At my request Bozey had kept the big round wooden table we used in ’49, but he’d tossed the rest of the interior out, and redecorated with Bakelite and chrome. A Russian copper I knew then used to sit with his boots up on my table. You could still see the grooves his spurs had cut. We made the table our own that night.
It gave me an opportunity to have a better look at Handel. He was a tallish, whippy individual in a grey lightweight suit and a discreet tie. His hair would have been lighter if it wasn’t slicked back with so much brilliantine: he smelt like Friday night at a petrol dump. Every time he lit a cigarette I leaned back expecting him to go up in a fireball. He told me, ‘I really appreciate you doing this for us, bud,’ and gave Pete a hundred dollars. Pete solemnly peeled off fifty and handed them on to Bozey. I thought Brother George was giving the loot to the wrong people. Pete must have seen my look.
‘Don’t fret, Charlie. We done our bit when we delivered you. You’ll get yours when you’ve delivered also.’
‘I’ll be almost a thousand miles away by then.’
‘Everyone knows Scotland’s a backward country, Charlie. Don’t worry about it – your money will go further there.’
‘You want an advance?’ George asked me hurriedly.
‘No, George, but thank you for offering. You’re a gentleman. I’ll tell you when I need money.’ But he wasn’t a gentleman; he was a thug. He had the long, coiled look of a knife man all over him.
‘When can we start?’
‘I’m flying back to Blighty tomorrow. There’s room for you and Mrs Handel in the aircraft if it suits you. If you tell Bozey where you’re staying we’ll pick you up on the way to the airport – say ten-thirty.’
Mrs Handel wasn’t at the table. She was in the room that girls disappear into for hours at a time, and then come out looking younger than when they went in. When she came back it felt as if she was walking across the floor directly to me. I think every other man in the joint felt the same. I sat back in my chair, and had a decent dekko at her this time.
She had a slinky black dress on, which clung to her curves like a racing car clings to the Brooklands’ bankings: was about the same height as me, had dark hair that fell beyond her shoulders like wavelets, feline eyes, and flawless milky skin. Her shoulders were square, above a wasp’s waist and wide flat hips. And front bumpers like weather balloons – I couldn’t see how she held them up like that. We all stood up for her: she was that sort of broad. Her grin said she knew exactly what the score was.
We rearranged ourselves. Pete lit her cigarette – she used a small holder in the evenings – and snapped his fingers for some service. Spartacus took that as an invitation, and tried to climb on to his lap. Pete didn’t even like four-legged dogs, so the way he jumped his chair away was no surprise to me. Doris had a confession to make.
‘I got lost looking for the little girls’ room, Charlie – and found my way upstairs. I opened a door, but a girl found me there, an’ tol’ me it was your room. You don’t mind that I did that, do you?’
‘No. We’re gonna be partners for a week or two, so we’ll get to know each other anyway.’ Who was I kidding?
‘I knew we were gonna get on, Charlie – right from the moment I first saw you.’ That was what I was hoping too, but before I could say anything she asked, ‘Can I get a Martini in this place? I feel like celebrating. This is the first progress we made in a month.’ She crossed her legs, and leaned forward to open her fag packet again, having puffed her way through the first in a few minutes. The material of her dress stretched across her thighs, clearly outlining her stocking top and the button of her suspenders. In the fifties that was one of the things that could drive a man mad.
I said, ‘I’ll fetch you one,’ because I wanted to get away to somewhere I could breathe again. She leaned over, and touched the back of my hand where it lay on the table. I’ll swear I was scalded.
‘No need. George’s in the chair,’ she said. ‘Ain’t you, honey? He’ll get a round in.’ George did as he was told: I suspect that most men did when she opened her mouth. There was something going on here. Part of me liked it, and the other part of me was telling me to run.
Before I went up, but after the Handels had left, I told Pete, ‘I’ve a small pistol I like. I could always buy another on the black market, but I’m kind of used to it now.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that, Charlie.’
‘I need a box of older .32 rimfires for it.’
‘How long have I got?’
‘Until tomorrow morning.’
‘No problem.’
Your local chief constable wouldn’t like that at all these days.
When I got upstairs Reimey was in bed reading a Peter Cheney paperback. The guy on the cover wore a trench coat and a fedora, and held a pistol as big as a foot. The girl alongside him didn’t have much on at all, and held a cigarette. That should have told me something. Its French title was meaningless – I wondered if they’d hired a cheap translator. Reimey was wearing a large pair of spectacles, and looked pleased to see me.
‘Hard day?’ I asked her.
‘No day at all. I have Tuesdays off. I went to the market with
