Trouble In Paradise

by Pip Granger

  ‘Then what happened?’ Beryl asked for me.

  We were all agog, even Mrs Dunmore, ‘whose gog, dolly, has been missing for some time, let’s face it’, as Ronnie observed later.

  ‘Well, the nice man explained to Charlie how Zinnia was a good friend to his boss’s mum and how his boss had been urged to intervene in Zinnia’s spot of bother. He went on to explain just exactly how it wouldn’t be in Charlie’s interests to force his boss to make a personal appearance. He told Charlie that if he got too cocky, the likelihood of Charlie ever walking again was slim and that breathing itself might prove tricky. He said that, now and in the future, it was probably best if Charlie kept himself to himself.’

  I could tell that Ronnie had been impressed, by the relish with which he told us the story. I was pretty impressed myself, and I hadn’t even had the pleasure of witnessing it.

  ‘Then,’ Ronnie continued, ‘the nice man got on to you, dolly.’ He looked at me hard, but with a merry glint in his eye. ‘He said that if Charlie ever laid a finger on you again, he would personally see to it that Charlie ran out of fingers and possibly arms as well; working ones, anyway.’

  I didn’t know what to say. What did it mean? Was Frankie sweet on me? Or was he, like Ronnie said, simply a nice man? I really couldn’t say, but either way, I was glad he’d had a word with Charlie.

  ‘Did he give Charlie a slap or what?’ Cook wanted to know.

  Ronnie had to disappoint her. ‘No, ducky. The only slap he got was from the front door smacking him in the hooter. Claret everywhere, if that brings you any satisfaction. But it wasn’t that little toe-rag that swabbed the decks, it was Terence and me.

  ‘No, the nice man didn’t hit him. Didn’t need to: he was very hot on the menacing tone and the rippling muscles. Charlie might be a fool but he knows genuine menace when he sees it. After all, he’s related to Ma: he’s familiar with it.’

  ‘So he’s safely off the manor?’ I said, wanting to make absolutely sure.

  ‘Oh yes, dolly, take my word. And in no hurry to come back, either. I doubt even Mavis’s allure will tempt him back until he’s sure that nice man has left us.’

  ‘Will you stop calling him “that nice man”?’ I said. ‘His name is Frankie.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Ronnie.

  Frankie, having seen Charlie off, was left with Ma Hole and Percy Robinson to deal with, and of course it was Ma that gave him the most concern. He’d taken advice from Maltese Joe, who had said she was a ‘vicious bitch’ without a single saving grace or a conscience. Worse, she wasn’t stupid, either.

  ‘It’s a nasty combination that: ruthless, intelligent and armed. Joe says she’s the brains behind at least half a dozen smash and grabs at jewellers all over the Smoke. He even thinks she organized the big fur blag from Goldsteins, the furriers that supply Selfridges, Harrods, the lot. Now that’s on our turf, and the boss takes a dim view. So he wants her hurt bad,’ Frankie reported to us at teatime. I’d been at work all day and Frankie had been on what he called a ‘reccy’ of Ma’s manor and her ‘firm’.

  Zinnia was not happy. ‘I can’t condone serious violence, young man,’ she said, sounding appalled at the notion. ‘I’m a healer, not a killer.’

  I must admit, I found Frankie’s attitude a bit chilling. Normally, he was such a sunny character, but he was solemn when he told us what he was up to. I could quite see how he could be frightening when he chose to be.

  ‘He don’t mean hurt bad in the limb department, Miss Makepeace,’ Frankie assured her hastily, then hedged his bets. ‘Well, not necessarily, anyway. He says it’d be easier to threaten her lads, get them to rethink their career prospects, than to try and frighten Ma Hole. He says to offer them the option of joining another firm, like ours, if they’re up to it, or moving right out of the way. That’d leave her isolated and easier to pick off.’

  ‘And how’re you planning to persuade her young men to desert the rat,’ asked Zinnia, ‘without using violence?’

  ‘Don’t you mean something about rats deserting a sinking ship?’ Frankie asked, bewildered for a second.

  ‘I know what I mean, young man.’ Zinnia’s voice was sharp. ‘That woman is a pestilence upon the land, she always has been. If I call her a verminous rodent, it’s what I mean.’ Zinnia was getting all biblical again; it proved you could get the girl off the island, but not get the island out of the girl. As Zinnia always said, ‘The Wee Free Kirk has a lot to answer for, hen. So much intolerance of other ways of thinking and doing.’

