by Terry Taylor
The room went suddenly cold, or I did, one of the two. I think I started to shiver and I tried to stop myself in case the law suspected something and I would be showing my guilt. A man doesn’t shake if he’s innocent. Or does he? Look, Miss Roach is shaking like a leaf. Don’t shake, Miss Roach. You look as guilty as a hanged man, shaking like that. Hold on! No, not like that! You look guilty!
The inspector nodded in mine and Dusty’s direction. “I don’t think you two will be needed any more,” he said.
Dusty didn’t need telling twice, he was by the door in a flash, and I found myself next to him.
“Thank you, inspector,” said Dusty. “It is getting rather late. My mother will be wondering where I’ve got to.”
“Just one more thing,” the inspector said. “Have you ever been in trouble with the police?”
“Oh no, inspector. Not me,” Dusty Miller said.
“Never?” the inspector persisted.
“Not even a parking offence,” said Dusty with a smile.
“And you?” This time to me.
“No, sir,” I said.
“How about you?” he said to Miss Roach.
She didn’t answer.
“Well?” the inspector asked again.
“I have once — yes — but it was a long time ago.”
“What happened?” the inspector asked, as if he knew already.
“I was sent to prison for a month.”
The inspector’s deep voice frightened me. “What for?”
It was then she said it. “You know what for!” she screamed at him. “What do you think, for Christ’s sake? For Hemp, of course! Indian fucking Hemp!” Then she burst into tears and threw herself on the bed.
She’d never told me. Never. Not a word about it
“You two clear out,” the inspector said, opening the door for Dusty and myself.
I floated out through the door and up the steep steps of the basement in a dream. Not a very pleasant dream as well. As soon as I reached the top of the steps and could breathe fresh air again, I wondered how I possibly stayed in that room for the length of time that I did, without cracking up. I had behaved myself very well. I hadn’t once given any clue to the inspector that I had anything to do with it. Man, I must be getting real cool now. Foxing the law even. That’s an achievement in itself. I was like one of those hardened hustlers you see in the Yank films, being given the third degree and not turning a hair. I really felt up about it. I was established, I was. A Soho villain with the face of a baby. They may even call me Baby Face one day, I promised myself. Baby Face, the drug king. Famous all over the world but the police wouldn’t be able to touch me. Interpol neither. Feared and respected by every big name in crime. I was a smart one sitting there just now. Cool, calm and collected, with the law around me grilling me as well. Fuck, I was clever!
But they were going to take Miss Roach to the station and charge her with the unlawful possession of Indian Hemp, contrary to the dangerous drugs act of this fine old country of ours. A very serious thing, that. Selling it as well. Poisoning the minds and bodies of poor, defenceless teenagers or some shit like that, they’d tell the magistrate. It may even be a judge as she’s been in the same spot before. A month’s nick they gave her. What would she get for the second whack? Six, at least. Six months inside for me. Not for herself but me. While I fuck about outside enjoying myself. While I hide Charge in other people’s toilets to get them nicked. If I carry on like this I may get all my friends nicked in time.
Coming out from the heat of the room, it seemed cold outside. I rubbed my hands together because I thought they were cold but I found that they were numb instead. I felt sick and wanted to sit down but I couldn’t; I wanted to get as far away from that house as I possibly could. I wanted to get away from it because I didn’t want to see Miss Roach any more. I didn’t want to look at her poor, helpless face and see the hopelessness of it. The utter despair; but even more frightening was the surrender of it. Yes, she’d accepted the fact that she’d had it. She’d given up fighting now. Do what you like with me was written all over her face. The law wasn’t pleased about this or they weren’t sorry. They just took it for granted. Another conviction, that’s all they cared. People are people and policemen are policemen. People are to be arrested and policemen are to arrest. Another conviction. Another step up the ladder. Another conviction for the drug department. I’ll get promotion yet, thinks the Head of the drug catchers. Seven Hemp convictions last week. Two more than the ponce catchers. Wonderful! Even if I did have to plant some on a couple of the bastards. But it didn’t matter. They were only dirty, black niggers anyway.
“That was a near thing,” Dusty said, as we reached the corner of the street. “I thought we’d had it for a minute.”
Had what, Dusty? I thought. To take what was coming to us which would be probation anyway. Do you dig what we did instead? We let someone else, a friend of ours, go to prison for us, and all we’d have to do was probation. What’s wrong with signing our names in a book once a week? Can’t you write, Dusty? Because if you can’t you can put a cross. One cross a week would save our friend, not someone we’ve never laid eyes on before, from being locked away in a lousy cell for six months, maybe more. For something that we did.
“I’m not sure if we did the right thing,” I managed to get out.
Dusty stopped walking and stood quite still. “What do you mean?” he said, with a frightened look upon his face.
“She’ll go to nick, Dusty. She’ll get time, it’s the surest thing in the world.”
He forced a smile. “No, she won’t. She’s a girl. They’ll be lenient With a girl, they always are. Probation, that’s what she’ll get.”
