We left another crate with Walter and his pals, just to let them know there were no hard feelings. I didn’t know if the chef and Walter were in cahoots, planning to sell off the peaches at an even greater profit, or if it was all for the glory of the hotel’s kitchen. I thought it might be the glory, the desire for the Dorchester to be seen as able to conjure up anything for their guests. The government limit of five shillings for any meal on the menu was still in effect, but that didn’t mean the hotel couldn’t charge separately for a dessert of peaches. The rumor of peaches alone would probably bring in droves of diners, all the Mayfair set ready to plunk down whatever it took for a delicacy out of reach for the common folk.
But we were headed to a different neighborhood, one where you didn’t dress for dinner. Big Mike took Oxford Street and left the West End behind, the roadway changing to names that better suited the surroundings. Cheapside turned to Threadneedle Street, and that took us close to the Liverpool Tube Station.
“Pull in next to those trucks,” I said. As I’d hoped, there were vehicles parked near the burned-out buildings a block away from the Underground. Work was still going on to clear the debris, and a couple of flatbed trucks and a van had been backed into the cleared space. Big Mike joined them and killed the engine. “You stay here, make sure no one noses around.”
“I can’t let you go in there alone, Billy,” Big Mike said, but without a lot of enthusiasm. He knew our precious cargo might not last unguarded.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back in no time at all with a buyer.”
“Kinda interesting, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Being a bad guy. I’m sitting here with a truckload of stolen goods, while you’re looking to fence ’em. Who’da thought it?”
“Yeah. Makes you see the attraction. There’s good money to be made.”
“I’ll take my PD pension any day. This is getting on my nerves. Hurry up, OK? I don’t know what I’d say if a bobby comes along.”
“Show him your badge and tell him about Detroit. That’ll keep him from coming back.” I shut the door before Big Mike could curse me out and pulled a crate from the back, wrapping it in a tarp. I carried it into the Tube station, thinking about the ARP warden the night before, staying at his post to help a mother and her children. Heroes and bums were everywhere, plenty of each on the homefront as well as the firing line.
The atmosphere was calmer down below, with a steady stream of East Enders carrying blankets, pillows, and bags to their places on the platform. The chances of another raid with all the cloud cover tonight were slim, but the place was filling up. Last night’s terror was replaced by laughter and smiles of recognition as neighbors from above met each other below. A small group of girls was trying to sing the new song “A Lovely Way to Spend an Evening,” but ended up giggling each time they got to the chorus.
The bunks in the siding were near to full, the soft murmur of conversation marking the more regular residents. Some read newspapers, others magazines and paperbacks. One man, old enough to have served in the last war, was reading No Orchids for Miss Blandish, a recent book that had caused a sensation in 1939 over its depictions of beatings, killings, torture, and rape. Odd, with one war behind him and another driving him underground, that he passed his time by turning the page from one act of brutality to another. Or maybe it made perfect sense. At least he wasn’t deluding himself.
“Hi, Charlie,” I said, as the boxer looked up from his newspaper. “I’ve got a present for Mr. Chapman.”
“Let’s have a look then,” he said. I dropped the cover off the crate and watched him raise an eyebrow. “You can take that back, Topper’ll see you. But hand the gun over first.” I gave him my. 38, and he folded the newspaper over it. I wondered how much they paid off the local constables, or if they were just too afraid to come down this way.
“Well, Boyle, I see you don’t take advice,” Topper said as I entered the room. The blankets to Archie’s sanctum were drawn. “Can’t say I didn’t give fair warning.” He was playing cards with two guys in brand-new suits. It was noticeable since nobody had a new suit in London, due to rationing and the desire of most people to do their bit. But not Topper and his pals. Elegant tailoring, silk shirts, patent-leather black shoes.
“All dressed up and nowhere to go?” I said, setting the crate down on their card table.
“Shut up, Yank,” one of Topper’s boys said, pulling the deck of cards away from the crate of canned peaches.
“You know, my dad always told me to make a good first impression when you meet new people,” I said. “Because that sets the tone for everything that comes afterward.”
“Ain’t nothing coming afterward, Yank, so shut up before I get mad and do it for you.”
“That’s just what I’m talking about,” I said, gazing at Topper across the table from me. The guy with the mouth was on my left, looking up at me. Topper made a show of studying his cards. The well-dressed thug on my right watched Topper, waiting for a sign. “This guy is going to give me a hard time every time I see him now, because of the lousy first impression he has of me, letting him mouth off like that.”
“So why don’t-”
Before he could tell me what I should do about it, I grabbed him by the back of the head and snapped it down, smashing his face against the wooden crate. The pine wood and the cartilage in his nose cracked, and he started howling as blood christened his shirt. I didn’t look at the other two. I knew I had to show disdain for whatever they might do. Charlie didn’t stir, likely used to the sound of pain coming from behind the wall of blankets.
