‘Should you?’
‘Bloody hell, Charles. If I’m going to snuff it, I’d rather snuff it with a pint in my fist than one of their bloody mugs of Ovaltine. Come on.’
The Bricklayers’ Arms was one of those modem pubs that capture all the atmosphere of an airport lounge. Hanging red lights shone on leatherette couches and framed relief pictures of vintage cars. Pop music pounded from the jukebox.
Still, it was a pub, and a pint. Harry seemed to appreciate it. He took a long swig, put the glass down and wiped his mis-shaven upper lip contentedly. Charles thought it might be the moment. ‘Harry, I wanted to ask you about Marius Steen?’
‘Oh yeah. Old Flash Steenie. Why?’
‘I’m going to see him about a play I have written.’ The lie slipped out easily enough. ‘What’s he like?’ Harry didn’t seem to react. ‘You knew him round the halls, didn’t you?’
‘Oh yes. Just thinking about him. Steenie. Tough old bugger.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘Poland, I think, originally. His parents come over in-I don’t know-early twenties, I suppose. When Marius was about fifteen. He done all kinds of things in the business. I mean all kinds. Wrestling promotions, girlie shows, Variety. I think he even been on the boards himself in the early days. Yes, he was. Never saw him, but I heard he was terrible. Even says so himself, I think. He did a whistling act, maybe. Or speciality of some sort. Fire-eating perhaps it was? Hey, d’you hear about the fire-eater who couldn’t go anywhere without meeting an old flame? Eh? Made him feel really hot under the collar.’ Harry chuckled. ‘Made that one up, y’know. Didn’t have any of this script-writer nonsense in my day. You did your own act, and it was yours all the way. Yes.’ He gazed absently ahead, and raised his glass to his lips with a trembling hand. Charles feared he might have to prompt again. But the old man continued.
‘I first met Steenie at… where? Chiswick Empire, I think it was. Me and Lennie was some way down the bill and Steenie was managing this tap-dance act, as I recall. Think it was that. I don’t know. He’d always got so many acts going.’
‘All Variety stuff?’
‘Oh yes. Didn’t do none of your Oh-my-Gawd theayter till after the war-second big job, you know. No, he was going round the halls, picking up the odd act, putting shows on, making money. Making money. Always knew where every penny was. Tight as a bottle-top. You hear him squeak every time he moves.’
‘What was he like?’
‘I don’t know how to answer that. Hard as nails. A real bugger, particularly about money. Made a lot of enemies.’
‘What sort of people?’
‘People who hadn’t read the small print of their contracts. Never missed a trick, old Steenie. I remember, one bloke, mind-reader he was-Steenie booked him for some Variety bill, forget where it was now. Anyway, opens first night-this mind-reader comes on-audience really gives him the bird. Load of savages they were, only come to see the girls. Lots of audiences were like that. Mind you, Lennie and I could usually get them round. Lennie had this thing, when the act was going bad, he’d… ah, Lennie-God rest his soul. Got them wetting themselves up on the clouds, I daresay…
‘Anyway, this mind-reader act got the real bum’s rush, no question. So Steenie sacks him. Fair enough, that’s what you’d expect. But Steenie doesn’t pay him nothing. Some let-out he’d got in the contract. Bloke may have been able to read minds, but he couldn’t read a bleeding contract. Eh? Mind-reader got quite nasty. Tried to do old Steenie over.’
‘What happened?’
‘Not a lot. Steenie had Frank with him.’
‘Frank?’
‘Don’t know what his real name was. Everyone called him Frank after Frankenstein-you know, the old monster. He was Polish and all, I think. Probably had some unpronounceable name. Ex-wrestler.’
‘A sort of body-guard?’
‘That’s the idea. Steenie needed one of them, the way he done business.’
‘Did he ever do anything illegal?’
‘Ah, what’s illegal? He was no more illegal than most of the fixers in this business. If you mean, could the law have got him, no. He’d never do nothing himself but, you know, things might happen. Frank was a big boy to have lean on you.’
‘Is he still around?’
‘Frank? No, he must be dead. Or shovelled off into the Old Folks like me. One of those big muscle-bound Johnnies. Go to fat when they stop training. Die of heart failure, most of them.’
‘Do you reckon Steen would have found a replacement?’
‘I don’t know. He’d got a well-developed sense of self-protection, you know, always carried a gun in the glove-pocket of the car. Probably got another bruiser after Frank. But perhaps you don’t need that sort of thing in the old lee-gitimate theayter. Only thing you have to look out for is the nancy-boys, eh?’
They laughed. Harry looked into his glass as if he could see for miles and Charles nudged him back on to the subject. ‘Do you know Steen’s son?’
‘Nigel, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Yeah, I met him. Nasty bit of work. Oh, nothing criminal. Just a bit slimy. Often happens. Old man does well and the kids don’t quite make it. I don’t suppose you’d remember old Barney Beattie. Vent act. Dummy called Buckingham. Barney and Buckingham. Great they were. Barney, he had these two sons-tried to set up a song and dance act. Nothing. Nothing there. Hooked off every stage in the British Isles, they was. It happens like that.’ The old man drained his pint reflectively.
‘Can I get you another one, Harry?’
‘No, it’s my throw.’
‘Oh, but I’ll…’
‘I can still pay my way.’ And with dignity he took the two glasses over to the bar. He looked small in the crush and it was some time before the order got through. Then he returned, face contorted with concentration as he tried to keep the glasses steady in his blotched hands.
‘There.’ With triumph. ‘Put hairs on your chest, Charlie.’
‘Thanks.’
Now, where were we? Yes. Steenie’s boy. Ain’t got the old man’s talent, none of it. Been involved in one or two real disasters. You know, putting on drag shows, that sort of spectacle. But he ain’t got the touch. Old Steenie, he’d make money out of a kid’s conker match; Nigel’d close The Mousetrap within a week.’
‘Do they get on?’
‘Father and son? God knows. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. Great arguments, old man used to keep disowning the boy. Then they’d be as thick as thieves again. He likes all the family bit, Steenie. Wife died-oh, years ago, so the boy matters a lot. Jews are like that aren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want to know a lot about them, don’t you?’
‘Just interest.’
‘Yes.’ A pause. ‘You know, Charlie my boy, from the way you says that I can tell what you really want is the dirt. All right then-’ he edged closer so that he was whispering rather than shouting over the juke-box ‘-here’s the nastiest rumour I’ve ever heard about Steenie-really nasty rumour. Dancer he knew-she was on a bill with me and Lennie down the Hackney Empire. Steenie was putting the show on, and he’d got a thing going with this bint Veronica. Always put it about a bit, Steenie. Had a lot of lead in his pencil, that boy’-the image of the photographs flashed across Charles’ mind-‘Anyway, this girl gets knocked up, and when Steenie finds out about it, he don’t want to know. Won’t talk to her, doesn’t know her, gives her the boot. Out of the show.
‘Well, this Veronica won’t put up with this-comes round the theatre between shows one night-really drunk- really-I don’t like that in a woman-and she’s swearing and effing and blinding-big shout-up with Steenie-going to tell his wife, all that. Next morning she’s found floating face-down in the Thames.
