by Jake Arnott
Harry came in with Jimmy at the end of the week. He looked around. He seemed happy enough with how things were going. He asked me how I was getting on.
‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘We haven’t done much trade, though.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry vaguely. ‘We’ll have to do something about that. In the meantime keep it all kosher. Know what I mean? Anything else?’ he asked as he made for the door.
‘Just one thing,’ I said. ‘This Mr Pinker. He hasn’t been in at all.’
Harry grinned and looked over at Jimmy.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘If you do see him, let us know.’
And both him and Jimmy Murphy laughed.
That little shared joke got me thinking. Mr Pinker was the set up. The joke was on him. I guessed that he was some straight businessman that they were taking for a ride. That he was the mug. But that didn’t stop me, in the last couple of hours of Friday afternoon, from searching the office for more clues before I locked up for the weekend.
There didn’t seem to be anything of interest though. Minutes of an annual general meeting revealed that Sir Paul Chambers DSO was on the board as a non-executive director. A meticulous treasurer’s report obviously compiled by the diligent Manny Gould. Everything looked in order. Then, when I’d just about given up I found an envelope at the back of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Central Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages was stamped on it. I took it out and laid it on the desk. I fished inside and pulled out a long form. It was a birth certificate. James Nathaniel Pinker was written in the column headed Name, if any. Under when and where born was scrawled: Eleventh March 1929, 304 Fore St., Edmonton. It made no sense, except to confirm that my as yet invisible boss actually existed. I slipped my hand under the flap of the envelope again and came out with a similar form. Except that this was a death certificate. It too bore the name James Nathaniel Pinker. He’d died of meningitis on the Ninth of June 1929. All his paperwork was in order. Delivery note and final demand. The manager of Dominion Electrical Goods had only lived for three months.
I put the birth and death certificates back in the envelope, shoved it into the filing cabinet, locked up the warehouse and went back to Westbourne Grove. I spent the weekend getting drunk and trying not to think about Mr Pinker or Dominion Electrical Goods. I was getting a good wage, I had a rent-free flat, I knew that even thinking about what was really going on would only get me into trouble. So I tried to block it all out with booze. Two bottles of gin but I was still haunted by my boss the dead baby.
The next week reminders of unpaid invoices started to pile up. We continued to get deliveries. There was hardly space left in the warehouse to put all the stuff. Harry came in on the Wednesday.
‘Seen Jimmy?’ he demanded tersely as he strode into the office.
I shook my head.
‘Right,’ he went on, beckoning me out of the office. ‘I need to do a bit of shopping.’
He wandered about the crowded showroom. He pointed out a couple of fridges, a cooker and three television sets.
‘I’ll take all of them,’ he said, peeling some notes of a wad.
‘You’re going to pay for them?’ I asked.
‘Course I’m going to pay for them,’ he frowned at me. ‘And I want a proper receipt and all.’
I got the labourers to load up the stuff in the van. Harry gave the driver a list of addresses. He tapped one of the TVs and nodded at me.
‘Put this one in the back of the Daimler.’
I lugged it out to where the motor was parked. Tony Stavrakakis was leaning against it having a smoke. He helped me heave it into the boot. Harry came out and opened the back door of the limo. He looked over at me.
‘Come on,’ he said.
I got in the back beside him and Tony the Greek pulled away. There’s something soothing in the smooth motion of a limousine at cruising speed, something comforting about being driven around in a big powerful car. Harry always seemed most at ease in the back of a motor. It was an intimate space for him. He’d used it as a consulting room and no doubt a confessional as well. It was the place we’d first met and where we’d finally split up. I suddenly thought of all those times in between when we’d be all dressed up and chauffeured off somewhere flash.
Harry gave me a sideways look and patted me absently on the leg.
‘All right?’ he asked.
There were so many questions that I wanted to ask Harry but just then I didn’t want to say anything awkward. I didn’t want to spoil the moment. There were some things that I really missed about being with Harry. So I just smiled.
‘All right,’ I replied.
Our destination was Willow Nook Old People’s Home in Stepney. Harry went in and spoke with the matron then we carried the telly in through to the lounge. A few wrinkled inmates gaped at us with yellowed eyes. Perched on high-backed chairs that lined the room they looked like lizards sunning themselves.
‘Look at all these coffin dodgers,’ Harry muttered under his breath as we put the television in place.
A podgy, red-faced man came into the room and went around leaning over and smiling at the inmates.
‘Look at that silly cunt,’ Harry muttered again. ‘Shaking hands with all these half-croaked fuckers.’
‘Who’s he?’ I asked.
‘Benny White. Local councillor. Second-rate politician, thinks he’s fucking important. Still, he has his uses.’
‘Harold!’ the councillor declaimed across the room. ‘What a fine gesture. Local business putting something back into the community.’
Harry shrugged as Benny White rubbed his podgy hands together. A reporter and a photographer arrived ushered in by the matron. The councillor drew himself up in front of the gathering and gave a little speech.
‘Isn’t this lovely,’ he began. ‘Look at this, ladies and gentlemen, a magnificent new television set!’
