The man led him to one of the upstairs bedrooms. As Billings entered, he was surprised to see two other people already in the room, sitting against the wall on wooden chairs. They both had curly red hair and bushy beards. Billings’ heart leapt. Three Hirsch brothers assembled in one room! Special Branch had been searching for them for a long time, and now here they were.
One of the brothers looked up as Billings entered. He was older than the other two. A big man with a big belly but a kind face. Billings recognised him from the mugshot. It was Ruben.
“Mir hobn eyn frayviliker!” Ruben said. (We have one volunteer.)
Billings approached him and stretched out his hand. He was about to introduce himself when Joseph stopped him.
“No names,” Joseph said. He pointed at one of the various empty chairs against the wall. “Sit down.”
Billings did as he was told.
“How did you learn about this meeting?” Joseph asked him.
“I read the announcement in the Liberty.”
“Where did you get the paper?”
“At the Autonomie Club.”
“Are you a member?”
“No. I wanted to join, but they’re not interested in action. They’re only interested in talking. We won’t get anywhere by talking. We need action. We need to destroy the status quo so that we can start again.”
Joseph smiled and turned towards the third brother. Billings recognised him as Zebulun. Zebulun smiled back.
Ruben, however, was not happy with Billings’ explanation. He shook his head and muttered quietly, “Ay-yay-yay.”
Joseph frowned at this reaction but did not say anything. “Do you understand what we are proposing?” he asked Billings.
“Yes.”
“What?”
Billings hesitated. “You want to bomb a train.”
“Are you prepared for the casualties this will cause?”
“Yes.”
“You have no qualms about killing people?”
Billings shook his head. “There’s no gain without pain.”
Joseph was pleased with this answer. He turned towards Zebulun. They both smiled.
But once again, Ruben was dissatisfied and shook his head and muttered, “Ay-yay-yay.”
Joseph frowned and turned towards him. “What?”
“Violence only begets more violence,” Ruben answered.
This did not go down well with Joseph. “Why did you come here? If you don’t like what we’re plotting, then go!”
“I came here to try and prevent another tragedy.”
“A tragedy is what we’re living in.”
“A tragedy is what you’ve made us live in.”
“This is not the time or place to discuss your disgruntlement, brother!”
“Brother?” Ruben started applauding him. “Bravo. You’ve just betrayed our relationship to the newcomer.” He looked at Billings. “Do you know who we are?”
Billings paused before replying. “You are the Hirsch brothers,” he said.
“That’s right.” Ruben smiled. “The infamous Hirsch brothers. You know exactly who we are, because our pictures have been published in every newspaper both sides of the channel. What is your name? You know ours; we might as well know yours.”
“My name is Jeremiah Quick.”
“Well, Jeremiah, if I was you, I’d get out of here as quickly as I could. You don’t want to end up like me and my brothers, fugitives lost and scared in a foreign country. This ridiculous plot Joseph has concocted is a fantasy. It’ll never work.”
Joseph looked offended.
“It’s a farce, Joseph! That coded message you wrote in the Liberty is a farce. How long did it take you to decipher it?” The last question was directed at Billings, but Ruben didn’t wait for him to answer it. “And if you’ve deciphered it, do you think the police haven’t? Why, you might even be the police! Infiltrating this meeting undercover!”
Billings felt a drop of sweat trickle down his forehead. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his head.
“Are you hot?” Ruben asked him.
“A little.”
“Take off your coat.”
Billings reached into his coat pocket, where he kept his gun. “I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not. You’re sweating. Take off your coat.”
Billings thought he would look suspicious if he continued to refuse. He made sure the gun was nestled deep in the pocket before slowly taking off his coat. He folded it up carefully, so that the gun wouldn’t fall out, and placed it under his chair.
“Do you have any brothers?” Ruben asked him.
Billings wasn’t sure why Ruben was asking this and paused before replying. “I have a sister,” he lied.
“Well, you’re lucky. Sisters are kind. Brothers are rivals. Do you know how many brothers I have?”
“There are seven of you.”
“Well, there were seven of us. But now there’s only six. Issachar died. Did you know that?”
Billings didn’t say anything.
“Issachar was stabbed in the back.” He turned towards Joseph as he said this. “Stabbed by his own brother,” he added.
Joseph looked confused. “Are you talking about me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you accusing me of killing Issachar?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To inherit our father’s money.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
Ruben turned back towards Billings. “Do you know what our father did after his factory got destroyed? He changed his will, that’s what he did. Now only one of us can inherit his money. Only one. The one who outlives the others. That’s what he did, the twisted bastard! He must have thought we’d turn on each other. That we’d become desperate and abandon our principles. That we’d start killing each other off in order to inherit his money. And it seems that he was right, wasn’t he?” He addressed his brother. “Because that’s why we’re here. That’s why you placed that announcement in the Liberty. It wasn’t to organise a plot to bomb a train. It was to bait us. To gather us all together so that you could kill us.” He took a pistol out of his jacket and pointed it at Joseph. “Well, you won’t get at me, little brother.”
