Borstal Slags

by Graham, Tom

  ‘Pissed, are we?’ the lad said, winking but not smiling. ‘You should’ve waited till we got to the club. I’m sure Mr Gould would happily give you a free drink or two.’

  Sam stood dumb and motionless, not knowing what the hell to do or say.

  The boy tapped his wristwatch impatiently. ‘Time’s getting on. Don’t want to keep Mr Gould waiting. We’d best go knock.’

  He headed towards one of the terraced houses, but then stopped, glancing back over his shoulder and flashing Sam a cocky, lopsided grin.

  ‘You ever seen her?’ he asked.

  Sam looked at him blankly.

  ‘His daughter,’ the boy said. ‘She’s up there now. That’s her light on.’ He pointed towards an upstairs window, glowing dimly. ‘She’s tasty. Let’s cop a look, yeah?’

  Scooping up a palmful of grit from the road, the young man threw it at the first-floor window. After a few seconds, he threw some more.

  A shadow appeared on the inside of the window. The curtains moved. A hint of a figure appeared – but at once, the front door of the house flew open and a man strode furiously into the street.

  ‘You pack that in, Perry!’

  The man marched straight for Perry, who ducked away, grinning.

  ‘Keep your hair on, Mr Cartwright!’ he laughed. ‘Just wanted to wish her goodnight!’

  ‘And the rest!’ Cartwright snapped back. ‘I know what you’re after, you greasy little ferret.’

  ‘I ain’t after nothing,’ grinned Perry. ‘Just being civil.’

  Cartwright turned and called up at the window, ‘Back to bed! Right now! And turn that light out!’

  The shadowy figure in the window disappeared at once back behind the curtains. Moments later, the window went dark.

  When Cartwright turned back, he noticed Sam and acknowledged him with a curt nod of the head.

  ‘So,’ he said, flatly. ‘You’ve shown up. Good. Very good.’

  Sam stood dumbly, not knowing what to say, or where he was, or what the hell was going on. Even the name Cartwright hadn’t quite impinged on his reeling brain as fully as it might.

  Perry made a show of straightening his suit and checking his hair, then said, ‘Shall we be on our way, then?’

  He graciously indicated the little Austin. Cartwright strode towards it – and Sam, without any conscious decision to do so, strode after him, his legs moving under their own volition, as if somebody were operating his body by remote control.

  This isn’t my body, Sam thought, fresh waves of panic washing over him. I’m looking out through somebody else’s eyes. I’m a passenger inside somebody else’s mind.

  And then, in horror, he corrected himself: No, not a passenger. A prisoner!

  Where this stranger’s body went, Sam was powerless to control it. He was witnessing events from the past, from somewhere back in the 1960s, through the eyes of a stranger. He was a voyeur, forced to witness and experience whatever this alien host body witnessed and experienced. But whose body was it? Who the hell was he?

  Without warning, Perry suddenly called up to the dark, first-floor window, ‘Sweet dreams, Annie!’

  Cartwright took a furious swipe at him, but Perry ducked away.

  ‘You want to watch it, Mr Cartwright,’ he said, producing car keys from his jacket pocket. ‘Mr Gould thinks very highly of me. I’m an appreciating asset in his organization – hear what I’m saying?’

  ‘Just get behind that wheel and drive,’ Cartwright growled. ‘And keep your mind on the road, not on my daughter.’

  And, with that, he disappeared into the Austin, and Sam – or whoever’s eyes Sam was seeing through – clambered in after him.

  CHAPTER NINE: HOUSE OF DIAMONDS

  As he sat in the back of the speeding car, the street lamps flashing by, Sam’s thoughts turned over and over on the silhouette he had glimpsed in the upstairs window.

  Could that really have been her? Could that really have been Annie? And what year must this be? Nineteen sixty-three, or thereabouts? Then how old would she have been? Fifteen? Sixteen? And this man sitting beside me – is that really her father? And who am I? Who’s life am I being made to witness?

  Sam could not process what was happening to him. He was moving through this sunken dream like a sleepwalker, like man under the control of a hypnotist.

