back to collect stuff. Pack a bag.’ I pocketed the syringe box.
‘I’ll check his wardrobes and drawers,’ she said dully. ‘Maybe I’ll notice something missing. If he’s taken clothes…’ She stepped past me. The room was hot and stuffy and as she passed, I again picked up a whiff of lavender and musk: the dressing and the flesh. Oh boy, Lennox, I thought, you’ve got it bad this time.
There was a sound from downstairs and we both froze. Someone was opening the apartment door. Sheila had closed the snib over behind her and that meant whoever was coming in had a key. Again I stopped Sheila as she made her way to the bedroom door, clearly to call out her brother’s name. I put a finger to my lips, slipped past her and moved as quickly and quietly as I could back down the stairs, again unpocketing the spring-handled sap. I reached the bottom of the stairs just as a young man with black hair and a dark complexion opened the vestibule door and stepped into the hall.
‘Hello,’ I said with a friendly smile, keeping the sap out of sight. The dark-haired man looked at me, his eyes wide with surprise.
‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’ The eyes narrowed as surprise gave way to suspicion. I kept smiling and tightened my grip on the sap.
‘You know in these films,’ I said, ‘where someone says “I’m asking the questions here”? Well, that’s me. Let’s start with why you have a key for an apartment you don’t own or rent and seem to come and go as you please.’
‘Are you a cop?’ he asked.
‘Let’s just say I’m investigating the disappearance of Sammy Pollock.’
‘But you’re not a cop…’ His eyes narrowed further. Suddenly he looked unsure of himself. ‘You sent by Largo?’
‘Largo?’
He looked relieved, then the hardness came back to his eyes. His head lowered slightly into his shoulders and he slipped a hand into the side pocket of his jacket. Playtime.
Upstairs, Sheila Gainsborough must have crept towards the stairs. A floorboard creaked. My dark-haired chum’s eyes cast in the direction of the sound and he looked less sure of himself. He clearly thought I had reinforcements in the wings. I was a little piqued that he thought I’d need them to deal with him.
‘If you’re not a cop, then fuck you.’ He turned and went back into the small tiled vestibule, moving swiftly but without panic.
‘Oh no you don’t…’ I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. ‘Just hold on a minute…’
He was about three or four inches shorter than me and he misjudged the vicious backward jab with his elbow. Instead of hitting me in the face or throat, it slammed painfully into my chest and sent me backwards. It gave him time to open the front door and he was stepping through it when I ran for him. I slammed the door shut on him with the flat of my foot. All my weight behind the kick. The edge of the door caught him on the shoulder but glanced off and smashed into his cheek, jamming his head between the door edge and the jamb. He was stunned. A thick bulge of blood swelled up on his cheek, then turned into a torrent down the side of his face and neck, staining his shirt crimson.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said. ‘Did I catch you with the door?’
His hand made for his pocket and whatever was in it, but his movements were sluggish and unfocussed. I snapped the sap at him hard. Twice. The first blow cracked something in his wrist and the second caught him on the nape of his neck. His lights went out and he went down, half in and half out of the door. I grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and dragged him back into the flat.
I turned to see Sheila standing halfway down the stairs, her eyes wide and a hand to her mouth.
‘Did you have to do that?’ she said, once she had recovered sufficiently.
‘He had a go,’ I said. ‘And he’s got some kind of weapon in his pocket. He was going for it.’ I bent down and pulled out a switchblade. I flicked the release and held the knife up for her to see. ‘See… self-defence.’
‘You seem to relish defending yourself, Mr Lennox.’
I shrugged and pulled the slumped figure to his feet. He was still groggy but looked at me maliciously. I didn’t like that so I gave him the back of my hand. Twice and hard across the uninjured side of his face. Setting boundaries.
‘For God’s sake, that’s enough, Lennox…’ Sheila stepped forward staring hard at me. She was right. It was enough. It was too much. I had that hot, tight feeling in my chest. The desire to hurt someone else that I learned during the war slept in me. I could see Sheila didn’t like the person she was looking at. At least we had that in common: I didn’t like me much either.
I steered our visitor back into the flat and dropped him into the armchair. Sheila followed us in and leaned against the wall. She lit a cigarette and smoked it urgently. Other than that she was calm and collected. Impressive. I gave the man in the chair the once-over: mid-twenties, the double-breasted blue pinstripe not cheap but not expensive, same for the shirt and tie. I noticed his shoes were not the newest and brown leather. I felt like giving him another slap just for that: black or burgundy shoes with blue pinstripe; not brown.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Fuck off,’ he said sullenly, cradling his injured wrist.
‘There’s a lady present,’ I said, grabbing a fistful of pinstripe Burton. Watch your mouth or you’ll get a little more pampering from me.’
He looked across at Sheila and muttered something apologetic.
‘So what’s your name?’
‘Costello.’
‘Very funny, I expect Bud Abbott is outside on lookout.’ I gave his mid-price tailoring a twist in my fist.
‘It’s true. Paul Costello. That’s my name.’
I let him go and straightened up. ‘You Jimmy Costello’s boy?’
‘Yeah. That’s me.’ He looked suddenly sure of himself. ‘You’ve heard of my Da? Then you’ll know that he won’t like it much when I tell him you did this to me…’ He held up his wrist and turned his cheek to me.
‘Why do you have a key to this flat?’ I asked.
‘Mind your own business. I’m going to ’phone my Da and he’s going to sort you out for this good and proper.’
I nodded. ‘Miss Gainsborough, could you wait for me in the car?’ I held out my car keys to her but she didn’t take them.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked, her tone simultaneously injecting disapproval and suspicion.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Costello. ‘He’s not going to do anything. He didn’t know who he was dealing with. Now he does and he’s going to try and talk his way out of it. Except he won’t.’ He sneered at me.
‘Like Mr Costello says, we have a bit of a disagreement. I need to talk to him in private.’ I shook the car keys as if I was ringing a bell. ‘Please.’
She took the keys sullenly and left, slamming the door behind her. After she’d gone, Paul Costello glared at me maliciously.
‘Shiteing yourself now, aren’t you? You know who my Da is all right. You should check who you’re dealing with before you start throwing your weight about.’ He winced, cradling his injured wrist with his other hand. ‘I think you’ve fucking broken it.’
‘Let me look at it.’ I bent down and Costello looked at me suspiciously. ‘Seriously, let me look at it.’
He held out his hand and I gingerly felt the wrist joint. He yelled out.
‘It’s not that bad,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve cracked a couple of bones, that’s all.’
‘That’s all? Wait till my Da finds out.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, still examining the wrist. ‘You should always know who you’re dealing with before having a go. Take me…’
Costello winced again as I found a sensitive spot on his wrist. It was beginning to swell up. Maybe there was a more significant break after all.
‘As I was saying, take me… I do know who your father is.’ I dug my thumb hard into Costello’s swollen wrist. He screamed. ‘And I don’t give a crap. D’you think that your pig-arsed Mick father is someone I should be scared of?’
He tried to pull his hand away and I rewarded him with another vicious squeeze. More screaming.
‘Truth is, I work for the Three Kings. You know the Three Kings?’
