The Fight for Lizzie Flowers (13 page)

Cal met Danny’s eyes and they settled back again on the benches. Cal took out his tobacco pouch and rolled his own, but still with his gaze fixed on the doors. Danny sat watching the pimps
and prostitutes and the sprinkling of bookies and runners that mixed with the cabbies and small-time villains. He wondered what Bill would say about the pub now. Knowing Bill, he’d probably
go right over and talk his way into a drink.

That was his dad. Fearless. Everyone’s mate. Danny gave a long sigh of reflection. The night he’d walked in here a year ago, he’d been Frank Flowers’s brother. The kid
who’d run a barrow in the early days, then scarpered halfway across the world. Well, he’d had to face that down. He was back. And he intended to stay. He’d made his point all
right, the night some loudmouth had taken a swipe at him. Danny had ducked that one and landed his own. He’d done the same the following week and the next. Eventually his baptism of fire was
over. He’d even gained one or two customers. And now there were winks and nods rather than abuse.

But it was not the regulars Danny was here to meet. It was the shadier element who, so far, he’d had no truck with. Now, it seemed, all that was about to change.

‘Mister?’

Danny looked up. The boy stood there. He was even younger up close than Danny had first thought. Thirteen? Fourteen? He smelled and it drifted over the table as he rubbed his dirty hands over
his torn trousers.

Danny nodded. ‘What do you want?’

‘A bob.’

‘What for?’

‘For fetching yer.’ A filthy palm shot out.

Danny stared at it. ‘Who sent you?’

‘Dunno. Some geezer.’

‘Where is he?’

‘You gonna give me the money?’

Danny dug in his pocket and handed over a shilling. The youngster cuffed his nose again, then said, ‘Down the alley.’ Before Danny had climbed to his feet, the boy had spun away and
disappeared.

‘What was all that about?’ Cal asked, leaning forward.

‘Seems like our man is the nervous type.’

‘Yeah, well, so am I. Which one is he?’

Danny shook his head imperceptibly. ‘Not here. Outside.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ Cal muttered.

Danny frowned as he stood up. Neither did he.

Danny stared into the dark alley that ran down the side of the Quarry.

‘I don’t like it,’ Cal said again.

‘Neither do I.’

‘Where does it lead?’

Danny shrugged. ‘Down to the dock walls.’

Cal peered into the darkness that seemed to have fallen quickly. ‘Anyone could be up there.’

‘We ain’t got much choice.’ Danny turned briefly to his friend. ‘Scrub that. I mean, this is my shout, Cal, not yours.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Cal dismissed. ‘So I clear out and leave you to it.’

‘My interests are at stake, not yours.’

‘You reckon?’ Cal said with amusement. ‘Hell’s bells, Danny, I haven’t had a good scrap since Adelaide.’

Danny grinned, but the smile soon fell from his face when a shadow appeared, not ten feet away. It was too dark to see who he was, but Danny gauged he was a few inches smaller than either him or
Cal.

‘Danny Flowers?’ The voice was deep, with an accent.

‘That’s me.’

‘Who’s with you?’

‘My partner.’ Danny stepped a pace forward. ‘You got a problem with that, chum? If you have, the deal’s off.’ Danny knew this could be a trap. Cal was right, it
didn’t feel good. ‘Listen, I’m after a straight trade. Your men for my cash.’

Danny narrowed his eyes at the lean figure. He could see the man was roughly five ten, wearing a leather waistcoat like a smithy might. His arms were bare and muscular, his feet planted apart in
working boots. By the light of the moon, Danny caught a glimpse of his face. Not one that instilled confidence, Danny thought as he studied the penetrating eyes that hadn’t left his for a
second.

Suddenly four more figures appeared. They stood barring the alley, with no way past.

‘I’ll take the two on the left,’ Cal breathed softly. And Danny nodded, sensing their gut instincts had been right. But before he had time to move one of the figures fell on
him. The heavy weight was unexpected and Danny toppled back. A pair of arms encircled his chest and emptied the breath from his lungs. He looked into the man’s eyes, hidden under his tangled
hair. A twisted smile stretched across his face.

Danny gasped for air, his arms pinned to his side. He knew all that was left to him was his head. He brought it down hard on the bridge of the man’s nose. The bruiser let go and staggered
back. Danny took the advantage and his first punch landed square on his opponent’s left eye.

Danny knew he was lighter and quicker, and he ducked the clumsy return, stepping sideways, sending his boot hard into the man’s groin.