Joseph frowned. “Put that gun down, Ruben.”
“I am pointing this pistol at you so that you know that I’m armed. If you ever come near me again, I will shoot you.”
“You are ridiculous! Why would I want my father’s money? I’m an anarchist.”
“You are a paskudnik!” Still pointing the pistol at Joseph, Ruben turned towards his other brother. “Leave him, Zebulun. I warn you. You’ve chosen the wrong brother to follow. Joseph will sell you down the river, like he did with Issachar.”
“I’m staying put,” Zebulun answered.
Ruben then turned his attention back towards Billings and pointed the pistol at him. “You had better go now too. There is no plot. I’m sorry my brother has wasted your time.”
Billings hesitated. This meeting had not gone at all the way he had expected, but one thing was clear: he would not be learning any details about the plot (if there was a plot) by staying on.
He stood up. “I’ll keep on perusing the papers,” he said. “When you are ready to start plotting seriously, I’ll be there.” And he walked out of the room.
As he walked out of the building, he saw a house with a large porch a little further down the alleyway. It was the perfect hiding place from which to observe the brothers leave. He nestled himself in the porch and kept an eye on the building. Not long after he had abandoned the building, he saw Ruben walk out of it, still holding the pistol in his hand. He hid the gun in the inside pocket of his jacket and walked away.
Billings thought about following him but decided against it. If everything Ruben had said during the meeting was to be believed, then Joseph was the ringleader. Joseph would be a better target to shadow. So he waited.
It
was cold in the porch, despite the blazing sun. Billings had been standing still for nearly half an hour, and he was beginning to shiver. What were Joseph and Zebulun still doing in there, he wondered. Then he realised he had left his coat, with his gun in it, under the chair.
“Damn it!” he whispered to himself. He had no choice but to retrieve it.
He headed back towards the building. Slipping through the unhinged door and stepping into the entrance, he suddenly saw something he hadn’t noticed before. At the end of the hallway there was another door, which led to the back yard. It was open. Billings approached it carefully. He looked into the yard and saw a ladder leaning against the wall. Had Joseph and Zebulun fled through the back entrance? Had they suspected him all along?
“Damn it!”
Billings climbed the stairs towards the first floor and looked into the room. It was empty. His coat lay folded neatly under his chair, just as he had left it. He entered the room and picked up his coat. He cursed himself for letting the Hirsch brothers escape. What would Flynt and England say when he came back to the Yard empty handed? Flynt would have a field day.
While he put on his coat, he suddenly saw something in the corner. It was Zebulun. He was sitting in his chair, his arms hanging loose, his head tilted forward. Was he sleeping? Had he fainted?
Billings approached the body slowly and placed his fingers under its chin. Carefully lifting the head, he saw that Zebulun’s eyes were open but lifeless. The collar of his shirt was drenched in a dark red fluid. Blood trickled down his neck and onto the floorboards. His throat had been sliced open.
6. Enoch
Billings trudged back home, still wearing his disguise. He had a pounding headache. The sun shone in his eyes, and as he squinted, he saw someone sitting on the pavement outside the house, looking at him. It was Enoch.
“Ah, there you are,” Enoch said, smiling.
Billings stopped. “What are you doing outside?”
“Mrs Appleby won’t let me in unless you’re in the house.”
Billings frowned. “I’m sorry. How long have you been waiting?” He made his way to the front door and stuck his key in the lock.
“About three hours.”
“Three hours? What have you been doing all day?”
“I wandered around the park and fed the ducks. Then I came back here and waited for you.”
“Shouldn’t you have been looking for work?”
“I haven’t any money for the train or the omnibus. And my leg still hurts, so I can’t walk very far. How has your day been?”
“Terrible!”
Billings opened the door and went into the house. Enoch followed him in.
“Did your investigation not go well?”
“It was a disaster.”
“What went wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Billings took off his coat and cap and hung them on the hatstand. His hand was trembling. He clenched his fist and hid it behind his back.
“You don’t look well,” Enoch said.
“I’m not.” Billings’ heart was pounding in his chest, and his brain was banging in his skull. These were the usual symptoms of stress. He used to alleviate them with morphine, but he gave up that habit over a year ago.
“Perhaps a drink will do you good,” Enoch suggested.
“Maybe later,” Billings said. “Right now, I just need a rest.” Taking care not to expose his trembling hand to Enoch, he turned his back on the young man and rushed up the stairs.
He went into his room, closed the curtains and plunged himself onto the bed. He picked up an old shirt that lay on the floor and placed it over his eyes. He breathed in deeply and tried to envisage the oxygen entering his body and soothing his brain, like a fresh breeze cooling down a red glowing ember. This did the trick. At long last the trembling stopped and the headache eased. When he took the shirt off his eyes, he saw somebody standing in the doorway.
