Lizzie of Langley Street Page 5

  ‘You’ll just ’ave ter say we won’t be late.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ Lizzie pleaded. ‘You’ll only get into trouble.’

  ‘Not on yer Nellie,’ Bert replied with a wink. ‘Leave Vin to me. I’ll see ’e comes to no harm and that’s a promise.’

  It was all bravado on Bert’s part. But what could she do? She watched him go back down the stairs and heard the front door slam. The house was quiet again. When she returned to the bedroom, Flo was still fast asleep.

  Lizzie sat on the edge of the bed.

  She couldn’t knock on Pa’s door. He wouldn’t want to know. There was nothing she could do except wait till Ma came in from Lil’s.

  Chapter Four

  Chalk wharf was silent, save for the belly rumble of a foghorn somewhere on the river. The fog was yellow and visibility was poor. A walk on the dockside was as perilous as crossing the river in a boat. The smell of oil, spices, wood and chemicals permeated the air. It clung to the two solitary figures that walked, with shoulders hunched, through the murky night.

  ‘Don’t look like anyone’s about,’ Bert muttered, his teeth chattering.

  Vinnie narrowed his eyes under the brim of his homburg. ‘They’ll be here all right. Mik said they was in a hurry to move the stuff. All we gotta do is see the china is gen. Mik’ll send the boys to pick it up later.’

  ‘Why don’t Mik come ’imself,’ Bert asked doubtfully, ‘instead of sending you?’

  ‘’Cos this is the way ’e does business,’ growled Vinnie, wishing he hadn’t brought Bert along. He needed a bit of muscle, not a bloody gramophone. And lately Bert was stuck in the same groove, a right whinger.

  However, Bert had a point. Why had Mik sent him on this job? Vinnie didn’t like to think about it. You didn’t argue if you wanted to stay healthy. Vinnie clearly recalled his recent reminder to toe the line; Mik’s boys had really gone to town on him that night at the Quarry. In a way, he understood. There were rules and you obeyed them. If you didn’t, you took your punishment. He’d got himself nicked and Mik had to square it with the law; Vinnie knew another mistake like that and it would be his last.

  ‘Mik Ferreter ain’t into china, is he?’ Bert asked, puzzled.

  ‘I told you. He’s bought a job lot to flog up West, to the posh shops that sells antiques to the nobs.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s legit?’ Bert asked once more.

  ‘Course I am.’

  ‘Then why ain’t we doin’ this in daylight?’

  Vinnie was getting angry. ‘Blimey, Bert, your memory’s like a bloody sieve lately. Look, watch me lips.’ He pushed his face into Bert’s. ‘The bloke who’s sold the stuff to Mik wants it out of the way. The timber yard’s only agreed to store it till tomorrow. It’s all gotta be gone by the morning. All right?’

  Bert was really getting on his nerves. He used to do as he was told. But lately he never stopped asking questions, and Vinnie was fed up having to answer them. Not that he ever told Bert the truth. Take tonight, for instance. The warehouse was a doddle. All he had to do was make contact. See the booze was all there: twenty crates of gin destined for illegal gaming clubs. But Bert wasn’t going to get near enough to the crates to see what was in them. It would all be over and done with in ten minutes. By nine, he’d be in the Quarry drinking with his mates.

  Suddenly Bert’s six foot four frame stiffened beside him. Vinnie swung round. They peered through the fog and saw an eerie light. The halo wavered, sending out a glow that lit up the structure around it.

  ‘It’s the timber yard,’ said Vinnie on a slow breath. ‘Someone’s hung a lamp out for us. See all that wood piled up?’

  ‘I gotta funny feeling about this, Vin.’

  ‘You and your funny feelings.’

  Vinnie sighed to himself. It was at times like this he told himself life could only get better. He wasn’t going to be a bookie’s runner for ever. He wouldn’t always be a messenger boy, sent out on piddling little jobs like this. One day, he’d settle the score. Do things his own way, see some real money.

  ‘See anyone yet?’ Bert whispered as they moved forward.

  ‘Nah.’ The lamplight flickered around the rafter it was attached to and the wood gave out a warm, comforting glow. The notice behind it was now visible, Bennet’s Timber Merchants.

  ‘You sure this is legit?’ Bert grunted.

  ‘For cryin’ out loud!’ Vinnie closed his eyes.