“Now,” I said, still grasping his hair and holding his face back so I loomed over him, “wouldn’t it have been better to start off politely, so we could’ve been pals?” He looked at Topper, waiting for him to have me dismembered. All Topper did was blow out a breath in mock boredom and toss his cards onto the table.
“Pals?” the tough guy said through the blood filling his nostrils, unable to follow what I was saying, stunned at the lack of support from his boss.
“Have some peaches,” I said. Topper laughed.
I’d hoped for a chance to get their attention, beyond the gift of six cans of Uncle Sam’s finest Georgia peaches. I needed to demonstrate that I was a tough guy, too, and the only way to do that with a bunch of crooks is to not let one of them give you any lip. That was one of the lessons Dad had taught me. Never take guff from a guy unless you’re willing to take it every time you run into him.
“Stanley, get cleaned up. I’ll get you a new shirt tomorrow,” Topper said. He nodded to the other fellow, who stood, took the box from the table, cleaned up the cards, and stood behind me. “Thank you for the gift, Boyle.”
“Lots more where that came from.”
“I hope your delivery method improves. I won’t let you get away with that again. But it was worth it to teach Stanley a lesson. He should think before he speaks.”
“I don’t intend on delivering these in person. If you’re interested in acquiring more, I’ve got sixty cases to move. But the gift-giving season is over.”
“Where are they?”
“Close, ready to unload.”
“I don’t intend to be drawn into a trap, Lieutenant Boyle. I appreciate this gift from the U.S. Army, but I have no interest in the black market.”
“What’s the clothing ration these days? Thirty-six coupons a year, right? You’re each wearing about two-thirds of that.”
“It pays to have friends, Lieutenant. In the same way it pays to not make enemies. It helps one get ahead.”
“Five pounds per can,” I said. “That’s my price.”
“What?”
“I’m making the offer to sell you army property. I don’t know about the law here, but back in the States I’d have to wait for you to offer to buy if I wanted to entrap you.”
“That’s not what I meant. I must’ve misunderstood you. I thought you said five pounds per can.”
“I did. You can’t find peaches anywhere in England except on a U.S. Army base. They’re priceless. You can sell them to fancy restaurants, rich folk, gangsters, anyone with a pocketful of cash. You could charge five pounds per peach, for crying out loud.”
“Clive,” Topper said, beckoning to the guy standing behind me. I tensed, waiting for a sap to my skull. “Open those cans. Take them around to the good people outside. Make sure they share them out, women and children first. Got it?”
“Yes, boss. You want any?”
“No. Leave a bowl for Dad, though. And yourself and Charlie, too.”
“None for Stanley?” Topper shook his head, and Clive got to work with a can opener.
“I’ll buy your sixty crates at four pounds each. That’s two hundred and forty quid. My only offer.”
“You going to give those away, too?”
“We’re not a charitable institution,” Topper said. “But these are all East Enders in here. Our folk. We take care of our own.”
“And they take care of you.”
“What’s fair is fair,” he said, as a chorus of cheers went up from the residents of the Chapman siding. “Take the two forty or take your leave.”
“I want three hundred, and some information.”
“Information has value, Billy, it’s not something to be given away.”
“OK, I’ll knock fifty pounds off for the info. Two fifty, and you tell me what I need to know.”
“My price is two forty, firm. Tell me what you need to know, and I’ll tell you if that information is available and for sale. And for how much.”
“Shouldn’t we be talking to your father about this?”
“We will, once the terms are agreed. He’s not one to haggle. What do you want to know?”
“I need to know who killed the Russian, Gennady Egorov. I don’t care what business he may have been doing with you. If you had him killed, there’s no reason for me to go to Scotland Yard, it’s not my beef.”
“You are seriously asking if I’m an accessory to murder? If I was, do you think I’d ever tell you? That’s a foolish question.”
“OK. Here’s what I need to know. Was Egorov doing business with you, selling information about the shipment of supplies to the Soviet Embassy? If so, then I need to know if his death was in any way connected with that business, as opposed to a conflict with another party. No names, I just need to know the motive for his murder.”
“This is for the investigation you mentioned, on behalf of General Eisenhower?”
“Yeah. If I can solve it, it’ll mean a promotion. More pay, easier access to even more supplies. Listen, I don’t give a hoot who killed him, I just need a story that will hold up. But if his death involves our business in any way, I need to know it so I can steer the investigation in another direction.”
“All right,” Topper said. “I think we may be able to come to an understanding. I need to discuss this with my father. We’ll also need to make arrangements to get these crates delivered safely. We have a warehouse nearby. How long will it take for you to get everything here? You do have transportation, don’t you? Our deal doesn’t include a pickup.”
“Five minutes,” I said. “Everything’s in a truck, close by.”
“Good. Let me speak to him alone.”