‘Behind you, Danny!’ Cal shouted from the darkness. But it was too late. An agonizing pain in the small of Danny’s back sent him sprawling. With no time to recover, he was
hauled up by his collar and thrown the length of the alley. He spat blood as he looked up, the world going round in circles.

He could hear Cal, but he couldn’t see him. Sweat was pouring into his eyes. There were grunts and groans and dull thuds all around him. Danny blinked hard and caught a movement in the
corner of his eye. Somehow he managed to grab hold of an ankle and pull hard. The man fell, with a whoosh of air from his lungs. Danny climbed on top of him, punching and hoping he was doing some
damage.

‘You all right, mate?’ Cal asked, breathing hard as Danny climbed shakily to his feet.

‘Yeah, just about.’ He saw a figure coming out of the shadows. Danny took out his hammer. The man screamed as the metal claws found his knuckles. He swung again, giving Cal time to
recover.

They fought then, any tactic they could dream up. Danny knew the odds were against them but he didn’t care now. It would be a fight to the last.

‘That’s enough,’ a voice said suddenly.

Danny looked round. Out of the darkness walked one slim figure as the others melted into the night.

Cal was panting hard beside him, his fists still raised.

‘Who are you?’ Danny demanded breathlessly. He spat the blood from his lips.

‘Just a man taking care of business.’

‘What kind of business is it when you beat up your own customer?’

The man in the leather waistcoat laughed. ‘Sure, you’ve just had a sample of the merchandise. You know what you’re buying. Now we can deal.’

Danny shook back his damp, bloodied hair. ‘Not until I have a name.’

The figure shrugged. ‘How will Murphy do?’

Danny pulled his jacket back into shape. ‘It’s a start.’

‘You don’t need to know any more.’

‘You’re Irish?’

‘And would you be having a problem with that?’

‘I don’t like being set up.’

‘What else did you expect?’ the man who called himself Murphy demanded. ‘Were you intending to inspect my soldiers like market heifers? No, fair’s fair, Mr Flowers. You
know my men’s worth now. Your terms have been met. The goods tried and tested.’ Murphy cocked his head to one side.

Danny studied what he could see of Murphy. Compact and upright, with short-cropped hair and a challenge in the way he held himself. He wasn’t a bruiser, nor did he sound an ignorant man.
But one thing Danny knew for sure. Murphy had a fearsome reputation south of the river. If they were to cut a deal tonight, it was up to Danny to call the shots before Murphy did.

‘Let me look at them,’ Danny said. ‘I want to see what I’m buying.’

Murphy laughed . ‘Haven’t you had enough of my boys?’

‘Do you want to trade or not?’

‘Have you brought the money?’

Danny patted his pocket. ‘It’s here. And that’s where it’s going to stay until I’m satisfied.’

Murphy lifted his hand and beckoned without looking back. The four men appeared and Danny glanced at Cal. A grin spread wide on Cal’s face as one of them, cupping his ear, wiped away the
blood running down his neck.

Danny made no pretence of enjoying the next few minutes. He would have liked to show his appreciation of being half crushed to death in a manner that befitted the occasion. But he was pleased to
see the result of his and Cal’s handiwork. The four sweating, bruised faces glared back at him resentfully. He gave an unimpressed shrug and turned to Murphy. ‘Are these the best you
have?’

Again the Irishman laughed. ‘You won’t find better.’

Now it was Danny’s turn to scoff. ‘You’d better be right about that.’

Murphy stared at him. ‘Ah so, the man has balls.’

‘You didn’t come out of it so well yourself with Savage, I hear,’ Danny said and the Irishman was suddenly silent. ‘I need a crew that’s not going to duck out at
the first sign of trouble.’

Still the man said nothing. His swarthy skin and dark stubble, together with his penetrating gaze, gave him a presence. As Danny drew in a breath, Murphy stepped up to him. ‘Don’t be
talking to me about Savage. The man is scum.’

‘Agreed.’

‘Be careful, Danny boy. You may be out of your depth.’

‘Were you?’ Danny felt the man’s breath on his face.

Murphy said in a threatening whisper, ‘Stay out of my business. And I’ll stay out of yours.’

‘Suits me.’ Danny made him wait before he took out the money, drawing the wad of notes from his inside pocket with slow deliberation. Danny smiled to himself as the sound of hard
cash rustled in the air.