  ‘Well, there’s money and better working conditions,’ offered Frankie, ‘and of course becoming part of a West End outfit’s gotta be a leg up from being part of an East End one.’ Frankie grinned, knowing he was getting right up my East End nose.

  ‘And don’t you go getting shirty, neither. You’re heading West yourself,’ he pointed out.

  It was true, I couldn’t deny it.

  ‘Then there’s the body parts,’ Frankie said quietly, trying hard not to catch Zinnia’s eye.

  ‘What do you mean, “body parts”? I said that I’ll have no serious violence. What’s this about parts?’

  ‘It’s like this. Ma has got to be shown, in no uncertain terms, that she has to stick to her own patch. Other faces may get notions if she ain’t stopped from poaching. But she’s a stubborn and dangerous woman, according to Joe, who does not say such things lightly. Even he thinks twice about taking her on. It makes no sense for him to waste time, money and men on a war, when he could be using his resources in a more gainful way. But she still has to be stopped, right?’

  We nodded, and Frankie carried on. ‘So, he’s decided that if he can’t persuade her troops to leave her voluntarily, he’ll use the body parts.’

  ‘Wha—’ Zinnia began but Frankie held up a hand to silence her. She shut her mouth and waited for the explanation.

  ‘He reckons if you leave the odd hand, ear, finger, even an arm or a leg, in the right spot, it will give her lads something to contemplate when they are considering their next move,’ Frankie explained to a stony-faced Zinnia and a green-around-the-gills me. ‘And it don’t do Joe’s reputation any harm neither. Other faces are bound to get to hear about it. Don’t panic! The bits don’t come from anyone living, they come from the dissecting rooms at the medical school. The Prof there owes Joe big: bloody hundreds.’

  ‘What for?’ I asked. ‘How do they even know each other?’ Somehow a West End crook and a medical professor didn’t seem like natural chums to me.

  ‘Gambling, what do you think? Joe owns a few spielers and the Prof’s obsessed with blackjack. Anyway, Joe’ll wipe the Prof’s slate clean for enough parts to do the job. He doesn’t think it’ll take that many. It’ll save manpower, bloodshed and mayhem and,’ he finished triumphantly, ‘the stiffs don’t belong to anyone who’s gonna miss ’em.’

  Zinnia and I sat there, dumbfounded by the simplicity of the plan, as well as its gruesomeness. We were both sure that there were some serious moral objections to be made, about the sanctity of the dead and so on, but Frankie asked us what about the sanctity of the living? And there was no real answer to that.

  ‘Ladies, think about it. Hitler or the Prof’s students have done the dismem— er, taking apart, half the time at least. Nobody knows what belongs to who. They ain’t going to be buried by their families, with a name on their graves or anything. The hospital sees to it and they ain’t sentimental. It’s just bits to them, what have outstayed their usefulness. Joe’s used them before. Works a treat. No-one gets hurt, but it concentrates the mind.’

  ‘He has a point there, hen. Hospitals mainly throw those, er … items in the furnace and incinerate them. Sometimes they’re buried in a mass grave.’ Zinnia wasn’t sentimental about bodies either, having laid out so many.

  ‘I see your point,’ I said, ‘but it still strikes me as revolting.’

  ‘Not half as revolting as having your head blown off by some snotty kid with a hand grenade,’ said Frankie with feeling
. ‘And it would most likely be my head that copped it.’ He was right. Ma had to be stopped, and if the departed could help save lives, then there was no point in objecting.

  ‘You could say they’re gonna be performing a public service,’ Frankie pointed out. ‘Saving lives, ’specially mine.’

  So it was finally agreed. Not that it mattered whether Zinnia and I agreed or not. Maltese Joe said it was a plan, therefore it was a plan as far as Frankie was concerned.

  ‘But for starters, there’s old Percy to see to. Fancy a drink down the Star and Garter tonight, Zelda? You can point the bugger out to me.’

  It didn’t take me long to get ready, because most of my clothes were still back at the flat. A lick and a promise had to do. It was a nice evening, so we decided to walk to the pub.

  ‘I forgot to tell you, Zelda,’ Frankie said on the way. ‘Joe says the flat’s yours. Bert had already spoken to him about it when I brought it up. He’s evicting his present tenants’ – he looked at his watch – ‘even as we speak.’

