The Potato Factory (29 page)

Marybelle picked up the cylinder and waved it at Ikey. 'And what if some villain they send catches me wif this on me way to London?' She drew the cylinder across her throat. 'That's what 'appens.'

'They won't find it will they?' Ikey said puckering his lips. He pointed to the cylinder. 'It be made to be put in a place what a man 'asn't got and a lady 'as. A place where your average villain ain't likely to go pokin' about without your express permission, if you knows what I mean, my dear?'

Marybelle's pretty blue eyes grew large and then shone with delighted surprise. She gave a little squeal, running her fat, greasy fingers along the cylinder's smooth surface.

'Jesus, Ikey! You bleedin' thinks o' everyfink.' In between her laughter she managed to gasp. 'Methinks it will be a tight fit ...
ha-ha-ha-ha!
But wif all the bumpin' o' the coach to London...
ha-ha-ha-hee-hee!
... I daresay it will bring a lady o' me proportions, oh, goodness lummy, oh, oh... a good deal o' pleasure on the...
ha-ha-hee-hee! .
.. journey 'ome!'

Ikey returned to London three days after he had left Marybelle Firkin at the inn with a pork pie stuck in her gob and his precious cylinder safely tucked away elsewhere on her large person. Waiting in the back room of a chop house in Houndsditch until well after dark when a light snow storm, churned with frequent wind flurries, began to fall and which he judged would further conceal his passage, Ikey slipped into the rookery of St Giles and soon thereafter let himself into the seemingly abandoned building which housed the Methodist Academy of Light Fingers.

Creeping up the rickety staircase, he appeared suddenly and to the utmost surprise of half a dozen boys who were playing a game of cribbage by the light of a solitary candle. Huddled beside the hearth directly behind them were as many boys again wrapped in rags and old blankets against the bitter cold.

'Now 'ow many times 'as I told you, keep a sharp eye!' Ikey admonished. 'The lad what's supposed to be watchin' out is asleep on the landin', lushed out and smellin' o' gin!' Ikey sucked at his teeth and wagged a mittened finger at the urchins seated crosslegged around a box. 'Gentlemen, gentlemen! Cribbage in this kind o' light ain't no good for the senses. You'll lose your touch, the light of a candle dulls the mind and makes it too easy to palm a card or deal a crooked 'and. Brightness be what's called for, where everything can be seen, clear as daylight, open and negotiable as a whore's cunny.'

The boys laughed loudly at this last remark but Ikey held up his hand for silence. 'A cardsharp to be warranted any good must make 'is play in the best o' conditions. We'll 'ave no second-rate broadsman spreadin' the flats in darkness in my school o' learnin'! A trade ain't worth 'avin' if you're not the best there is at it.'

His young pupils crowded about him. 'There's a people what's lookin' for ya, Ikey, is ya in lavender then?' a young tooler named Sweetface Mulligan enquired.

'Perhaps I is and perhaps I ain't, it all depends on who is lookin' and whether it be opportunity knockin' or disadvantage breakin' down the door.'

'It's Bow Street! Some say it be City police! All about Petticoat Lane they is! Anyone seen ya, they asks! Rewards is offered! Never seen so much law about, 'as we lads? Wotcha do, Ikey? Murder was it? There's talk o' forgery! Millions o' pounds! There be a poster o' yer gob pasted everywhere! We's proud to know ya, Ikey!' All this and more they chorused crowding around Ikey, the smaller ones hopping up and down and jumping on the backs of the larger boys to get a closer look in the semi-darkened room.

'And Mistress Hannah!' a boy they called Onion, whose birth name was Pickles, shouted. 'She been lookin' for ya an' all!'

Ikey shrugged his shoulders. 'It's true, my dears, the constabulary 'as a sharp eye peeled for me.' He looked around slowly, spread his hands and his face took on a look of regret. 'O' course I apologises for scarperin' without informin' you, gentlemen. A matter of urgent expediency, you understand? No offence intended and I 'opes none is taken. No time to pay me respects or bid you all adieu.'

They nodded, happy at the compliment he'd paid their mutual fraternity. Ikey rolled his eyes and seemed to look at each of them in turn. 'Now we 'asn't seen me, 'as we, lads? I means, no seein' to the degree o' not seein' nothin' at all!'

Ikey's fingers flicked heavenwards as though to expel the memory of having seen him completely from their minds. He stopped and lifted the candle from the box, the hot glass warming his mittened fingers. Holding the lighted jar before him, he inspected each boy's dirty face, watching as they solemnly nodded acquiescence. 'We doesn't want no pigs sniffin' round askin' awkward questions now does we, my dears?'

