand on the doorknob, and turned back to look at Jack.
‘Well met, Jack. I reckon we’ll be seeing each other again.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Shaw.’ Jack still had his revolver levelled. ‘Next time I see you, I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes.’ He had to give Shaw credit. The man was eerily calm even with a loaded revolver pointed at him. It meant he was either a brave fellow or else simply too dumb to recognise the danger.
Shaw laughed at Jack’s threat. ‘You know what, chum, I think you’ll try. I shall look forward to our next meeting, indeed I shall.’ He opened the door and left the palace, his Prussian henchman trailing in his wake.
‘I bloody well hope you know what you are doing, Jack.’ Maggie pulled out a damp cloth and used it to wipe over the counter, slicking away the thick gob of phlegm Shaw had spat on to its top and gathering together the shards of broken glass. Already the bravest of her customers had started to file back into the palace.
‘I’m not going to see you pay your tin to a piece of shit like that. I meant what I said, Ma. I’m back now. Things are going to change.’ Jack holstered his revolver, then looked down at his mother. He saw she was standing straighter. Her face had softened and she seemed younger. She was more like the woman he remembered.
He cocked an eyebrow at the first ancient crone who inched closer to the bar. ‘What’ll it be?’ It was a question he had once asked a hundred times a day.
He had meant every word. He was back. He would not leave again.
‘For the love of God, is that really you, Jack?’
‘Good morning, Mary.’ Jack sat at the table in the back room. The remains of his breakfast lay in front of him, the grease from the thick slices of fatty bacon he had eaten staining the plate. He had been getting around his first mug of tea when the door to the scullery at the rear of the palace had opened to reveal a face he would have known anywhere.
He rose to his feet, then stood awkwardly as the woman he had once thought the most beautiful girl in the world paused in the doorway and stared at him.
‘You’re taller.’ Mary stayed on the threshold.
‘And you haven’t changed.’ Jack gave the lie easily. Mary was no longer the slim-hipped girl who had intoxicated him with desire. He saw that her figure was fuller; her waist thicker under her very proper dark skirt and her chest heavier beneath the demure blouse. Yet her face was just as he had remembered, and her wide-set blue eyes stared back at him with what he hoped was pleasure.
‘My eye, you must have lost your sight when you was away.’ Mary shook her head at his reply. She took off her hat, holding it in front of her, her own awkwardness obvious.
Jack shifted from foot to foot. ‘It’s been a fair while.’
‘It has that.’
‘You’ve been well?’ Jack was struggling to know what to say. He had learned many of the ways of an officer, but polite conversation had not been one of them.
‘Yes. Thank you for asking.’
‘I hear you’re a mother now. You’ve got a boy.’
‘You’ve met my Billy?’
‘Last night, although I cannot think why you didn’t name him after me.’ Jack flashed a smile.
‘Hark at you!’ Mary took a step into the room. ‘After you indeed. Did you not remember my old dad’s name was William?’
Jack laughed. ‘No. I thought you might’ve missed me.’
Mary came closer. She was smiling. ‘I did, Jack. I missed you. You didn’t come to say goodbye.’
‘I didn’t have a choice.’ Jack kept hold of his smile.
‘No, I suppose you didn’t. It would’ve been nice, though. It weren’t the same after you left.’
‘I’m back now.’
‘To stay?’
‘I reckon.’
‘Things aren’t the same here. You know that?’ Mary bustl
ed into the room to begin clearing away Jack’s breakfast.
‘They don’t look that much different to me.’ He reached forward to pull her hand away from the table. He held it, savouring the feel of her skin under his touch. He had been alone a long time. ‘I’m not the boy I once was.’
Mary did not pull her hand away. She searched Jack’s eyes. ‘No. I can see that.’
Jack drew her closer. He could smell her. She didn’t smell of French perfume like some of the women he had known. She smelled of carbolic soap, the simple aroma of a clean home. She moved into his arms, her head coming to rest on his chest. He held her then, his hand sliding to rest in the small of her back.
Mary pulled away sharply. She turned her back on him and busied herself clearing away.
‘I met Mr Shaw.’
She went still for a moment, her body rigid. Then she carried on clearing. But Jack saw the tension that remained in her posture.
‘You know him?’ He asked the question of her back.
‘Course. Everyone round here knows him.’
‘I told him to sling his hook.’
He was met by silence. The only sound in the room was the scrape of a knife across a plate as Mary cleaned away the traces of his bacon.
‘Why’d you do that?’ The question came after a long pause.
‘I’m back now. We don’t need to pay some ruffian to keep us safe.’
Mary snorted. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘I reckon I do. We don’t need a man like that. I’m here now. I’m all the protection we need. I’ll keep us safe.’
‘Why would you do that?’ She turned to face him, his plate still in her hands, her expression twisted with distaste.
‘It’s my home.’
‘No it isn’t. It hasn’t been that since you were a nipper. You remember what it was like, how you felt back then? It was never a place for you. It weren’t then and it sure ain’t now.’ She shook her head at his foolish words. ‘Look at you. You stroll in here like you own the damn place, turning our world upside down and putting us in danger.’
‘In danger! You’re not in danger.’
The Last Legionnaire Page 3
