and I’ll have a word to the manager.’ He took a bottle from a waitress’s tray and put it down in front of the old woman. ‘That’s right. Want a glass?’
‘A glass? What for?’ asked Elsie scornfully, applying the bottle to her lips.
Tommy left her and went to intercept Mr Albert Ellis, who was advancing across the ruined club with blood in his eye.
‘Mr Ellis, is it?’ asked Tommy easily. ‘Had a little trouble?’ He surveyed the owner and did not approve of what he saw. Albert Ellis was overdressed, had teeth like a rat, and altogether too much pomade on his hair. He offended Tommy’s taste in a way which Lizard Elsie did not.
‘Constable Harris,’ said Ellis, recognising him. ‘You going to arrest that bitch?’
‘No, why should I?’
‘She comes into my club, breaking my fittings, assaulting my staff . . .’
‘If your staff can’t deal with one old lady I reckon you should hire more,’ said Tommy easily. ‘And your decor ain’t nothing to write home about, either.’
This was undeniable. The Blue Diamond was furnished with chairs and benches that seemed to have come from an old cinema. Its walls, what could be seen of them, were painted pink and covered with old posters of film stars. Small tables made of packing cases, and a bar constructed of an old ticket box completed the ambiance. People did not go the the Blue Diamond for luxury. It was licensed to serve drinks with food until midnight. A supper at the Blue Diamond consisted of one ham sandwich. The ham was transparent and local legend said that the same sandwich had been in use for as long as the club had been open. It was now fossilised. In future times, museums might bid for it.
The Blue Diamond would undoubtedly be closed down for violations of its liquor licence, to open a month later under a new name. Cigarette butts littered the floor and the hot air was heavy with smoke. A dance band was tootling away in one corner, and on the pocket-handkerchief dance floor people had been dancing before the fracas with Lizard Elsie had provided a more interesting show.
‘I’m not having her in my club,’ said Albert Ellis. ‘Take her away.’
Lizard Elsie heard this and screeched, ‘You pox-rotted mongrel! You promised me ten bottles of ruby port, you fucking cur!’
‘Shut her up!’ snapped Ellis, and two of the fallen rose groaning and closed on Lizard Elsie. Tommy recognised Wholesale Louis on the floor, and Cyclone Freddy and the Mad Pole rising from the half-dead. They were both big and dangerous and they seemed to be rather cross with Elsie. Tommy was alone. He reached for the old woman and gathered her into his arms.
‘Come on, my girl,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘Ooh, sailor,’ crooned Elsie, nursing her bottle. ‘Been a long time since anyone swept me off my feet.’
Tommy backed towards the door and it swung behind them. He was out in Brunswick Street before the boss could react. Still, it wouldn’t take them long. He hefted Elsie, who was surprisingly light, and began to run.
He had been so delighted with the idea of plain clothes work that he did not even have his whistle. However, he thought as he settled into a fast gallop, he must meet the beat policeman fairly soon. Then his colleague could summon assistance before Tommy and Elsie got the pummelling of a lifetime.
He heard voices behind them, and then feet. A shot pinged past him and buried itself in the door of the butcher’s shop.
‘They’re shooting!’ said Tommy with an astonished gasp. ‘Else, they’re shooting at us! We’ve gotta get off the street!’
Elsie, who had been hanging over his shoulder and watching behind, croaked, ‘There’s three of ’em, and that mongrel Louis’s got a gun.’
‘Elsie, what have you got yourself into?’ wondered Tommy Harris aloud. ‘It must be something big for them to risk shooting in the street—or shooting at all. It’s like Robinson said. Gangsters.’
‘Turn here!’ shrieked Elsie uncomfortably close to his ear. Harris paused. At that moment some force slammed him back against the wall at the corner of the lane. He staggered and dropped his burden. Elsie landed lightly and pulled him around the corner by the arm.
‘In here, sailor!’
She dropped to her knees and crawled under a fence. Tommy followed, feeling suddenly weak.
‘Lie here and don’t squeak,’ she ordered and slid back. She reappeared with a soaked and muddy shirt, which she dropped beside him.
‘Bit of shoosh,’ she suggested.
Tommy Harris felt for his side and found that his hand came away warm and wet. I’ve been shot, he thought. He was in no pain and his principal emotion was amazement.
Feet clattered down the lane and past the fence and paused. A cigarette lighter clicked and yellow light flared over the corrugated iron fences. A dog began to bark. Tommy Harris held his breath, feeling Lizard Elsie’s thin hand close on his shoulder. A voice said, ‘Nah. No trace. And we winged him and there’s no blood on these cobbles. Try the next lane, boys.’
The footsteps retreated.
‘You’re shot,’ said Elsie calmly. ‘I wiped up the blood with me second-best shirt. Crawl a bit back and we can have a light and I’ll have a look at yer, sailor.’
Tommy, strangely weak, hauled himself back across what felt like razor-blades and lay back in a nest of musty rags.
A match scratched and a small kerosene lamp was lit. Tommy found he was in a galvanised iron lean-to, manufactured out of bits of an old water tank. Lizard Elsie had furnished her little humpy with two old mattresses and several tattered quilts. She had some cooking gear, an old Coolgardie safe, and a battered leather handbag stuffed with what looked like papers. She put the lamp on the safe and rummaged among her belongings for a sheet. When she found it, she began to tear it into strips.
‘Let’s get that coat off,’ she said. ‘Yer shirt’s ruined.’
‘I’m all right, Else. Just let me lie here for a while and I’ll get up and call . . .’
He tried to sit up and found that he couldn’t. His muscles refused to answer.
‘No you ain’t,’ she said calmly. ‘You’re shot and if you don’t let me bloody look after you, you’ll fucking bleed to death all over me fucking bed.’
Tommy did not resist as she peeled off his coat and shirt and wadded old linen against his side. She sloshed some cold liquid into the wound. It stung. Her hands were sure and she seemed to know what she was doing.
‘Is it bad?’ he asked, hoping that his voice did not tremble.
‘Nah. Just winged you and tore away a bit of yer skin. You’ll be all right, sailor. Now, I’d brew you a cuppa but the fucking night-watchman’ll be around in a tick and if he sees me he’ll throw me out.’
‘Is this where you live, Elsie?’ The bandaging was tight and comforting and he still felt no pain. He was lazily interested in the pattern which the streetlights made through the holes in the galvanised iron. It couldn’t be very weatherproof, he thought.
‘Yair. This is me little nest. Between sailors, like. I’m gonna have to lie low. Who’da thought that bastard Albert Ellis’d have guns?’
‘They shot Reffo,’ Tommy pointed out. ‘At least, I think it was them.’
‘Yair.’ Lizard Elsie was subdued. ‘Yair. Outside the Provincial. They bloody shot Reffo all right.’
‘Why did Albert Ellis owe you ten bottles?’ asked Tommy hopefully.
‘He fucking owes me more than fucking that,’ said Lizard Elsie cryptically.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Enough fucking questions. Everyone’s got a question,’ snapped Elsie. ‘Now, we can either get out of here, through the factory gate once bloody old Smithy’s made his bloody rounds, or we can stay out of sight and see what daylight’ll do. Whaddaya think, sailor?’
Tommy Harris tried to sit up and found that his body had returned to his command. With this came a return of sensation. He clamped his mouth shut to stifle a groan. Red-hot wires seemed to have been run through his nerves and he could feel the throb of his own heart. Every beat hurt. Systole and diastole, they pounded on his senses until his eyes swam.
‘Later,’ he said and Elsie caught him as he fell back.
‘Later,’ she agreed. She shoved him a little aside and lay down beside him, suckling contentedly on the bottle