There was a muted response. A bit of orchestrated groaning from the senile assembly. Harry beamed beside the TV set. The reporter who had been scribbling away in shorthand came over.
‘All right Joe?’ asked Harry. ‘Got all you need?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ he replied. ‘Just the photo.’
‘Course. Let’s get this over with. Benny!’ he called over.
The councillor came over and a few pictures were taken of them shaking hands over the television with the matron and one of the better-looking inmates in the foreground.
Driving back, Harry asked me how the business was going.
‘Everything’s fine,’ I lied.
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
‘There are a few things I’d like to know about, though,’ I ventured, thinking about my dead baby boss.
Harry touched my arm in a placating fashion.
‘Of course Terry,’ he assured me. ‘We’ll talk,’ he promised. ‘In the meantime, as I’ve said, keep everything kosher.’
They dropped me back off at the warehouse.
‘And when you see Jimmy,’ Harry said in parting, ‘tell him I want to see him.’
I read the story in next day’s East London Advertiser. A HELPING HAND was the headline with a photo of Harry, the TV set and the councillor. Benjamin White, councillor for Stepney East, launched his ‘Old Folk’s Appeal’ today and one of the first to make a donation with a gleaming new television set was local businessman – Harold Starks . . .
‘All right Terry?’
It was Jimmy Murphy. I held up the paper for him to look at and he nearly pissed himself laughing.
‘Charity,’ he said scathingly. ‘Yeah, Harry’s big on that. Good for public relations, he says.’
‘He’s looking for you, Jimmy,’ I informed him.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he replied as he sat down on my desk.
‘So,’ he announced, pulling out a hip flask from his jacket pocket. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Well,’ I replied and pointed to the pile of invoices on my desk. ‘There’s all these unpaid bills, what am I supposed to
do about them?’
Jimmy took a slug from his flask and sighed.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ he said and passed me the curved metal bottle. I took a swig myself.
‘So what am I supposed to do? Pay them?’
‘Mr Pinker will sort them out when he gets back.’
‘Mr Pinker?’
‘Yeah.’
‘When he gets back?’
‘Yeah,’ Jimmy took back the flask. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Jimmy, I know about Mr Pinker.’
‘What you mean?’
‘I know he’s dead.’
Jimmy laughed lightly at me.
‘Oh yeah,’ he said casually. ‘That.’
There was a pause in which we both looked around the office.
‘Jimmy,’ I said. ‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘No, of course I don’t know.’
‘You mean you haven’t been told?’
‘Haven’t been told what?’
‘What a long firm is.’
‘What?’ I implored.
‘A long firm,’ replied Jimmy, screwing the cap back down on his hip flask. He got up off the desk and made for the door.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said as he walked out. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
Harry holds the poker up in front of me.
‘You’ve seen how it’s done. Now you can have a go.’
I start to hyperventilate. As I shunt about in the chair its rubber feet squeal against the concrete floor.
‘Hold him down, Bubble,’ Harry whispers to Tony Stavrakakis and the big Greek puts both of his heavy hands on my shoulders.
‘The thing is, Terry,’ Harry goes on, ‘it’s a question of trust. You’ve got to trust me now so that we can do this right. And if you can trust me enough to do that, well, maybe I can trust you and all. It’s all a bit medieval, I suppose. Trial by Ordeal. You know, the punishment itself sorts out whether you’re guilty or not. If it goes wrong, well that’s proof of a sort. It would be a shame, but then, if you do lose your tongue—’
He smiles over at the big Greek.
‘Well, you won’t be able to grass, will you?’
The warehouse was becoming ridiculously crowded. There was scarcely any showroom space any more and walking through the building was like going through a maze the walls of which were cardboard boxes stacked high and filled with all kinds of electrical goods. One of these walls had nearly collapsed and I was helping the labourers to make it safe when Harry arrived team handed. Most of the firm was with him, Manny, Jimmy and Tony Stavrakakis. They looked around and muttered to each other a bit.
‘We’re having a board meeting,’ Harry announced. ‘We’ll be in the office.’
‘You want me to come up?’
‘Nah. Carry on with what you’re doing. We won’t be long.’
We restacked the boxes and I realised that with all the shifting around I’d lost track of a lot of the stock. I’d left the clipboard with the stock list on it in the office so I went upstairs to fetch it. I was about to rap on the frosted glass door when I realised that I could hear the firm talking. I carefully pressed my ear against the door jam and listened.
‘. . . so we’re all ready then?’ It was Harry’s voice. ‘We hit the floor next Wednesday.’
‘And the kid?’ came Tony’s Cypriot accent. ‘He doesn’t know nothing?’
‘That’s right,’ Harry replied. ‘And let’s keep it that way. Don’t want him worrying his pretty little head this stage in the game.’
‘What if he has to take the fall?’ asked Manny. ‘He won’t be any trouble to us, will he?’
I could barely hear Harry’s deep chuckle.
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘And we can make sure of that when the time comes. At the moment him knowing nothing is our best cover. So, let’s get going.’
I heard them all getting up to come out of the office so I tiptoed down the stairs as quickly and silently as possible.