“Who is it?” he said, lifting up his head and squinting.
It was Enoch. He was peeping into the room through the crack of the door. “I just popped in to see if you were all right.”
“What time is it?” Billings reached for his pocket watch on the bedside cabinet. It was eight o’clock. He had been lying in bed for two hours.
“Are you ill?” Enoch asked.
“I had a migraine. But it’s over now.”
“I was worried about you.” Enoch walked into the room and shut the door behind him. “You looked terrible.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “So it didn’t go well, then? The investigation?”
Billings looked at Enoch sitting at the end of the bed. He was taken aback by this brazen display of familiarity. “Um… no,” he said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “It didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s confidential.”
“I was bored reckless all day. I was looking forward to you coming home. I was really hoping we could go out for a drink.”
“We’ll do so next time.”
“I’d have gone for a drink on my own, but I haven’t any money.”
Billings frowned. Was Enoch begging for money? After all he had done for him?
“I haven’t any money either,” he said.
“Oh no, I wasn’t asking you for money.” Enoch looked alarmed at the insinuation. “I was just saying, I would’ve gone somewhere if I could. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
“You’re not a burden.”
“I wish there was some way I could repay you for your kindness. I tried repaying you this morning, but…”
Billings suddenly remembered his behaviour that morning and became embarrassed.
“I was in a hurry,” he mumbled.
“But you’re not in a hurry now.” Enoch smiled, then slowly slid across the bed towards him.
“What are you doing?” Billings asked nervously.
“Let me massage your neck and shoulders.” Enoch unbuttoned Billings’ collar, put his hands on his shoulders and began squeezing. “You’re tense. That’s why you have a headache.”
Billings’ heart was pounding in his chest. He dared not speak for fear that his voice might tremble and expose his nervousness. He didn’t know how old Enoch was, but he was definitely younger than he was. And he seemed more comfortable with intimacy, which made him feel bad. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was a long time since he had felt another man’s hands on his body. It felt good.
Enoch slid his hands towards Billings’ chest and unbuttoned a few more buttons. “Are you nervous?” he asked.
Billings shook his head.
“I can feel your heart beating.”
“Mrs Appleby is downstairs,” Billings whispered back. “What if she hears us?”
“We’ll be quiet.”
“What if she comes into the room and sees us like this?”
“Is she in the habit of barging into your room without knocking?”
“No.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
While he continued unbuttoning the detective’s shirt, Enoch kissed him on the neck.
Billings became increasingly nervous as the boy’s hands moved closer and closer to his crotch. “Perhaps we should lock the door, just in case,” he said.
Enoch frowned. He took his hands off the detective, got off the bed and walked towards the door.
“There,” he said, turning the key in the lock. “There’s nothing to stop us now.”
Billings woke up with Enoch’s head resting on his chest. He thought about the previous night and smiled. How simple it all was. He thought about all those years he had spent torturing himself with sordid desires; of all the times he had spent fumbling strangers in shady places only to feel disgusted with himself afterward; of all the years he had wasted feeling guilty, when all he had to do to battle this monster was simply to open up and let himself go.
He felt no shame waking up with a naked m
an in his arms. For the first time in his life, he felt like other people did when they started the day. This is how Clarkson must feel, he thought, when he opens his eyes in the morning and sees his wife lying beside him. That’s why he is always so cheerful in the mornings. Because he wakes up every day knowing that he is valued. Knowing that he is loved.
Enoch opened his sleepy eyes and looked up at the detective. “Morning, John,” he said.
“Morning, Enoch.”
“What time is it?”
“Time for us both to get up.”
Enoch moaned and dropped his head back on Billings’ chest. “I want to stay here for another while.”
“I have to go to work. And you have to leave too.”
“Why do I have to leave?”
“Because Mrs Appleby doesn’t want you in the house without me.”
“Why is she so mean to me?”
“She’s not mean. She’s just careful. Now, come on. Up you get.”
Enoch moaned again, then pushed himself up, swung his legs out of the bed and got up. He walked towards the window and opened the curtains. A flood of light rushed into the room, illuminating his naked body.
“Looks like another sunny day,” he said. “Perfect for feeding ducks.”
Billings looked at Enoch and smiled. He really was a beautiful young man. Billings could barely believe he had spent all night holding that delicious body against his.
“You shouldn’t stand naked by the window,” he said. “People might see you.”
Enoch turned around and smiled. “If your neighbours are in the habit of looking into other people’s houses, then they deserve to be shocked.”
Billings smiled. His eyes were drawn to Enoch’s crotch. “What happened to you?” he asked.
Enoch looked down and lifted his penis with his hand. “What? This? Oh, I was caught touching myself a little too often when I was a child. That’s a sin in Ireland.”
“So what happened?”
“My father went to the priest, and the priest suggested cutting it off.”
“Cutting what off?”
Anarchy Page 5