  ‘It just don’t feel right, Vin.’

  ‘It’s your daft ’ead that don’t’ feel right. You don’t use it, that’s your problem. And when you do, it ’urts. Vicious circle, that’s what they call it. Might as well stick a bag over it. Be less painful and it wouldn’t make no difference to yer lifestyle.’

  Bert dropped his big chin on his chest. Vinnie felt a wave of satisfaction. He revelled in humiliating people. It wasn’t often he got the chance. Mostly it was Mik humiliating him. But Bert was a soft touch, a good target. Vinnie poked his brother in the shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you once more what we’re going to do. We’re walking in there, bold as brass. You stay in the background, that’s all you’ve gotta do. I’ll do the all the talking. Just act the part. Flex yer muscles and look ugly.’

  Vinnie turned to the door. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this. He was glad he had worn his new overcoat. They would see he had style.

  ‘Door’s open,’ said Bert cautiously.

  ‘Yeah. Safe as ’ouses.’

  They advanced into the dimly lit warehouse. High piles of wooden planks rose to the rafters and wood shavings littered the floor. Down at the end there was a light, another oil lamp hanging from a beam.

  ‘What’s that stink?’ Bert asked hoarsely.

  ‘Tar,’ said Vinnie over his shoulder. ‘Don’t you know tar when you smell it? They use it on the wood.’

  They walked slowly down the aisle. Vinnie’s heart was thumping. All he could see was the silhouettes of woodpiles and shadowy corners. When they came to the last stack of wood, he stood still and craned his neck to look round it. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was just like Mik had said it would be. In the light of the lamp, he could see the large wooden crates marked FRAGILE. How many bottles of booze did that lot contain, he wondered? His pulse raced as he savoured the adrenaline rush.

  He stepped forward slowly. Bert was right on his heels. Vinnie groaned and turned, hissing, ‘I told you, stay in the background.’

  Bert stood with his jaw sagging. Vinnie gave his brother a long, hard glare. Then a movement in the shadows caught his eye.

  Out of the gloom stepped three figures. They were dressed in overcoats and hats and none of their faces was visible. Two were tall, broad and muscular. The third and smallest figure walked slowly towards the crates.

  A potent mixture of fear and excitement filled Vinnie’s veins. His throat was dry, his palms sweaty. He told himself to stay calm. Mik’s instructions were to make certain the booze was in the crates; Vinnie intended to follow them to the letter.

  ‘State yer business,’ the small figure said.

  Vinnie swallowed. ‘Mik sent me. To inspect the goods.’

  Vinnie wondered if Bert could handle the two goons. More importantly, could he himself match this man in front of him? This was the big league. The real McCoy. Mik had sent him on a serious errand. If he lost face on this one he’d never live it down.

  In silence, the overcoated figure leaned across one of the crates and lifted the top. Vinnie moved forward and looked into it. All he could see were bottle tops. He felt a flood of relief. He moved to the next crate. His fingers clamped round the top. He felt the rough edge of the wood prickle his skin. The feeling of power was intoxicating. The smell, the atmosphere, the high he was getting from doing the deal. This was what he was made for.

  He jerked up the top. Dozens more bottles. He needn’t have worried. Everything was perfect. ‘How many crates?’ he demanded, his confidence returning.

  ‘Twenty.’

  The crates be
hind were stacked in twos. Too high to reach the top ones. He looked around. No ladders. Nothing on which to climb. Odd for a timber yard. A jolt of suspicion went through him. He tried to calm himself. If he panicked, he’d blow it. ‘Open them all,’ he said.

  There was a long pause. ‘You ain’t very trusting.’

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘You saying them crates ain’t full?’

  ‘I ain’t sayin’ nothing. Not till I’ve had a butcher’s.’ Vinnie was getting nervous. He squared his shoulders. ‘Me boss is very particular.’

  ‘Your boss wants a bit bloody much,’ came the reply. ‘Ain’t you gonna take me word?’

  ‘I dunno who you are,’ Vinnie gulped. ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Seems to me you ain’t got much choice.’

  ‘Oh yes I have,’ Vinnie answered in a bolshie tone. He didn’t like this one bit.

  ‘Oh no you ain’t.’ The small figure stepped forward and Vinnie gasped audibly as his lapels were clenched. He stared into a pair of dark, dangerous eyes.