  In front of him, he could see the back of Perry’s head, held upright as he drove. From time to time Perry’s eyes flashed in the rear-view mirror as he glanced at Sam and Tony in the back seat. He whisked them through the dark and almost deserted streets until suddenly he flung the wheel and bounced them recklessly down a tight alleyway. He hit the brakes, and the car came to a stop.

  ‘We’re here, gentlemen!’

  The three men clambered out. They were in a mean, badly lit passage tucked in between large brick buildings that might have been factories or workshops. An illuminated sign read ‘HOUSE OF DIAMONDS’. Beneath it stood an open doorway, very narrow and uninviting, and beyond this doorway ran a flight of steps, descending steeply into darkness.

  Perry straightened his jacket, his tie, and then his hair. He rolled his shoulders and adjusted the gold chain of his fob watch. When he was sure he was immaculate, he clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly.

  ‘Righty-righty, then! I’ll run on ahead and let Mr Gould know you’re here.’

  With a cocky wink at Sam, the lad bounded down the stairs and vanished into the smoky gloom.

  Sam supposed he was to go down that gloomy staircase too, but Tony hesitated. He caught hold of Sam’s arm and looked very intently into his face.

  ‘When you go in there, say as little as possible. Gould doesn’t like blabbermouths. The less you say, the more he’ll trust you. Understand?’

  Sam tried speak, to get some sort of word back to Tony – even if that word was only a single, pathetic ‘Help!’ But his mouth was not his own, and it stayed firmly shut. Instead, he nodded – or rather, Sam felt himself nod – and said not a word.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Tony said in a hushed voice. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to, and tell Gould what he wants to hear. Once he’s accepted you, we’ll get the hell out of there as soon as we can.’

  Tony pulled Sam nearer to him, close enough for Sam to smell the nervous sweat of his armpits.

  ‘Gould will be suspicious. He’ll send somebody to keep an eye on you. They’ll sit you at one of the gaming tables, give you drinks, encourage you to enjoy yourself. Play along. I’ll be in the office with Gould, explaining that I need you in on our arrangement. Once he’s happy with that, he’ll send for you. Sweet Jesus, I’m sweating cobs!’

  Tony fumbled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his glistening brow.

  ‘It was never supposed to bloody come to this! A few extra on the side to make ends meet, that’s all it was. But those bastards, they suck you in. I should have seen it coming – I should have smelt it, right from the start, what Gould wanted in the long run. I just didn’t realize it’d be me who’d be the one tangled up in it! There’s others on the pay roll working for Gould, it ain’t just me. There’s lads creaming it in! Uniformed coppers, boys from Special Branch, boys from CID – right across the board. All sorts. But the bugger goes and singles me out, wants me to get him off the hook for that whole bloody messy business of his!’

  With shaking hands, Tony scrubbed at his face with the handkerchief then shoved it back into his trouser pocket. He took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly.

  ‘Right, then. Let’s go.’

  Tony indicated that Sam was to go first. Sam felt himself turn, head through the doorway, and plod down the staircase into the murky gloom. The reek of cigars filled his nostrils. He stepped into a shifting, suffocating darkness, felt a curtain made of dangling beads brush against him and pushed his way through it.

  Figures moved through a smoky, dim light. Decorated lamps glowed. Light sparkled from the effervescence of champagne glasses. Cards were dealt and dice thrown acro
ss green baize. A roulette wheel spun, and a steel ball shot across it. Gambling chips clacked.

  ‘Gould’s office is back there,’ whispered Tony. He indicated past the gamers, the girls, and the croupiers towards a set of wooden doors set deep in shadow, outside of which were stationed two sharply dressed, bald-headed bouncers. ‘We’ll wait here until he sends for me. God, I need a drink!’

  He grabbed two glasses of champagne and downed them both, one after the other.

  Then they saw Perry appear out of the wooden doors of Mr Gould’s office and come threading his way between the gaming tables towards them.

  ‘Mr Cartwright, Mr Gould will see you now.’

  Tony hesitated, and looked around for another glass of champagne.

  ‘Now, Mr Cartwright,’ Perry insisted.

  Without a word, Tony headed towards the wooden doors. The heavies opened them for him, and he vanished inside.

  Perry thrust a block of gambling chips into Sam’s hands. All by themselves, Sam’s hands accepted them. He could feel the weight of them, feel the smooth plastic surface of each chip, and yet he knew it was the hands of a stranger who held them.