It was not Ikey's intention to stay long at the Academy of Light Fingers, although he did not indicate this to the urchins around him. While they were well trained in all matters of villainy and each had a healthy disregard for the constabulary, he knew he could ill afford to trust them. They were 'street Arabs' seldom allowed the importance of being noticed and any one of them with three or four noggins of gin to loosen his tongue would not be able to resist the urge to boast of his knowledge of Ikey's return. Ikey needed them now for only one purpose, to find Bob Marley as quickly as possible.

Under normal circumstances there were half a hundred places in the surrounding rookeries where Ikey might indefinitely conceal his presence, though he was not foolish enough to suppose that these would now apply. As a Jew in trouble with the law he was fair prey for all but his own kind. Even though his standing as the Prince of Fences was considerable, they would come snarling in for the kill, the promise of a large reward sufficient to overcome their normal tendency to remain stum. Ikey was aware the criminal code of honour was a fragile thing and would always buckle with the opportunity for a quick profit or a favour returned. He knew this as a certainty, for he was himself no different.

With the promise of a good tightener washed down with a pint of best beer at the nearby chop house, and with the further inducement of a shilling for all and a gold sovereign for the boy who turned out to be the fortunate finder, Ikey sent his young associates off into the winter streets. He directed them to the Haymarket at the popular West End to find and bring Bob Marley back to him.

'When you finds 'im, ask for 'is ear, very quiet mind, say that Ikey Solomon requests the pleasure of 'is company.'

It was not an hour later when Ikey, drowsing at the hearth, was awakened in a great start by a small urchin named Sparrer Fart, a tiny lad of ten with an open angelic face which, together with his size, gave him the appearance of being much younger. He showed all the makings of becoming an expert tooler, with fingers light and sticky as cobwebs and the fearless disposition of the young.

'I brung 'im, Ikey. I found Mr Marley. Can I 'ave the sov what's mine?' Sparrer Fart stuck out his dirty hand and grinned. 'Much obliged, I'm sure!'

'Where?' Ikey cried, shocked at the sudden awakening and alarmed that he hadn't heard the boy ascend the stairs, though the howl of the winter wind and the natural creaking and groaning of the ancient building would have masked Sparrer's light footfall.

' 'E won't come up them stairs.' Sparrer grinned. 'Too danegis, 'e reckons.'

Ikey, by now fully recovered of his senses, removed a gold sovereign from the interior of his coat and held it out to the youngster, pulling it out of the reach as the urchin snatched at it. Ikey shook his head. 'Tut, tut! First principle o' business, Master Sparrer Fart! Seein' is believin', always inspect the merchandise before you pays fer it, my dear.' Bending to retrieve the candle, he rose from where he was seated on the cribbage box and proceeded carefully down the stairs.

Bob Marley was waiting in the darkness of the tiny downstairs hallway which was now clearly lit by the light of Ikey's candle. He wore a heavy dark coat which fell almost to his ankles with a pair of stout boots protruding from trousers of rough corduroy. A tartan scarf was wrapped about his face so that only his eyes showed between the scarf and the rim of his battered top hat. He removed the scarf at Ikey's approach and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat.

This form of attire was unusual for Marley, who liked to be seen about the town as a proper swell, dressed in the latest fashion. Ikey's keen eye noted this disparity in his dress and concluded that Marley had not been found by Sparrer Fart in the Haymarket, where a man of his reputation would not venture dressed in so poor a manner.

Ikey turned to look sternly at Sparrer Fart. 'We went off to spend our shillin' on a tightener and a noggin o' gin then, did we? We went local and not to the Hay-market did we? We didn't do no lookin' at all!' Ikey glanced at Bob Marley and winked. 'Methinks, we chanced upon Mr Marley 'ere by sheer luck and great good fortune and because we 'as a greedy guts!'

The boy shuffled, looking down at his feet. 'I found 'im di'nt I? I done good!' He moved up to Ikey and began to clutch imploringly at his coat. 'It were a fair find an' all!' he whimpered into the folds of Ikey's greasy coat.

Ikey clucked, wrapping his free arm around the boy's shoulder. 'We all needs a bit o' luck, my dear. Gawd knows yours truly could use a speck o' good fortune right now.' He pushed the young lad gently away and his hand went into his coat and a moment later appeared with half a sovereign held between forefinger and thumb. 'I tell you what I'll do, we'll keep 'arf a sov back on account of 'ow you disobeyed instructions and I'll give you 'arf a sov for deliverin' the goods. Punishment and reward both at the same time, now what could be fairer than that, my dear?'