  ‘If you think I’m climbing over twenty bloody crates and taking off all them tops just for you, sonny boy, then you got another think coming.’

  ‘Get your ’ands off,’ Vinnie sputtered, intending to brazen it out. He had to keep his head. But already he was struggling with his natural instinct to smash his fist into the unpleasant face in front of him.

  ‘You’re a big mouth, you are,’ growled his assailant as he thrust Vinnie back against the wood. ‘Personally, I don’t like the look of you or your mate.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’ Vinnie tried to force down his anger. ‘How do I know the other eighteen boxes ain’t full of bricks and not booze?’

  The moment he said it, Vinnie knew he’d dropped a clanger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bert. ‘You said it was china,’ Bert mumbled in a stupid voice. ‘For them posh shops up West.’

  Vinnie wanted to throttle Bert. Now he would look a right amateur.

  ‘Hark at it,’ laughed the little man. ‘He thinks it’s china!’ There was a chorus of loud laughter. Directed at him, it made Vinnie cringe. He had been made a laughing stock and it was all Bert’s fault.

  ‘You thick ’eaded numbskull, Bert.’ Vinnie turned angrily. ‘I told you to keep that bleedin’ big gob of yours shut, you silly bastard.’

  ‘You told me it was china,’ Bert said again. His big lapdog eyes stared forlornly at his brother.

  ‘Course it’s not bloody china.’ Vinnie pulled his lapels back into shape. ‘Don’t you see I’m trying to do a deal here? Don’t you understand we’re on to a winner? And all you can do is stand there and look at me like a—’ But Vinnie never finished his sentence because Bert was turning and walking away.

  Vinnie couldn’t believe his eyes. What was Bert doing? He gulped down his shock. Bert was leaving him. Dependable, trustworthy, thick as two planks Bert was abandoning him. But Vinnie realized Bert wasn’t going very far. The two other men had stopped laughing and were blocking Bert’s path.

  Vinnie knew then they were trapped. They weren’t going anywhere, either of them. Something made him turn. A crowbar was poised above his head. The iron claw came down. It sank into the fabric of his hat, missing his skull by a fraction.

  ‘Bastard!’ he screamed as he fell back, unharmed but shocked. The crowbar came down again. He dodged it. This time it lodged in the wood. Vinnie looked into the small man’s surprised eyes. He lifted his boot and kicked hard. It was a real pleasure to see the agony; he continued the kicking, enjoying every moment of it.

  Without his muscle, the little tosser was nothing. It was he, Vinnie, who would call the tune. When he’d taught him a lesson, he’d make him open up the crates. He’d return to Mik triumphant. Either way, booze or no booze, he’d have followed instructions and saved Mik an embarrassment.

  Then suddenly everything went black. Vinnie stared, bewildered, into the darkness. He kicked out, but his boot found only thin air. There was a lot of shuffling and Vinnie stumbled back against the woodpile. He kicked out again, but this time in self-defence. He swung his arms violently, his knuckles grazing the wood. The darkness was pitch. He could hear his own breathing and things going on around him. Movement. Hushed voices. And smells.

  Where was everyone? Where was Bert? His heart felt as though it was trying to get out of his chest. He felt his way along the wood, sweat dripping from his forehead. His wet palms found a wall. Why hadn’t they come after him?

  He flattened his back to it, his eyes searching the darkness. There were outlines shapes, noises. Where the fuck was everyone?

  He soon got his answer.

  A flicker of light broke the darkness. A thin tongue of orange licked upward, caressing the wood gently. Vinnie stared at it, not understanding at first. Then a cold terror filled him. The inside of the warehouse flickered into light.

  They had torched the place. The bastards. They intended to burn them alive. They would die here. This stinking yard was to be their tomb. Nothing would ever be found of them. The warehouse was a perfect incinerator.

  He panicked. Coughing and spluttering, his lungs filled with thick grey smoke. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He stumbled along blindly, grabbing at anything he could find. He was going to die here. A slow and terrible death. He was sobbing like a baby and he didn’t care.

  Suddenly his vision cleared. The smoke parted like a curtain and he rubbed his eyes. He blinked and blinked once more. In front of him was the door they had entered by. He couldn’t believe his luck.

