Acid Bubbles (26 page)

“You can meet Harry right now. He has a little weekend cottage near the river. Somewhere quiet for him and the family. You'll enjoy it. I hope you enjoy it. So lovely and quiet there, you get my drift?” Dave grinned all the time he said this.

Dave raised Millicent pointing her in my direction suggesting I was going to be one hell of a good worker for Mr Pocket, “and never to call him Harry the Pocket to his face. Everybody calls him that, but never, never to his face!”

Lenny climbed out of the chair, picked up a pair of walking sticks and waddled off with his strange gait to the car. As we arrived at the car Smiggy was grinning at us and laughing. I spat directly in the little weasel bastard's face as I climbed into the car. I knew he'd suggested this move of direction in Harry's business.

The weasel wiped his face with a handkerchief. “You'll get yours one day. You more than deserve it and I'll give it to you!” Smiggy informed me.

I didn't know why I deserved it, and I wasn't going to ask him. Nobody in the front seats spoke a word during the car journey. Lenny was sitting in the back with me, and this car had child protection locks on the back doors, something new in those days. We might have been trapped but Lenny was not afraid to explain the situation, though he whispered. You could see Dave almost craning his neck to hear, never suggesting that we either speak up or shut up!

I was getting to know the situation. Dave understood it already and Lenny understood also. From boardroom to shop floor in one scary afternoon!

A little place in the country David had called it. As we crunched into the grand pebbled driveway through the magnificent Gothic entrance gates it was obvious this was not your ordinary little place in the country. This was all an illusion of grandeur. It transpired that the main house had been saved from dereliction by a property company who very profitably turned it into eight luxury homes. Harry's little place was the hunting lodge belonging to this once grand estate. Constructed in rugged stone next to a river that ran through the extensive grounds, it had been built for the pleasures of hunting and fishing. Just beyond the lodge there was a small weir allowing water to fill the estates ornamental lake. This meant the cosy three-bedroom lodge was effectively isolated on an isthmus. There was only one approach along the strip of land dividing the river from the lake. Anybody approaching invited or not, was in clear sight.

As we drove along the isthmus to the turnaround outside the lodge, I noticed it had a small jetty into the river. Tied to this jetty was a rubber boat with a large engine. Was this was a getaway vehicle if any visitors arrived without a formal invitation?

A woman was standing watching the river and smoking. Even at a distance I could see she was very attractive wearing tight jeans and a big fluffy sweater. Her attraction was very physical suggesting a latent sexuality in the way she moved. It was almost catlike and very athletic. Both Lenny and I were watching avidly when Dave leaned over from the front and said, “Anybody sniffs around Miriam they'll get big trouble. She's Harry's baby doll and don't you two ever forget it!” Dave was quite forceful, poking Lenny's stomach with Millicent he added, “I've heard why they call you the Helmet, so keep it in your pants!” Dave moved Millicent down and rested her in Lenny's crotch.

We pulled to a stop outside the lodge and as the car's engine fell silent the front door opened. Lenny was peering into the gloom and gasped. “Fucking hell, he's in on it!” then said no more. .

The figure in the doorway on that late spring day in 1972 was me! On closer inspection it wasn't my twin. It could, however, be my very slightly older brother who was hewn out of much tougher material than I was made of. There was something disturbing about this man. His movements were very catlike, similar to a panther, always ready for any action, ready to pounce upon anybody moving into its territory. I could see why a woman like the one on the jetty would be with him even though it was obvious she was at least a decade older than my rugged double. I was wrong about the woman on the jetty, and wrong about John Smith who I thought was Harry. He was sitting in a fine colonial wicker chair on the back terrace.

Dave opened the rear doors from the outside and we clambered from our prison. I even thought about sprinting for the river and diving in. Then, of course, they had the power boat. They could chop me up with the propeller, or just come alongside to hold me down with a boat hook. Lenny and I marched into the house like a pair of lambs to the slaughter. We had no option but to join this man's game. The only thing we could do was negotiate the money side of it. We were, after all, going to be doing the same job, now watched over by very unpleasant henchmen.

We were led through to the back terrace overlooking the river and greeted by an older round-faced man lounging back in his colonial chair with his feet resting on a similar designed footrest, all the while he puffed away on a large Havana cigar. Being there next to the river I had a sudden vision of a childhood book my mother used to read to me some evenings. This character was toad. I was wrong about that as well, he was a rat!