“Don’t talk fucking mad! She’s done bird before for the same thing. She’s a certainty for Holloway!”
Dusty’s face went deadly serious. Man, it was serious. Not only serious but hard and mean too. Suddenly he wasn’t good-old-life-and-soul-of-the-party Dusty. He was a different person entirely. His face screwed up a little and that made it more mean-looking still. “Look, understand this,” he said. “You don’t sell hats any more in a poxy suburban town. You’re a hustler, remember? I made you one. I took you under my wing and showed you everything because I thought you were a sharp cat. Someone like me, who couldn’t stand the world past Baron’s Court. A different, a someone that could stand on their own two feet and look after themselves. But even more important, a man, regardless of age. I trusted you too because my safety and freedom relied on you every bit as much as it relied on me. So, man, you better not make me doubt you for one minute. You’re up to your neck in this just as much as I am, and if you fall I fall, so you better keep right up there where you are.”
“Up to our neck in what, Dusty? We’re not up to our neck in anything. We’ll get probation. You can bet your life we’ll get probation.”
He looked at me as if I were an idiot. “So we’ll get probation. Do you know what that will mean? It’ll mean we’re out of business. We couldn’t sell another half of Tea ever again. I don’t know about you, man, but I wouldn’t be very pleased about that. I’ve put a lot of work into this little round of ours and I’m not letting it go as easy as all that. This is just the beginning. There’s good times ahead, Daddy-O. Things are only just on the move. In a few months we’ll have this whole town eating out of our hands. We’ll take over the whole market. Everything all ours; the whole source of it all. Then we’ll stop selling for a month and everyone will get a real thirst on and pay double the normal price. Things are just beginning — you’ll see.”
He looked so smug and confident that I wanted to hit him straight in the middle of his ugly face. He leered at me from behind those thick lenses of his and his eyes looked high although I knew that he hadn’t had a smoke. The corners of his mouth turned up and I realised what an unattractive example of manhood he was. Fucking horrible, in fact.
You’ve got to be hard at this game, I kept reminding myself. No feelings at al
l; stone cold and heartless. Then you’ll get somewhere. Miss Roach is used to bird, anyway. It’s not so bad the second time; not like the first, when you go in expecting to find the worst and find it. You’ll be all right, Miss Roach. With remission you’ll be out before you’ve even realised you’re there.
“Don’t you think we ought to go back there and tell them the truth?” I heard myself saying.
Dusty swung around on his heels and looked me straight in the eye with a look I could hardly describe as friendly. It was obvious that his temper was rising but he was doing his best not to show it. But it showed. It was right across his face. His teeth peeped out from behind his lips and for the first time I noticed that he didn’t even brush them.
“Don’t make me do something that I might regret later,” he threatened. “We’ve been friends and I want to keep it that way. We’ve got to think this thing out and not jump to hasty decisions. Let’s think about it for an hour or so then decide what to do. What about having a little smoke? I had a tola hidden in my sock all the time, and I got the raving horrors I don’t mind admitting when the law searched me. Let’s have a smoke and then decide what to do.”
I knew what a smoke would make me decide. One good blow and I wouldn’t even think about going back to that frightening policeman and tell him to take me down to the station, then to court, and then probably to prison. I couldn’t face him if I had a smoke, I knew that for sure.
“I think I need a smoke more than I’ve ever needed one, but it’s ridiculous getting high at a time like this. We wouldn’t think straight or reason sensibly. This is a serious thing, Dusty. We can’t just forget about it by having a smoke.”
The wind sprang up from somewhere and it reminded me of the time that Miss Roach and I walked up this street together, hand in hand, on the night of Ayo’s party. When I went into her pad and shared her spaghetti and her VP and her bed. And in that same bed that night I told her that I loved her. I knew she couldn’t take all that in, but it was great all the same, and just for a short while we pretended that it was true, while we were in each other’s arms. But you can’t tell anyone that you love them even if you don’t mean it, can you?
“Let’s give her a chance, Dusty,” I said to him, “she don’t deserve all this. She’s too good. Let’s give her a chance.”
“What’s the matter with you anyway?” he screamed at me. “What, sort of a cat are you? Wake up, boy! I don’t like this business any more than you do, but we’ve got to face it and do what’s best for all of us. Do you realise that the law found that packet of Tea in her vase anyway? She’ll get charged now, whatever happens. We couldn’t be able to get her off any even if we did own up. You’ve got to face the facts and realise there’s nothing we can do about it.”
He carried on walking up the road, ignoring me, but I followed him like a lamb. At that moment I felt that I was helpless on my own. I convinced myself that I couldn’t face the law on my Jack Jones even if I wanted to. I needed Dusty with me, to give me confidence and the knowledge that there was someone else in my position. I just couldn’t face it by myself.
Dusty took my arm and pulled me to him in a friendly, trusting sort of way. “Do you remember when we started out on this crazy escapade? You thought it was just a dream and it wouldn’t work out like the way I planned it. Well, it did. And you were grateful. I supplied you with the key to open the door that you always dreamed of walking through. I did that for you. Now I want you to do something for me.”