  I could have skipped! In fact, I think I did; I certainly shrieked. Then I gave it a little more thought. ‘I’m not putting anyone on the street, am I? I wouldn’t want that,’ I said, not quite truthfully. If there were kids involved I wouldn’t want it, or even a lone female, but I thought a grown bloke could probably take care of himself and I did need the flat.

  ‘Keep your hair on,’ Frankie smiled. ‘They’re just a couple of geezers who are getting on Joe’s nerves, that’s all. They’re always slipping up when it comes to paying rent. If they weren’t some sort of cousin, they’d’ve been out on the pavements months ago. He reckons they should piss off back to Malta, because he ain’t running a bleeding charity, family or no family.’

  ‘When do you reckon I can move in?’ I asked.

  ‘Joe says to leave it till the weekend, in case it takes a day or two for reason to sink in with his cousins. Bert’ll have the keys for you on Saturday and Maggie says you can start work at the cafe on Monday if you like.’

  I could hardly believe my luck. The weekend suddenly seemed a year away, instead of a few days. I was so happy I could have burst into a song and dance right there in the street. I didn’t, but I just couldn’t wipe the silly grin off my face as I walked into the pub.

  47

  The Star and Garter was quite busy for a week-night. I saw Dilly and Chester sitting with Ronnie.

  ‘Cooee!’ Ronnie sang out as he waved across the saloon bar when he saw us come through the door. ‘All aboard! We’re celebrating.’

  ‘Celebrating what?’ I asked as soon as we came alongside.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you, dolly, until you introduce me to this nice man.’ Ronnie simpered and gave Frankie his most winning smile. ‘I know we met over Charlie, but we were never formally introduced.’

  I laughed and rolled my eyes at Ronnie. The man was incorrigible; you only had to show him a handsome face and a few muscles. I made the introductions. ‘Frankie, this is my friend Ronnie, my friend Dilly and her friend, Chester.’

  ‘Ah!’ Dilly laughed, her face alight with an almost unearthly glow. ‘Zelda’s mysterious admirer, according to Mavis that is. She’s told half the world about you and a strange man coming out of your place in the early hours of the morning – and Charlie’s told the other half. He needs an excuse for you leaving him, Zeld, to save face. He says he slung you out because of your fancy man.’

  I blushed. Of course, nothing was going on between me and Frankie, but I was beginning to have quiet hopes. I liked the man.

  ‘Well, there’s no truth to it. Frankie’s just a friend,’ I told her. ‘He’s been helping Zinnia out,’ I added, as if that explained everything.

  While all this was going on, Chester quietly stood up, held out his hand and shook Frankie’s. ‘How do you do, can I get you a drink? And you, Zelda? As the man said, we’re celebrating. What can I get you two?’

  ‘What are you celebrating?’ I looked into Dilly’s eyes and she smiled so wide, I swear that Gibraltar would’ve fitted with room to spare. She held up her left hand to show a rock considerably smaller than the famed one, but a respectable size none the less. It was an antique, she informed me – new rings were in very short supply, thanks to bloody Hitler.

  ‘Second-hand,’ Chester corrected softly. ‘The guy at the store said it was second-hand.’

  ‘Antique, second-hand, either way it’s a dazzler,’ I assured my friend and was rewarded by the wattage on her glow going up still further. Her face outshone her ring, and that was saying something.

  ‘Molly. Champagne for the happy couple,’ Ronnie sang out.

  Molly guffawed. ‘On yer bike, Ronnie. We don’t have bubbly here, but I can do you a nice shandy.’

  In the end, the men settled for beer and Dilly and I had shandy.

  I raised my glass in a toast. ‘To the happy couple.’

  ‘To the happy couple,’ came a pleasing response from every customer in the place – even Percy Robinson and Mrs Dunmore.

  I goggled. What was Sylvia Dunmore doing with Percy Robinson? I nudged Frankie and nodded very slightly towards the snug end of the bar. Frankie glanced over nonchalantly, then winked at me. ‘Get Sylvia away from him, Zelda. Take her to the Ladies or something, the way you women do. What is it about women that they never seem to go to the khazi by themselves?’ He seemed genuinely interested. I couldn’t tell him offhand, because I’d never given it any thought. But it was true, we often did go mob-handed.

  ‘What’s she doing here with Percy anyway?’ I said, bewildered by the turn of events. ‘I thought he told her he was only messing about.’