We were pushed in front of him like naughty schoolchildren in front of a headmaster, and were expected to stand silently until summoned to speak. Our future employer couldn't see us and apparently was looking straight through us down towards the jetty admiring his property. Eventually Harry decided we'd been hanging around for long enough. The cigar was dispensed with, flicked from his fingers directly into the river, only half smoked, a dreadful end for such a fine cigar. This was his money no object, I am the man manoeuvre, impressing us with his little place in the country, and his command over his thugs. Lenny and I had moved up a notch in the business, descending further into the sewer as we did so. I admit we were not good boys, but this was a different league. This involved shotguns and nutcases willing to use them.

“Hello, boys, I'm moving into your territory. You will be working for me from now on. This isn't a negotiation. I'm telling you directly that I will expand your operation, and you're going to run it for me. You'll do all right.” This was Harry's opening gambit. He laid it all out for us in one statement.

“I built this up. It took me years and what's he got to do with it?” Lenny said, with astounding bravery. He was pointing towards my double who grinned back totally nonplussed by this accusation.

“Lenny, Lenny, Lenny, old mate. They followed you to my old place in the city and made a proposition to me. They wanted to take over this town, not my pitch, your pitch! Harry told me about the increased flow, and I won't be paying a percentage like you, so it's all business for me.”

“Go on Lenny introduce me to your friend then.” My double said this, and he was looking at me with a strange interest. I stared back in disbelief at my double.

He stepped towards me smiling, holding out a hand to shake. “I'm John Smith, and I'm quite fascinated by you. We could become friends, very interesting with the girls as well… oh, sorry about the business thing, but you'll do all right, better than before, and with protection.” This is how Mr Smith introduced himself to me. Confident of course!

As he talked to me he glanced towards Dave Hartley Sparrow. A grin was crossing his face as if Dave with his shotgun was a joke, like a child trying to stop a drunken father beating its mother. It was obvious John wasn't the least bit put out by the takeover bid. He would make more money, lots more money, and if they leaned on him too much he would see to it they stopped pressuring him. They knew it and he knew they knew it. He was one scary bastard!

Harry then became the chameleon, mine host, holding out both his hands towards a table in the sumptuous room behind the open French windows. The table was set with a full spread of food and drink ready for a little business party. First of all Harry introduced us to his wife Miriam, known to Harry as Skippy and to everybody as Baby Doll, again Miriam to her face. I thought she was with John Smith and somehow I could see them together. It was the catlike movements, a shared physicality. I couldn't see her with Harry the rat toad.

We might as well enjoy the business party because the negotiation was more on the lines of half the previous profit margin, but shift three times the stuff. We would make more and expose ourselves to more risk from the police. This is where, yet again, I was wrong!

To my surprise Smiggy appeared holding a very expensive reflex camera ready to take some family shots of a happy gathering down by the river. We were all going to march onto the jetty and pose, but first he must take a few profiles shots of me and Lenny. They knew what we looked like so why did they want the pictures? It made no sense. Until of course Harry informed us the drug squad had a large interest in our business.

“No, no, no, no, it's not like that, boys. It's so they know who not to arrest. I want my business to run smoothly, and my friends on the force, who shall remain nameless, want no one spoiling the profit margin or the construction of their luxury villas near Torremolinos.” Harry reassured us the photographs would keep us safe, not to the contrary. If trouble did occur the individual and group photos were evidence that we'd consorted, the bastard.

We all sat at our assigned places around the table. The open French windows offered a very intimate view of the tranquil river flowing outside, but inside I was far from tranquil. I could not argue with this situation. I was in a dirty game and sometimes you have to bend with the wind. What surprised me was the places had been set with nametags written in beautiful handwriting on bows around the napkins. Baby Doll knew the names of the guests and had planned the seating in advance. There was a confidence about the whole setup that was as disturbing as it was professional.

John Smith turned out to be the most amusing of dinner guests, telling stories, cracking jokes, and even breaking into a short romantic song in the style of Engelbert Humperdinck for the benefit of Miriam who appreciated the attention. She seemed fascinated by Mr Smith. Then again perhaps she was just being a good hostess. Harry didn't seem bothered he was more preoccupied with how the business worked, questioning Lenny at length about the most reliable dealers on the street, and how the money flowed. He knew already where the drugs came from, and they came from one John Smith. However, who supplied my smiling double remained a mystery to everyone. This is the point where the story gets a little hazy.

