warehouse of some sort. I could smell a burning cigar.
The blindfold was ripped from my head and I was pushed forward so fast I stumbled and fell on my hands and knees.
“That’s where I like to see shit like you.” The familiar voice was dead ahead.
Introductions weren’t going to be necessary. I got to my feet, brushed the dust and gravel out of my trousers and wiped my hands. I looked at the man who was sitting on a crate in front of me. He had nicked a cigar from Winston’s personal supply and puffed away on it as though he was in his private club. His black grey-flashed hair was so heavily greased it would deflect an axe. The double chin and chubby cheeks didn’t soften the face one bit. It was the eyes that threatened, dark and feral either side of a long shaft of a nose.
Beside him, on another crate, with his crutches leaning against the wood and his leg heavily plastered, was my other pal from the casino. He looked pleased to see me. Like a hyena finding a baby deer with its hoof caught in a trap.
Gambatti spoke again. “If it isn’t the geezer who upset my card game? You’re a bit of pest, sonny.”
“Nice to meet you again, Mr Gambatti.”
“It’s not mutual, Mister McRae. Who the fuck do you think you are, putting the word out on me?”
As he said this he nodded at the muscle who’d brought me here, each cast from the same mould: Gog and Magog. Gog leered at me from behind his broken nose. The pair of them stepped towards the crates behind Gambatti, took their jackets off and rolled up their sleeves. Suddenly I began to feel hot too. They came towards me and helped me out of my own jacket and flung it away. They pushed me down on the ground again and unceremoniously removed my shoes and debagged me. They grabbed my arms and began wrapping rope around my upper body and my ankles so that I was tied up like a Sunday joint.
I heard clanking and looked up to see a hook descend from the rafters above me.
Gog held my body while Magog twisted the hook into my ankle ropes. He walked away and I heard the pulley cranking again and felt the rope begin to tug at my feet.
“Pauli! I wanted to talk! That’s why I sent out those invites. That’s all!” I cried out desperately as my legs were pulled from me and my weight was held by muscle boy for a few seconds until the hook had my ankles well above my head.
The pulley went on cranking until I was suspended upside down with my head at face height to the grinning thugs. My shirt was falling over my head until he ripped it open and let the ends flap down past my shoulders.
They began to spin me and I started to feel sick. Maybe it was just fear. Maybe it was a throwback to the feelings of helplessness in the camp when all you could do was take the beatings. I tried to hold on to that thought: I’d had worse done to me. But it wasn’t helping. Hanging upside down disorientated and semi-naked, in front of three villains with a reputation for chopping bits off people, leaves you feeling a wee bit vulnerable.
They stopped me spinning and when my head caught up with my body, I saw Gambatti strolling towards me. He got within two feet of me, took a drag on his cigar and blew it into my face. I coughed. It hurt. But not as much as the fist he rammed into my exposed belly. I jack-knifed up and felt my stomach heave; then I threw up, or in this case, down. Sadly, I missed Gambatti. I guess he knew what to expect.
I hung there feeling like shit, with a trickle of vomit running up my face and waiting for the real beating to start. It was not a moment to cherish. One of the thugs stood in front of me and I tensed. Instead he took the tail of my shirt and wiped my face. Gambatti stepped closer again.
“Now we talk, McRae. Yes?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” I croaked. “It’s about the girl.”
“Always a girl.”
“Eve Copeland. The reporter.”
“I know the bitch.”
“Were you following her?”
“Why would I waste my fucking time following some bint who gets up my nose?”
That seemed too heartfelt not to be true, and fitted with my own view, even an upside down one. Now the big question.
“Did you take her? Have you… did you get rid of her? That’s all I want to know.”
Gambatti scrutinised me silently for a moment. “A girl like that, she makes a lot of enemies. I thought about it. After what she and you did in my club. In front of my friends. Showing me up like that. I thought about arranging a nice accident. Something painful. Something permanent. But I never got round to it.
The filth would be round my door before breakfast.”
“You didn’t touch her?”
“You don’t believe me, you little shit!” He punched me in the belly and stood back while I retched and convulsed like a rat held up by its tail. I believed him. Now all I had to do was talk my way out of here.
“I believe you, Gambatti. I do. I can see you’re a man of your word. That’s it.
That’s all I wanted to know. That’s why I put the word out. I didn’t know how else to get hold of you.”
The blood was rushing to my head and made me sound like I was talking under water. I felt I was going to be sick again. I saw Gambatti smile.
“You shouldna bothered, shithead. I was gonna find you. I owe you one. Maybe several. For what you did to my business down by the docks. I had a nice little thing going there till you fucked it up. That’s bad in two ways. One, I lose money. Two, I lose face. Every shithead in town knows you done us over. That’s not acceptable.”
“Pauli, I didn’t know it was you. This isn’t personal.”
“Oh no?” He stuck his piggy face close to mine. “Now it is, shithead. Now it is.
I’m gonna let the boys get some exercise first. You owe them. Then you’re gonna join the sewage in the river. ’Cept shit floats. So we’ve got some stuff that’ll keep you down.”
Gambatti stood back and pointed his cigar at a large pile of chains lying by the crates. My only hope was that the beating would be so bad the drowning would be a relief.
“He’s all yours, boys.”
Gambatti stood back. Broken nose helped his mate to get down and on to his crutches. Then he picked up two long crowbars used to break open the crates. He gave one to the guy with the knee problem. It didn’t seem to inhibit his back swing. They were grinning like kids let loose in a toy shop. I closed my eyes, tensed myself and waited for the first blows. Already my skull was bursting where the plate was. It felt like one of my old fugues coming on me. It would be a mercy if it came quick.
Suddenly there was a crash behind me, and shouts. I heard running feet and saw three figures charging across the concrete. They shrieked like they were storming a Normandy beach with fixed bayonets. There was a brief clash of metal on metal, some solid thumps and then the three musclemen were on the ground nursing serious head wounds. It was no contest; combat-hardened soldiers versus spivs, one a cripple.
Someone grabbed me and lifted my head. Through bloodshot eyes I gazed into the ugliest, most beautiful mug I’d ever seen. My insurance policy.
“What kept you?” I managed. Midge just grinned.
“You said give it ten before interrupting. Maybe my watch is slow. Hang on in there, pal. We’ll have you down in a mo.”
He left me, then I heard cranking of chains and I was gently lowered to the ground. As Midge untied me, I looked up to see Cyril and little Stan poised with the crowbars above the groaning and thoroughly pissed-off gangsters. Gambatti, wisely, had his hands in the air and was chomping away at the cigar in his mouth. His minions struggled to sit up, trying to get their battered brains round this turn of events and what to do next. Midge helped them out. In his left hand he held the Beretta I’d confiscated at the casino. In his right was the crowbar.
“One move and you get another one!” He swung the heavy rod. “Hands on your heads.”
Stan moved towards the thugs and deftly patted them down. He relieved Gog and Magog of a brace of flick- knives, then searched their jackets and confiscated two more Berettas and a fine- looking Luger. It had the six-inch barrel preferred by the German Navy. The Wehrmacht made do with four inches. Gambatti didn’t seem to be carrying.
I crawled on to all fours then got slowly to my feet, head reeling. I found my trousers and dragged them on, then my shoes, and began to feel less like a human sacrifice. I walked over to Cyril and Stan and clapped each of them on the shoulder.
“Bloody heroes. Thanks, pals.” I swear Stan blushed.