  Molly laughed. ‘Well, Mrs D. says that having sent her away, old Percy realized he couldn’t live without her. But the truth is, Percy’s old woman’s slung him out at last, and he’s got nowhere else to go.’

  I tried to shift her, I really did, but Sylvia Dunmore had spotted Frankie and had correctly guessed that Percy was in for some bother. She would not budge. In the end, Frankie simply presented himself in front of the quaking couple, with Ronnie and Chester standing behind him, in case Percy made a run for it. Personally, I don’t think the man’s legs would have carried him. I could almost hear his knees knocking.

  He’d heard about Charlie from somewhere, but then news travelled along with the wind in our neck of the woods, although the details were often wrong. Charlie’s squashed nose had assumed the proportions of a thorough pasting, leaving him barely recognizable and unable to stand, and Frankie was identified as the one who had delivered the pasting. There was no mention of any front door smacking Charlie in the chops.

  I was learning, though. When I’d heard the story, I knew Frankie would appreciate the publicity. In his game, any publicity was good as long as it involved gore. So I left the story uncorrected. Gossip had done Frankie’s job for him. Percy needed no persuasion to leave Zinnia alone. He practically begged for the privilege of ignoring her completely, but that wasn’t enough for Frankie.

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I still think I ought to give you a slap. Scaring an old lady like that, it definitely deserves a slap. And how do I know that once I’m gone, you’ll keep your word? I mean, you’re not known for your trustworthiness, are you? You can see my problem, I’m sure.’

  Mrs Dunmore saw it straight away. ‘What if I told you we were going away?’ she asked – pleaded, more like. What was wrong with the woman? I mean, he’d humiliated her publicly and here she was, back in his lap, practically.

  ‘Going away, eh? When? Where?’ His eyes narrowed. I saw what Ronnie meant about menacing. Good old Frankie suddenly looked really frightening. I shivered slightly and backed away a step.

  ‘Brighton,’ Mrs Dunmore said. ‘We’ll go on Friday. I have a little money. We’re going to open a boarding-house,’ she said, grabbing Percy’s reluctant arm and hanging on to it like grim death. Her knuckles were white as she dug her fingers into his sleeve, willing him to tell Frankie it was true.

  Frankie
turned his pitiless gaze on Percy, as if he was a specimen in a bottle. Percy nodded hastily and hard.

  ‘Right then. You can piss off now, because I’m sick of looking at you. Don’t let me see your ugly mush again, and believe me, come Saturday, I’ll be looking.’ As he spoke, Frankie poked Percy Robinson in the chest several times with a rigid finger to emphasize his words. Even that was too much violence for Percy, who whimpered slightly and backed away.

  Frankie turned to Mrs Dunmore. ‘I’m warning you, Sylvia. This bit of rough’ll see you wrong every time, but I don’t s’pose you’ll listen. Make sure you get him out of here, that’s all, just make sure.’ He allowed them to finish their drinks, then escorted them to the door and watched them slink down the dark street.

  Ronnie clapped his hands together and shrieked, ‘Ooh dolly, I do love a forceful omie,’ as Frankie walked across the room. ‘’Specially if he’s got a bona vardering eek, bod – and have you clocked the corybungus in those lally drags? Fantabulosa!’

  I exploded, showering Chester with the last of my shandy. I couldn’t even apologize, because I was choking. Chester kindly thumped me on the back.

  ‘Ronnie!’ wailed Dilly, ‘I hardly ever understand a word you say and I’m certain Chester doesn’t.’

  Frankie had come back to our table by then. Ronnie had the grace to blush, but Frankie grinned and translated for him, ‘He said, “I do love a forceful man, ‘specially if he’s got a good-looking face, body and have you noticed the bum in those trousers? Fabulous!” and I’m not sure …’ – Frankie paused and looked round the bar carefully, to see if there was anyone else wandering about who fitted the description – ‘but I think he was talking about me.’

  I choked all over again and Ronnie blushed harder.

  ‘Unless he was referring to Percy boy; but I doubt it, his eek is anything but bona vardering and anyway, he’s got nanty riah. But then I didn’t vada his corybungus. That might’ve made up for it,’ Frankie laughed.

  ‘What’s “nanty riah”?’ Dilly asked, but she was ignored because I was staring at Frankie with my mouth wide open. Frankie was looking at Ronnie, and Ronnie was staring right back at him, face blank with utter astonishment. I heard a faint, far-off crash and tinkle as my hopes concerning Frankie were dashed.