  ‘Compliments of Mr Gould,’ he said. ‘You’re to enjoy yourself this evening.’

  Through shifting bands of thick tobacco smoke, the wooden doors to Mr Gould’s private office were just visible. They reeked of menace, like the doors to some terrible underworld of lost souls and perpetual torment.

  Violence, Sam thought. Violence and cruelty. Pain and betrayal. It stinks of death here! My God, this is an awful place.

  Sam suddenly realized his hands were trying to thrust the gambling chips back to Perry.

  ‘A refusal often offends,’ said Perry, smiling, refusing to accept them. But Sam wouldn’t take them. Perry’s smile didn’t falter for a moment. ‘Let’s get something straight. This is the House of Diamonds. You’re a guest of Mr Gould. You understand what that means? And, while you’re a guest, you’re to have a nice time, right? You’re to have a very nice time.’

  Politely but firmly, Perry was manoeuvring Sam towards the bar. They sat together on narrow stools, side by side.

  ‘On the house.’ He winked, sliding a cocktail glass into Sam’s hands. ‘You can have a good life if you do the right things. Mr Gould looks after his own. He’s looking after me. I’m on the up here. You are, too – leastways, now you’re on the team. You’re one of us. One of the gang.’

  He clinked his own glass against Sam’s and sipped his cocktail, smacking his lips. He looked intensely into Sam’s face for a moment, leant closer, and spoke in a low voice.

  ‘Mr Gould’s got plans, you know. Not just for me and you. For her. Cartwright’s daughter. Know what I mean?’

  He nudged Sam with his elbow.

  ‘It’s going to be hard for her at first, of course,’ he went on, whispering. ‘You know – tears and all that. But he’ll look after her.’ He grinned and winked at Sam. ‘And, with her daddy out of the way, there’ll be a vacancy. You want to get in there. Annie’s a chip off the old block, you know what I’m saying? Her mother’s still a looker. A real looker. And, besides, she’s more your age than mine.’

  Sam’s thoughts reeled. Was he reading Perry’s meaning right? He felt himself turn away, shift position in his seat, and as he did he caught sight of himself for the first time in the mirrored tiles on the wall behind the bar. What he saw made his blood freeze in his veins.

  The face looking back at him was familiar, but it was not his own. A young man with cropped, reddish hair and a trim moustache was staring out at him. It was House Master McClintock’s face, but ten years younger, and dressed not in the black uniform of a borstal warder but in a sharp suit with a narrow tie.

  My God, this is McClintock’s past I’m seeing. This is McClintock’s life I’m witnessing!

  He saw one of his – or rather, McClintock’s – hands reach out and pick up the cocktail glass. The hand, Sam now realized, was unscarred. Whatever injury had so disfigured him still lay ahead, in McClintock’s future.

  ‘You seem very tense Mr McClintock,’ Perry said. ‘I don’t think this casino is your sort of place, is it. It is a bit smoky in here. Tell you what’ – he knocked back his drink and got to his feet – ‘let’s chat outside.’

  As Perry got to his feet, Sam waited for McClintock to follow him, but instead he stayed put. Perry looked at him with a strange expression for a moment, then laughed.

  ‘You got nothing to worry about, old sport! It’s Cartwright who’s up shit creek – as well you know! C’mon, let’s get some air.’

  Slowly, McClintock rose and followed Perry across the casino and back up the steep flight of stairs. Together, they stepped into the narrow alleyway, where Perry’s car was still parked. Perry lounged against his motor and fished out a packet of cigarettes. McClintock refused the offer of one with a shake of his head, so Perry lit up alone, making a show of it, acting like the big man.

  ‘Don’t feel guilty, Mr McClintock,’ he said, breathing out smoke. ‘Cartwright brought it on himself, you must understand that. All Mr Gould needed was a little bit of messy business tidied up. That’s all. But PC Cartwright went and let his conscience get the better of him. He tried to – oh what’s the expression? He tried to “wear the white hat” – that’s it. But white hats have gone out of fashion, don’t you think? I mean, we wouldn’t catch you in a ruddy great white hat now, would we?’

  And with that, he produced a huge wad of bank notes from under his jacket and held them out to Sam.