The small boy looked doubtful. 'It ain't fair, I done what ya asked! Ya said a sov for 'im what found 'im!' He moved close to Ikey plucking at his coat. 'It ain't fair, I done what ya asked, I found 'im.'

This time Ikey pushed him away roughly, but the boy grabbed onto the coat and Ikey smacked him across the ear. 'Disobedience! Discipline! 'Arf a sov and you're lucky to be keepin' it, boy!'

Marley's hand shot out and snatched the coin from Ikey's fingers. ' 'Arf a mo, Ikey, one sov was promised the lad, one sov must be given!'

'Lessons! Boys must learn lessons! Obedience, discipline,' Ikey whinged.

Marley laughed. 'Promises! Boys must 'ave promises kept.' He tossed the half sovereign into the air and caught it. This'll pay for the inconvenience o' crossing the lane,' he said, pocketing the coin. 'Ya owe the brat a sov, so pay up, Ikey Solomon!'

Ikey's eyes widened in surprise. 'You was in the Hare and Hounds?' he exclaimed, naming the flash-house across the lane.

Marley nodded. 'Ya was due back 'bout now, ya couldn't 'ave gone to too many places what wouldn't 'ave shopped ya, this were one,' he explained simply, giving Ikey a slow smile. 'How may I be o' service to ya?'

Ikey turned to Sparrer Fart and handed him a sovereign. ' 'Ang about and you might learn something, me boy! See what we just seen demonstrated?' He turned and gave Bob Marley an oily smile, returned his gaze to the small boy and stooping low he pushed the candle close to his dirty little face. 'See? Discipline!' He tapped the side of his forehead with his forefinger. 'Use o' the noggin, thinkin'! That's trainin', my dear, that's discipline, that be what makes a great tooler into a swell mobsman, an aristocrat o' the art o' pickin' pockets!' Ikey straightened up, satisfied that he'd recovered his dignity by making his original point and at the same time had sufficiently softened Bob Marley with his flattery. Patting Sparrer Fart on the head, he said, 'You 'as just 'ad the benefit o' the wisdom o' Solomon, my dear!'

Sparrer Fart looked up and pointed to Bob Marley and then to Ikey. 'Oh yeah, 'ow come Mr Marley's got 'arf a sov what's yours and I've got a sov? Be that the wisdom o' Solomon?'

The boy ducked as Ikey swatted at his head with his free hand.

Marley laughed, delighted at the boy's quick mind. 'You've not lost yer touch, Ikey, yer still the best o' the kidsmen, there ain't no one knows better 'ow to pick the fly ones!' He too patted the top of Sparrer Fart's greasy cap. 'Stay away from the gin, you've got all the makin's, son.'

Sparrer hadn't moved. 'What about t'other lads, Ikey? You promised them a shillin' fer lookin' and a good tightener wif a pint o' best beer to follow.'

Marley looked suspiciously over at Ikey. 'That true?'

Ikey gave him a sheepish grin and a reluctant hand went into the interior of his coat and shortly returned with two sovereigns which he handed to Sparrer. 'Mind you give this to Sweetface Mulligan to share out. He's the kidsman when I'm away. Now scarper! Bugger orf!' He turned to Marley. 'Shall we go upstairs, there's a fire in the 'earth.' Then remembering Marley's reluctance he added, 'It ain't dangerous, only a tad rickety but the stairs be solid enough.'

'What, up them?' Marley said in alarm and pointed above to the dark shape of the stairs where Sparrer Fart had disappeared as though swallowed into a deep black hole. 'Not bleedin' likely! We'll talk down 'ere if ya don't mind.'

Ikey clasped his hands together in front of his chest. 'I needs a lair, a place where somebody what's lookin' 'ard and knows what they's lookin' for, can never 'ope to discover who it is they wants to find.'

'Hmm, a good 'iding place o' that nature, cost ya 'eaps,' Marley said speculatively. 'Big reward out, Ikey, 'arf London Town's lookin' for...' grinning he quoted
The Times,
'the Jew what's financially undermined England!' Marley shook his head in a melodramatic way. ' 'Fraid ya ain't got no friends no more. City police is spreadin' five pounds notes about just for keepin' a sharp eye out. There's a fortune on yer 'ead.' Marley paused and gave Ikey an evil grin. 'Matter o' fact, I could be interested meself!'