Tommy laughed at the incongruity of the statement and left. He made his way with Jimmy to Petticoat Lane, stopping to pick up two hand guns on the way. When you visited the Jews on their own territory it was just as well to go there with a little bit of insurance.
Kerry sat on her bed staring at the pile of clothes on the floor, trying to summon up the energy to get herself dressed. Evander had left and she could hear Bernie humming to herself as she prepared some food. She gritted her teeth together, making a grinding noise. Why did she have to be plagued like this. She wanted Evander Dorsey so bad she could taste it.
It was all she thought about, all she wanted to think about. If he had been a big blond Swede, no one would have said a word. But he was black, and because of that fact, he and Kerry had to skulk around like criminals. Now Bernie knew about them and that was the beginning of the end. Instinctively Kerry knew this.
In France she could live openly with Evander. They were artists, and as such would be forgiven much. Here, and in America, if she publicly proclaimed her feelings they would be ridiculed. Hated. It was so unfair. Her mother would go mad if she heard about Evander. You could be a twopenny whore and get more respect than a woman who went with a black man.
It was so unfair. So very, very unfair.
Bernie bustled into the room with a hot drink. She looked at Kerry and smiled sadly.
‘Come on, Kel, get yourself sorted.’ She began to pick up the clothes on the floor and Kerry leant forward and grabbed her wrist. Bernie looked up into her face, stunned.
‘If you try and bugger this up for me, Bernie, I’ll kill you! Do you understand me? I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’
Bernie nodded, her eyes filling with tears. What really hurt her was the fact that Kerry knew her so well, knew exactly what she was capable of. She could see through her like a pane of glass.
‘I won’t, Kerry. I promise.’
Kerry pushed the offending arm away from her and said, ‘Too right you won’t, because I won’t let you!’
The two sisters stared into each other’s eyes, and it was Bernadette who looked away first.
Chapter Fourteen
Brick Lane market was packed. The stall holders were shouting out their wares in loud voices. Children ran among the stalls, looking for a chance to swipe the nearest thing to hand. Old women and young mothers stopped for a gossip or to scour the second-hand clothes stalls, of which there were plenty. Barrow boys stood by with apples and oranges piled high, their dirty hands grasping money and weighing up their produce quickly and efficiently, always underweighing when possible and keeping up a stream of talk as they did so, chatting up customers, young and old.
The shops were open. Gold was displayed behind metal grilles, diamonds sparkled, and furniture was displayed outside on the pavements. It was the era of the never-never and the Jews cashed in on this. They had always been the Uncles, the moneylenders, they were established and commanded respect because of this. They were rich, owning property in Brick Lane and roundabouts, but lived in Golders Green, respectable lives, with respectable families. Many of the men started out making a small fortune from the cobbles, a term for boxing without gloves. They fought all comers at Victoria Park and when they had a stake eventually made their way into the garment or gold industry, always lending money as a sideline. The easy atmosphere belied the real dealings that went on here. The lane was open till late at night. The smell of gefilte fish and blintzes vied for a place among the smells of rotten vegetables and the ever present smell of steam from the hoffman pressers. Tommy walked along with Jimmy until he came to Dubronsky’s small pop shop. ‘Pop’ was the term for pawn. It was not unusual for a woman to take her husband’s good suit in on a Monday and get it back out Saturday, ready to be worn on Sunday. Pawning was a way of life for most people. It was the only way to stretch meagre pennies, and to keep children’s bellies full. Inside the shop, Tommy closed the door and put up the ‘Closed’ sign.
The small Jewish man behind the counter smiled at him.
‘Tommy, my boy. What brings you here?’
Dubronsky’s exterior did not kid Tommy one iota. He knew the little man could blow his head off at a whim; his meek and engaging exterior covered a calculating brain and a violent streak. Until now, Tommy had always got on very well with him. He used this fact as he ambled over to the counter.
‘I hear you’ve been making friends with the pimps? Is this true?’
Dubronsky shrugged.
‘Since when have I had to ask you who I can be friends with? What are you, Tommy Lane, an Irish rabbi, that you come here on to my premises and question me about my likes and dislikes?’
Tommy grinned then.
‘Jimmy, have a look out the back, would you?’