  ‘Take it,’ Perry said. ‘Mr Gould insists. Go on, stick in your pocket. And please don’t say “thirty pieces of silver”.’

  McClintock betrayed Tony Cartwright, Sam thought, his brain working frantically to make sense of what he was hearing. McClintock was on the force alongside Annie’s father, and he sold him out to the gangster who runs this casino.

  And then, very suddenly, and with the utmost clarity, Sam thought, Tony Cartwright’s about to die. Annie’s father is about to die. And it was McClintock who betrayed him.

  It didn’t matter how he had come to be here, in this decade and in this place and in this unfamiliar body, seeing events from ten years before through eyes that were not his own. All that mattered was that he seize the initiative. If Annie’s father was about to be murdered by this gangster, Clive Gould, Sam could stop it. He could save him. He could change history.

  That’s why I’m here. I’ve been brought here to rewrite the past. God knows how, God knows why, but that’s why I’m here! But how the hell can I make this damned body do anything – it’s not mine to control!

  He screamed silently at the body he was trapped in, Move! Move, damn it! There’s no point me being here if I can’t change things!

  But still he just stood there.

  Up the steps, looming out of the darkness, came the two bouncers who had been guarding the entrance to Gould’s office. They planted themselves menacingly on either side of McClintock, like prison warders with an inmate.

  Perry acknowledged them politely: ‘Charlie. Lewis. Good evening to you both.’

  The bouncers said nothing. They stood with faces like bulldogs, implacable and humourless. One of them nodded, almost imperceptibly, at Perry. It was a signal.

  ‘Very well,’ said Perry, and patted McClintock’s arm. ‘Mr Gould is ready to receive us. Follow me, if you’d be so kind.’

  McClintock hesitated. The bouncers drew closer, nudged him to walk forward, but still he did not move.

  ‘Don’t be concerned, Mr McClintock,’ Perry urged him. From the tone of his voice it was clear that he was enjoying himself, savouring the opportunity to show what he could do, how he could deal with tricky business matters, how he could give orders and take control. Mr Gould would hear of it. Mr Gould would promote him. ‘You’ve done the right thing. Everything runs smooth if everyone behaves. Cartwright was rocking the boat. He was dangerous. But not any more.’ Perry looked deep into Sam’s eyes. ‘You haven’
t betrayed a fellow copper – you’ve proved your loyalty to Mr Gould. And you’ve saved yourself from ending up like Cartwright. You’d be sharing the same sticky end as him if you hadn’t played along like a good boy.’

  A coward! Sam thought furiously. McClintock’s nothing but a stinking coward, selling out his colleague to save his own skin!

  McClintock began walking, obediently following Perry down the dark alley, the bouncers plodding along behind.

  Sam struggled to somehow take control of McClintock’s body, to override him, to force him to act like a copper and get back down those stairs and get his partner out of trouble. He tried to pour energy into McClintock’s body, into his limbs, to wrest control of them, to clad himself in McClintock’s body as if it were suit of armour. The effort of it was all consuming. Sam’s vision blurred and darkened. He felt a sudden pain, like a migraine, and sense of nausea, and then he seemed to be falling backwards into an inky blackness that enveloped him utterly. He struck something hard that was a wall or a floor, he could not tell which, and found himself stumbling about, confused, his hands pressing against hard surfaces, something heavy and metallic clanging nearby, a sudden light falling across him and then a man’s voice.

  ‘What? Did you say something, eh?’

  The warder was standing in the open doorway of the punishment cell, looking at him. Sam was standing flat against one of the graffiti-covered walls, so close that his nose was pressing against the filthy, black surface.

  ‘I’m back,’ he breathed, panting.

  ‘You’re weird,’ corrected the warder.

  CHAPTER TEN: A SIMPLE COPPER

  Sam found himself stumbling back through the bleached corridors of Friar’s Brook like a man in a daze. He felt adrift, dislocated, mentally jetlagged. The instability of Time – the suddenness with which he could slip from 2006 back to 1973, and then from 1973 to some point in the early 1960s – appalled him. He was like a man who had just survived an earthquake, shocked that the terra firma beneath his feet that he had taken for granted all his life was far from firma after all.