‘I see you’re a man of your word,’ said Murphy agreeably.

As Danny handed over the payment, he wondered if Murphy was.

Ten days later and the shop was as secure as a fortress. Even Flo, who arrived on her bicycle on the bright May morning, had to agree that Lizzie, in the circumstances, had
made the wisest decision.

The week before, Lizzie had been shocked to find four burly young men on her doorstep. Danny introduced them as her new porters. He told her they would work in shifts. Two by night and two in
the day.

‘You’ll have twenty-four-hour cover,’ he had explained. ‘Don’t ask them any questions. If there’s trouble, you and Pol get in the van and drive over to me.
Leave them and Bert to sort out a problem.’

‘I can’t afford four extra wages,’ she’d protested, but Danny had shrugged this away.

‘They’re paid for.’

‘What?’

‘It’s settled, Lizzie. Don’t ask no more.’

‘They’re dodgy, ain’t they?’

‘They’re what you need right now.’

She had reluctantly agreed and forced herself to watch the men dressed in porter’s clothes, cloth caps and boots acquaint themselves with her business. She hadn’t liked it, but
she’d had to accept it.

Lizzie smiled as she thought of Bert’s indignation. That was, until Lizzie reminded him of Savage’s visit. The ineffectiveness of a broom against a revolver.

Now as Flo and Lizzie watched two of the men heave the sacks of vegetables onto their shoulders, puffing and grunting like genuine porters, Lizzie couldn’t resist a chuckle.

‘You should have seen Bert when they first arrived,’ Lizzie said as she and Flo walked out to their bicycles. ‘He stood them in the yard and explained the difference between a
King Edward and a cauli.’

Flo burst out laughing. ‘What are they going to do if the opposition arrive? Clock ’em with ripe tomatoes?’

Lizzie’s smile faded. ‘I don’t want no guns.’

‘So what will they do?’

‘Use their initiative, I hope.’

‘Yes, but have they got any? Who is the one who ties back his long hair with a bit of string?’

‘That’s Fowler. The other is Elmo, with the red hair and beard. They work in the day and the other two come at night.’

‘What do your customers think?’

‘As big as they are, the men are good at the job.’

Flo laughed. ‘What does Bert think of that?’

‘He don’t trust them an inch.’

‘Good old Bert.’

Lizzie pushed her bike to the gutter and climbed on. For modesty’s sake, she was wearing trousers. She’d wound her long black hair into a knot at the back of her head. Flo was
wearing a loose smock.

‘I can’t wait for you to see my dress,’ Flo said as they began to cycle together.

‘Is this your first fitting?’

‘Yes, if I ever get there!’ Flo was wobbling all over the road. Lizzie began to wish they’d taken the van. Poplar was a good twenty minutes’ ride away. And Flo had put on
a lot of weight.

‘I need the exercise, as you can see,’ said Flo, trying to cycle in a straight line. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get me breath in a minute.’

It was the end of the week and the roads were busy. They cycled in and out of horse-drawn carts and one or two motor cars. The docks lay baking in the sunshine and smelled of the waste and
flotsam flowing into them.

Lizzie was worried about Flo. Her sister was fighting with the handlebars. The basket on the front bounced up and down. She was more than relieved when they finally arrived in Poplar. The
dressmaker’s shop was in the High Street, in between the fishmonger’s and the bakery. Early morning bagels had already left the ovens and were on their way to the traders. The
fishmonger was cooling his trays of fish with cold water and swatting away the flies.

Lizzie stepped to one side as the street sellers hurried by. The Indian sweet man with his box of candyfloss slung over his shoulders. The French onion seller in his striped Breton shirt.

Flo dismounted and stretched her back. ‘Me bum’s killing me.’

‘We should have taken the van.’

‘Yes, but it stinks in there.’ Flo mopped her damp forehead. ‘All I need now is for me waters to break. That would really cheer Syd up. He’s wearing a face like a slapped
arse at the moment.’

‘Why’s that?’ Lizzie asked as they leaned their bikes against the lamp-post.

‘You’ll only get upset if I say.’

‘Now you’ve said that, you’ll have to tell me.’

Flo brushed her wet fringe from her eyes. Blowing out air, she shrugged. ‘He’s got the hump, cos of Danny finding those blokes.’

‘Why should Syd care about them?’

‘When I told him Danny was hiring, he wanted to know why Danny hadn’t come to him. He said he offered you help on the day Frank turned up.’