He walked through, slamming up the flap of the wooden counter noisily and walking through to the back of the shop. He emerged with a girl of about eighteen. She had thick black hair and a large nose. Dubronsky’s daughter Ruth, the likeness was unmistakable.
‘Leave my daughter be, Tommy, she’s only a child helping her father.’ Tommy detected the worry in his voice. Jimmy was well known for his vicious ways and his non-existent brain. Dubronsky knew that if Tommy nodded, Jimmy would just batter the girl without a second’s thought. But Tommy was piqued that the man thought so little of him.
‘I wouldn’t hurt your daughter, you should know that. I want to hurt Willy Bolger. I don’t want to fall out with you or anyone else for that matter, but I will if needs be. Bolger has upset me, and now he has to pay the price. If you protect him, I’ll raze this fucking place to the ground! I mean it. So you give him a little message from me. Tell him I’m looking for him, and I’ll find him eventually. So he can make it a lot easier on himself if he makes a point of coming to see me. If I have to look for him, it will be worse on him and any of his so-called friends. Do you understand me?’
‘Perfectly. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’
Tommy stared at the man for a few seconds, battling the urge to attack him. It seemed that whoever was behind Bolger was a bigger fish than he’d first thought, otherwise why would Dubronsky be so cavalier? Walking around the counter, Tommy grabbed the little man by the scruff of his neck and frog-marched him out to the back of the shop. Kicking open the toilet in the yard, he pushed the man’s head down the pan, using all his considerable strength. The toilet, though well used, had not seen soap for many years. The smell of dank urine and mould hung in the air. Someone had used it a while before and the urine was deep orange, an oily film floating on it. He held Dubronsky’s head under until the man’s body began to sag, then he dragged his head up and threw him on to the ground outside the toilet door. He proceeded to kick him ferociously, concentrating on the chest and back.
Dubronsky lay on the ground heaving. Eventually he turned on his side and a trickle of blood-stained mucus came from his mouth. Tommy knelt beside him and grabbed his face, squeezing it.
‘Don’t you ever mug me off again, you ponce! Not ever! Now, you’re going to tell me who’s backing Bolger or I’ll drown you in your own piss. Believe me when I say you’ve pushed me too fucking far. Out with it. I want a name and I want it now!’
The man looked up with fear in his eyes. In all his years of knowing Tommy, he had never seen him like this. It began to dawn on him that he had written Tommy Lane off too soon. The boy, and he was still a boy for all his grown-up looks, was a person he should not have underestimated. Like the Cavanagh girl, he was part of the new breed, and the prospect of what they could be capable of was frightening. All Bolger’s big talk was suddenly forgotten in the face of this boy’s wrath.
‘Tommy, leave go of me! Let’s talk.’
He laughed low.
‘I’ve had it with talking, you short-arsed runt! Now tell me who Bolger’s new friends are, and me and you will get on a lot better.’
‘I don’t know, I swear. All I know is that Bolger came to me and a few others with a proposition. He has a lot of money at his disposal, and a lot of manpower has been bought and paid for. Believe me, Tommy, it was nothing personal, just business. But I swear to you I don’t know who’s behind him. He said once it was a businessman, a big businessman. That’s all. He won’t let on who it is to anyone.’
‘You expect me to believe that and all, don’t you?’
Tommy’s voice held an incredulity that was forced. Dubronsky would save his daughter’s arse if not his own. But he had to be sure the man didn’t know.
‘Tommy, listen to me, I don’t know. Before God, I swear to you I have no idea...’
He let go of the man’s face. Livid white fingermarks were indented upon it. Tommy wiped his wet hand on the man’s shirt.
‘Where will I find him? He ain’t been seen in his drum for a while so where’s he hiding out?’
The little man squinted. Without his glasses he was nearly blind.
‘He’s staying with the Olds brothers down by Upton Park. But I warn you, Tommy, he’s well protected.’
‘How much muscle has he bought? Who are they?’
Dubronsky coughed and spat the mucus out on to the ground before answering.
‘The Olds, the Campbells, the Dennings. Not to mention a lot of the Jewish muscle as well as Maltese. The Marianos are considering his offer and I tell you now, he’s spending money like water.’