Topper and Archie talked for ten minutes or so, in hushed tones I couldn’t make out. Then there was silence, and in a minute Topper came out. “Want a drink?” he said.
“No thanks,” I said, not wanting to start up a repeat of the previous performance. “Is your father coming out?”
“No, he’s not feeling well. But he did agree to two fifty, and we can tell you something about the Russian.”
“Something?”
“Nothing held back. Do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” I said. “Deal.” I had no idea what the actual cost of the peaches was to the army, but I was sure two hundred and fifty pounds, illegal as it was, would cover it.
“The Russian was not ours. We had nothing to do with his killing.”
“Topper, that may be true, but it’s what I’d expect you to say.”
“I understand, but there’s something else. The map you mentioned, the one showing the route of the supply truck. That was for us. We were to receive it, but it never arrived.”
“Do you think Egorov was the courier?”
“No, that’s not how it was done. Truly, we have no connection to the man, nor do we know who killed him. But the fact that he had the map, it does point to his interference in a business arrangement.”
“Which you won’t reveal.”
“Or ever acknowledge again.”
“OK,” I said. “Then let’s finish the rest of the deal.” I followed Topper out, and Charlie fell in behind us, promising to return my weapon when the transaction was complete. Topper stopped to chat along the way, as people thanked him for the peaches. He was especially popular with the young ladies, but the old ones liked him, too. Never underestimate the power of peaches in syrup when an island has been at war for four years. It was a happy group, and I had to stop three or four times to accept thanks as well, from those who’d seen me carry in the covered crate and put two and two together.
Once we made it aboveground, I led Topper to the bombed-out buildings, with Charlie at our heels. “Got the money on you?” I asked, wanting to sound like a legitimate bad guy.
“I do, and that’s where it’s staying,” Topper said, wheeling to face me as I felt the muzzle of my own gun at my neck. “All set?” Topper yelled over his shoulder.
“That we are, boy,” I heard Archie respond, a cackling laugh finishing his sentence. “Wasn’t too hard either, even though this fellow is the size of a house.”
Archie stepped out from between two trucks, advancing until his bayonet pointed straight at my chest. “Don’t you play with me, Boyle. Either you’re a thief or not. I don’t like how you mix your business.”
“Big Mike?” I said into the darkness.
“I’m OK, Billy. Except for the shotgun digging into my back. They got the drop on me.”
“Amateurs,” Archie said. “What pitiful amateurs. It gives honest crooks a bad name. First you ask too many damn questions, then you accept a pittance for these wonderful fruits of nature, then you tell Topper you’ve got the truck full no more than five minutes away. What did you expect, boy? You may as well have brought the whole load to my doorstep.”
“If you need anything done, boss, I’d be happy to oblige.” Stanley stepped from behind the truck, a scarf wrapped around his neck to hide the bloodstains. “Very happy,” he added, his voice still nasal and stuffy.
“No need, no need. We’ll take the truck and let these two fools find their own way back. But if you see them an hour from now, do whatever pleases you. And I might do the same!”
“Archie, you can’t take the truck,” I said, trying to sound reasonable.
“Oh no?” he said, waving the bayonet in a circle in front of my face. “I say I can do what I please. No man has stopped me, and yet many have tried. Why, in tires and engine parts alone, this vehicle is worth as much as the cargo. Now be glad you have your lives for one more day, and never come back to Shoreditch. And if you send coppers from the Met, there’s no one down below who will ever admit to seeing you. You know that’s the truth, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, feeling the complete fool. Archie had clearly been listening to my conversation with Topper, and snuck out just before we left, taking Stanley and Clive to hunt for the truck. There had to be a side passage from his room at the rear of the siding. “I do.”
“And do you want to know why?” Archie whispered, leaning in close to my face, the tip of his bayonet lifting my chin until I had to look him in the eye. He lifted the blade and placed it flat against my lips, the point sharp against my nose. His voice rose with each line, echoing off the dark, black walls surrounding us. To these I turn, in these I trust- Brother Lead and Sister Steel. To his blind power I make appeal, I guard her beauty clean from rust.
He spins and burns and loves the air, And splits a skull to win my praise; But up the nobly marching days She glitters naked, cold and fair.
Sweet Sister, grant your soldier this: That in good fury he may feel The body where he sets his heel Quail from your downward darting kiss.
Keeping the blade on my lips, he leaned in closer, and kissed the cold steel. I felt the razor sharpness against my lips along with the unwelcome warmth of his, and someone’s blood seeping between my teeth.
“‘The Kiss,’ by Siegfried Sassoon,” Archie said, stepping back, as if at a formal recital. He bowed gracefully and pointed down the ruined road, back to the center of London. “Go.”
“I didn’t lie to you about the Russian,” Topper said as we passed him by. “And I warned you not to come back, didn’t I?”