  For one brief second he thought he heard Bert’s voice. But he convinced himself he hadn’t. There was nothing that would persuade him to retrace his steps. And it was Bert’s bloody fault anyway. He thought he heard the voice again and ignored it. He stumbled towards the door and wrenched it open. A gust of air poured in. He fell out into the night, not stopping to look back at the burning warehouse as he ran as fast as his shaking legs would carry him.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Look at this, bread pudding, still warm from Lil’s oven,’ Kate told Lizzie as she came in the back door carrying an enamel dish. ‘Ain’t she a good mate? You smell that mixed spice. Me mouth is watering already. Oh, what a treat!’ Carefully, Kate lowered the pudding to the table.

  ‘It looks smashing.’ Lizzie went to the table. ‘Ma, there’s something—’

  ‘Babs’ll be in soon,’ Kate continued as she filled the kettle with water. ‘I told her she could have ten minutes more. Ethel and her two kids are over from Blackheath, so we had to be polite and stay for a bit.’

  ‘That’s nice, but—’

  ‘Them two kids are lovely,’ Kate sighed, taking off her coat and hanging it on the peg behind the door. ‘Really growing up quick. Rosie’s just like her mother, all blonde hair and big blue eyes, and for two she’s ever so bright.’ She turned to Lizzie, her face flushed and smiling. ‘Flo all right, love?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘She’s asleep.’

  ‘And young Timmy!’ Kate exclaimed as she put on her pinny. ‘What a little monkey! Into everything he is, but lovable with it. Dunno where he got his blue eyes from, though. Now, go and tell yer brothers I’m doing supper. I’ll slice this up thinly. It’ll be just like old times, all sitting round the table together having supper.’

  ‘Ma,’ Lizzie said, waiting for the eruption when she broke the news, ‘Bert and Vinnie went out.’

  Kate turned to stare at her. ‘Went out? When?’

  ‘Just after you went to Lil’s.’ Lizzie added quickly, ‘Bert said they wouldn’t be long.’

  Kate stood still, her thin body stiffening. ‘Did he say where they were going?’

  Lizzie shook her head. She didn’t want to tell Kate they had gone down the pub, even though it was obvious to one and all that they had.

  Kate walked slowly to the rocker and sank down. ‘I should have known better than to go out. I might have guessed the buggers would ’op it the moment I turned me back.’

  ‘Do
n’t worry, Ma.’ Lizzie sat on one of the wooden chairs. ‘Bert said he’d keep an eye on Vinnie.’

  Kate laughed mirthlessly. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard that one before an’ all. He can’t keep an eye on himself, let alone his brother.’

  ‘Would you like me to cut you a nice piece of Lil’s bread pudding?’

  ‘No thanks, ducks.’ Kate gazed into space. All the colour had drained from her face.

  Silently Lizzie rose and took the boiling kettle from the hob. Automatically she went through the motions of making tea, trying to think of a way to distract Kate. When she’d poured the hot brown liquid into two mugs, she sat down again, passing one mug to her mother.

  ‘Thanks, love.’

  ‘Shall I take one in to Pa?’

  Kate glanced at her. ‘No, I hope he’ll be asleep by now. If he isn’t, he’ll let us know all right.’

  ‘Tell me one of yer stories, Ma.’ Lizzie pulled her skirt over her knees and tucked her feet up under her bottom. ‘The one about poor Granny Allen.’

  Kate did smile then. ‘Lizzie Allen, you’ve heard all those stories before. Fact is, I reckon you could tell them to me.’

  ‘No I couldn’t.’ Lizzie sipped her tea. ‘You always make them sound different each time you tell them.’

  Kate laughed. ‘I do, do I? Oh well, I’ll have to remember me lies, won’t I?

  They both laughed, then Kate sighed. ‘Well, Granny Allen was a beauty and famed for it. But Grandfather Allen was a drunk, I’m sorry to say. Yer father saw ’is mother dragged down the stairs by her hair, and yer grandfather let her lie in her own blood. It wasn’t the first beating she ever took in drink, and it wasn’t the last. When we started to walk out, your father promised me that I’d never have a drunkard for a husband. He kept his promise and never touched a drop since.’ For a moment Kate paused, then she glanced at Lizzie. ‘You sure Bert gave no indication of where they was going?’

  Lizzie shook her head, trying to think of another distraction.

  Kate reclined in the chair.

  ‘Tell me about when Pa was at sea and you was in service with that rich lady,’ Lizzie said quickly.