‘Right,’ said Harry coming up to me. ‘We’re having a closing-down sale. Next Wednesday.’
He grinned at me.
‘Everything must go.’
Jimmy had the clipboard I had gone to fetch in his hand. He nodded at Harry.
‘Right,’ Harry continued. ‘We’ll be off now. Jimmy’s staying behind to do a stock check with you. Why don’t you come for a drink tonight?’ he asked, all full of affable charm. ‘At the club.’
Jimmy and me spent the afternoon going around the warehouse and ticking off stock. When we had finished on the fridges he glanced sideways at me.
‘So,’ he said. ‘You worked it out yet?’
‘What?’
‘What the scam is.’
I shrugged.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ I asked.
Jimmy smiled and took the hip flask from out of his jacket pocket. He unscrewed the metal bottle and took a shot. He gave a sharp sigh and smiled again.
‘Well that depends son,’ he said. ‘That depends. You see I’d be doing you a favour, see? I’d expect a favour in return. Know what I mean?’
‘I’m not sure.’
I felt myself being drawn into a dangerous game. I was already out of my depth but my curiosity was getting the better of me.
‘What do you mean, a favour?’
Jimmy handed me the flask and I took a swig. The whisky burned the back of my throat and I coughed. Jimmy tapped the clipboard.
‘What I mean is, we could be a bit clever with these figures. It could be worth our while.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
‘Look, do you want to know what a long firm is or not?’
I hardly dared to say anything but my head nodded automatically. Jimmy took back the flask and screwed back the top on.
‘Right,’ said Jimmy, giving me a satisfied glare. ‘You owe me. Right?’
The scotch glowed in my empty sinking stomach. Jimmy started to explain it all.
‘A long firm’s a good racket. Simple, see? All it needs is a bit of capital and a legitimate front. You found out about Pinker, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well he’s dead but his birth certificate is still valid. You see, they keep records of births and deaths in different files. That’s the beauty of it. So if you get hold of a birth certificate of someone who died when they were a kid, no one’s going to know from it that they’re really dead. There, you’ve got yourself a front man. You can get all the essential documents you need from a birth certificate. Driving licence, passport, bank account. With a bank account set up you can open a business account. Register a firm at Companies House. Bribe a few influential faces on to the board as non-executive directors. Rent a warehouse, get some tasty-looking stationery printed with all your friends in high places prominent on the letter heading. Deposit some cash into your business account, move it about a bit so it looks like you’re trading. And you are, at first. Buy in a load of gear wholesale, pay on the dot for the first delivery then work up a bit of credit. Delay payment on all the stuff that comes in after that until you’ve got a warehouse full. Then, bosh, hit the floor.’
‘Hit the floor?’
‘Grand slam. Everything must go. Cut rate, strictly for cash. Sell the whole lot off in a single day. Make a withdrawal from the business account the same day and then disappear. The whole operation’s been fronted by someone who died years ago so you can’t be traced. You can make ten grand, twenty grand, who knows?’
‘Right,’ I said, trying to take it all in.
‘Thing is Terry, nobody knows for sure how much the scam will bring. Everything moves so quickly when you hit the floor. You’re selling in quantity and for cash so there’s bound to be some leeway. Harry isn’t going to be anywhere near the warehouse on the big day. He can’t afford to be associated with this set up.’
‘Wait a minute.’
‘I know what you’re thinking. But it’s not like we’d be having hi
m over in any big way. He won’t know, for fucksakes. A couple of grand. Three or four maybe.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Listen, you reckon everything’s going to be all right if you just keep your head down. You’re scared of what Harry might do if he found out. Right? Well, yeah, you’ve got good reason to be. But what do you think you’re doing here in the first place?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you walk out on Harry Starks, next thing you know he gives you a cushy little job like this. That was quite a liberty, you know, walking out like that. He was choked.’
It was embarrassing hearing this from Jimmy and I think he knew it. I couldn’t look at him.
‘Right choked he was,’ he went on. ‘You think he’d just let it pass? You think he’d just forget about it and give his old boyfriend a job just for old times’ sake? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that you’ve been set up?’
‘What?’
‘Whose signatures are they on all those invoices and delivery notes? If this little racket is ever investigated, who’s the one person they can finger for it? You, that’s who. You’re the mug here, Terry, and no mistake.’
‘Harry wouldn’t.’
‘Harry wouldn’t what? Let you take the fall? Do me a favour. And what are you going to do about it? You ain’t going to grass him up, are you? He’ll make sure of that. He always does. It’s what he’s good at. And you aren’t going to grass me up to him neither. So it’s up to you son. I’m taking a piece of this scam and if you’re in, you can have your fair whack.’
‘And if I’m not?’
‘Then you keep fucking quiet about it.’
Jimmy brought his face up close to mine and hissed halitosis and whisky fumes at me.
‘Otherwise I’ll fucking do you, nancy boy!’
It seemed such a long time since I’d been to The Stardust that I was surprised that the doorman recognised me. He nodded me through with an expectant grin. As I went downstairs into the nightclub I felt none of the charm that I’d once associated with the place. It was just a tacky dive. I guess I’d grown old in the past few weeks.