Yes, he’d opened the door to the ‘Hip’ world for me all right. He’d shown me everything. I found the things I wanted to find; but now I wanted to find myself.
Suddenly I found there were people all around us. Women doing their shopping and men at work and for the moment I wished that I could change places with any of them. Even if they were nothing more than a crowd of boring frustrated peasants.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked him.
“Just have confidence in me, that’s all. I’ve never let you down yet, have I? I’ve always stuck by you, so you do the same for me for a change.”
“But how about Miss Roach?”
“Now the law have the Charge that was found in her vase, she’s a certainty for bird anyway. We’ll put a couple of quid away for her every week for when she comes out. She’ll appreciate that.”
A couple of quid a week. A very cheap price for someone to do your time for you, I thought. A couple of quid a week for hours that seem like days and weeks that seem like an eternity.
“Being charged with a few grams is different than being charged with a pound weight. It’ll put months on her sentence,” I pleaded with him.
He put on a sickly smile. “Have faith in me, friend, that’s all I ask. You must think I‘m a right bastard, don’t you? I have feelings, too, believe it or not. I don’t want to see Miss Roach get time any more than you do. But it’s not the first time a young girl has done time and it won’t be the last. It’s not such a bad place, prison, I mean. They get concerts and film shows and some people even like it. I know a chap that’s not happy unless he’s inside. No responsibility, regular food, plenty of rest. It’s not so terrible as some people imagine.”
We crossed the road and entered the tube station. Dusty bought the tickets and practically led me down to the platform. “Come in here a moment,” he said, pulling me into the station carzy. Then he vanished into a WC. My brain was in a whirl and I was so engrossed with my muddled mind that I didn’t realise where I was. Thousands of jagged thoughts about Miss Roach and poor Liz and the whole stinking poxed-up world.
The door opened and Dusty came out with an enormous, wicked-looking spliff in his mouth. “That didn’t take long to make. Get on this man, it’ll do you the world of good.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I haven’t decided yet. I may even go back there after all.”
“Have a smoke,” he said, showing me how. He blew on it like mad and the red end burned down the spliff like it wanted to get smoked up double quick.
“That’s better,” Dusty said. “That’s a lot better. Dear old Harry never lets you down — never! Harry, you never let us down, old feller me lad, and we’re grateful; don’t take any notice of this cat standing beside me. He’s not really one of us. He just pretends he is. He never was.”
We walked out on to the platform and it seemed very strange, because there was no one else on it, except a Spade porter pretending to sweep up. The train came crashing into the station, filling the silent platform with noise. We found a seat by the door. Dusty patted my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, friend, everything’s going to be all right.” The doors were still open and the hum of the train vibrated around us. Then the doors started to close and it was like something from somewhere dragging me out of my seat and I managed to slip past the closing doors just in time. When I was safe on the platform again I turned around and saw Dusty’s horrified face pressed flat against the window of the train.
I ran up the stairs and out of the station as fast as my legs would carry me.
The police station’s reception desk was bare and polished. There was a smell of efficiency and misery in the air. The desk sergeant looked bored with his job; a murder investigation would have pleased him more, I’m sure. Probably years ago he had great ambitions about being useful to the public, spurred on with humanistic thoughts — catching murderers and highly-skilled bank robbers — but now he’d realised that all his job consisted of was bringing unhappiness and misery to the ordinary people like himself, that had made mistakes through circumstances that confronted him nearly every day.
“I want to see your Detective-Inspector,” I said to him.
He looked at me, trying to guess what I wanted him for. “CID, eh? Why the inspector? What do you want him for?”
I felt a bead of perspiration touch my lips. “I’ll tell the inspector.”
“You’ll tell me, if you want to see the inspector.”
My legs started to shake under me. I tr
ied desperately to get the words out but I couldn’t. “I want to see him... I...”
“Come on, out with it. What do you want him for?”
“I want to ask him what station I have to go to, to catch the train to Guildford,”
“You want to see the inspector for that?”
“I have a terribly important question to ask my sister. She’s in the army there. I must see her. She’s the only person that can help me.”
The sergeant was past his amazement. He looked at me with the hardest professional expression that he could muster. “You’d better get out of ’ere sharpish, me lad, if you don’t want to land yourself in trouble. Go on, ’op it!”
I turned around and started towards the door but he called me back. “It’s Victoria Station you’ll need. By the way, are you feeling all right? You’re not ill or anything, are you?”
“No,” I said. I’m feeling much better now.”
Terry Taylor
Photos courtesy Stewart Home (left) and Adrian Moss (right)
Also from New London Editions
Adrift in Soho by Colin Wilson - also available as an ebook
The Furnished Room by Laura Del-Rivo - also available as an ebook
King Dido by Alexander Baron (introduction by Ken Worpole) - ebook coming soon
Rosie Hogarth by Alexander Baron (introduction by Andrew Whitehead) - ebook coming soon
October Day by Frank Griffin (introduction by Andy Croft)
Scamp by Roland Camberton (introduction by Iain Sinclair)