Tommy ground his teeth together. Poking his head at the man before him, he said: ‘I don’t care if he’s bought the whole of the smoke. He’s a fucking dead man. And if he’s dead he can’t pay anyone anything, can he. I’ll piss all over his fireworks, you see if I don’t.’
Standing, Tommy walked through the back of the shop to where Jimmy was standing with Ruth. The girl’s sallow complexion was now white. Nodding to her, Tommy walked through the shop and out of the door with Jimmy. Outside he took a deep breath. Picking up a metal dustbin from the gutter, he threw it with all his strength through the shop window. People watched the spectacle with bright eyes. Dubronsky was not well liked, the Uncles never were really.
Jimmy smiled as they walked towards their car. Sometimes he wondered why the hell Tommy wanted him along. He was quite capable of taking on anyone by himself.
In the car Tommy said, ‘Home. Me and you are going to see the Olds tonight. There’s a bundle tonight at Victoria Park, and if I know Ronnie Olds, he’ll be there.’
Willy Bolger nodded at the man sitting behind him in the car. His face was set in a neutral expression and he coughed gently before he spoke.
‘Look, trust me. I’m not afraid of Briony Cavanagh or Tommy Lane. They’re history. Soon they’ll be out of the picture for good. Between us we’ll run their businesses. In six months’ time they’ll be folklore.’
The man in the back of the car whispered: ‘They’d better be. I’m paying you a lot of money to get this off the ground. I want Briony Cavanagh wiped off the face of the earth. I want everything she owns, and I want her out of the way once and for all.’
Willy grinned, showing his tiny pointed teeth. ‘It’s as good as done.’
The man slipped out of the car and walked along the Bayswater Road where he hailed a cab. Willy watched him go with contempt. What a fool. He’d handed over large sums of money and Willy had taken it without a second thought. If the man had had any sense he would just have had them taken out. It would have been cheaper. But for some reason best known to himself he wanted Briony Cavanagh stripped of everything she had first. Willy pocketed the wad of money the man had passed to him at the start of their meeting and smiled again. Who gave a fuck? he thought. So long as the money kept coming he could do what he liked. As he drove towards Hoxton he daydreamed of being the Baron of the East End. The first Baron who was also a pimp. He would be in control of just about all the women who worked the streets. The prospect pleased him. It was his dream come true. Plus he would enjoy taking out Miss Cavanagh, the feisty bitch! She needed knocking down a peg and he was just the man to do it.
He had heard the whispers that Lane was looking for him. Well, let the fucker look. There was no harm in that. But he wouldn’t find him. Tommy would see him when the time was right, and then he would be the last person Tommy Lane saw in his life.
Briony had just finished drying herself when Tommy came in the bedroom. She stood naked, her tight belly emphasising her small breasts, and Tommy dived across the room and grabbed her. His hands were freezing and Briony screamed. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Laying her down gently he kissed her mouth tenderly.
‘You still look like a kid, especially with that mad hair all over the place.’
‘Well, I don’t feel like one. Let me up.’
Tommy leant on her with all his weight, pinning her to the bed.
‘No. Why should I?’
Briony laughed. ‘Because I’m bleeding well freezing that’s why! Cissy never even bothered putting a fire up here today.’
‘I’ll warm you up, girl.’ He felt Briony consciously relax and stifled a sigh. It was always the same. She would allow him inside her, that was all. He felt an urge to bite her, make her feel something if only pain. As if she read his thoughts, she whispered to him. ‘I’m sorry, Tommy.’
The tiny voice was desolate and he pulled her to him, breathing in the mingled scents of soap and perfume.
Pulling himself back, he looked into her face. The deep green eyes had golden flecks that made them luminous. They were framed by deep, long black lashes, that were a startling contrast to her hair. As she was now, scrubbed free from cosmetics, with her hair tumbling around her, she looked good enough to eat. She looked like the girl he had fallen for. Only a few lines around her eyes betrayed her troubles and her age.
His eyes roamed over her body to the fine white lines just inside the pubic hair, the only evidence of womanhood she displayed. Her small breasts were unmarked, as were her thighs, but a few rogue stretchmarks glistened on her stomach and Tommy loved her more for them. Because they reminded him, as they did her, of what she had given up. Had had taken from her.