The strange thing about John Smith was, if he wasn't your enemy he became a very amusing man, and at this time I wasn't his enemy. He was very curious about our almost twin appearance even going to the extent of questioning me about my background, this proved fruitless search. Thank God!

He was seated next to me, and John laughing told me during a rowdy period towards the end of the meal that Harry had tried to move in on him, but he'd persuaded the small-time businessman otherwise. Evidently Dave Hartley Sparrow had followed Lenny to the city and his meeting with John Smith one month earlier. Then they moved in on John Smith sending a thug who did a bit of part-time knife work for Harry. This particular hard case was known as Pana Pucci. The small-time thug had travelled over to the city to persuade Mr Smith to reveal his contact, allowing his boss to work directly with the main man, maximising the profit margin. Pana Pucci was a brooding dark menace of a character, very good with blades, persuasive in the extreme, he went in hard. He disappeared!

The unfortunate Mr Pucci turned up a week later, unwashed and covered in his own filth. He'd been locked up somewhere very dark and cold by John Smith. He was a changed man, never the same again. He'd moved in on Smith with his usual heavyweight knife to the throat routine. In seconds the tables turned and the knifeman was beaten unconscious. After which he took a terrible battering all over his body with his hands coming in for special attention. There was no more menace left in this hapless blade-wielding thug.

He'd been locked up in a large metal tool chest for six days with only water being supplied through a pipe similar to a feeder for a hamster. It transpired that when John Smith dragged Pana Pucci out into the light of day he lectured him on the negative merits of wrongdoing, or attempting revenge. The knifeman only ever returned to the town once telling Harry of the frightful power of John Smith. He fled the town that night and no one had heard of him since. Or had John Smith followed him and once the message had been passed to Harry, assisted in his permanent disappearance?

Harry had only one good quality henchmen, the redoubtable David Hartley Sparrow. However, if he shot John Smith the whole thing would fall to pieces, so for the moment Harry had to be pragmatic, approaching John Smith with an attractive deal. John Smith was still the big wheel in the city, so Harry had to content himself with three local towns. It amounted to a business as big as John Smith's, though dealing direct John had a bigger margin. Harry, of course, wanted more. He wasn't going to get it, not yet, at least. It wasn't a bad move for a man who was a petty criminal on many levels, nothing big in any one area of crime, money coming in from a series of small, nasty scams. He did all right on this, but now he was determined to do even better.

Harry leaned forward and asked a question that became something else. “Are you two boys related? You look almost like twins.”

“No, Harry we're not related. We've been through all that,” John shouted back.

“You both got the same perfect smile!” At that moment the nickname came. I shouted back that I doubted it because mine was perfect with no fillings. This is when John surprised me. He opened his mouth and was very proud to show me he had no fillings either. This was the point in the evening where Harry told us about the Nazis. How in the early days of the Waffen SS you had to have perfect teeth to represent the master race. Later this practice, through necessity, fell by the wayside. Our nickname given to us that drunken evening by Harry was “Nazi twins”. It stuck, and for good reason.

I wasn't really involved in the negotiations between Lenny and Harry, just questioned over my precautions when trading with the street dealers, and what was my security with the money. He even suggested it might be safer using Dave to help me collect. I pointed out it was a trust thing I was operating, and having a twitchy shotgun-holding moron on board would really sour the game. I didn't call him a twitchy shotgun-wielding moron that night! Harry agreed that I should carry on as before, though I would have to work harder with the increased workload. This wasn't exactly true. I was just going to sell more produce to the same number of dealers. Harry seemed to think everybody wanted to do LSD, and if we pushed it hard enough everybody including housewives and grannies would be taking it. They, of course, had Valium.

As the business lunch was drawing to a close I noticed Harry was now chatting animatedly to Dave, whilst he puffed nauseatingly in that smaller space on a giant cigar. Was this ego boosting? I was involved in my conversations with John Smith. To my surprise Lenny and Baby Doll were getting on like a house on fire. How this greasy-haired lumbering lout entranced her I do not know, but that's what appeared to be happening, the unexpected. This is probably why Harry didn't take a blind bit of notice. If Baby Doll had laughed at everything John Smith said perhaps Harry would have become wild with jealousy.