Will Thomas - The Limehouse Text

Barker pushed the visitor’s cigar case toward him an inch. “Help yourself.”

“Always liked a good smoke,” the tough said, coming up with a large knife. I leaned forward, my hand on my pistol, while one of the boys eyed me threateningly and reached into his own pocket. I thought mayhem might occur. Instead, Hooligan sliced the end of his cigar off and put the knife back in his coat. I noted he didn’t offer his subordinates anything. Just then I realized who they were. These were the lads I’d seen the morning I had been chased out of Limehouse. This man must be their leader.

“Business, you say?” Barker asked, after the tough got his cigar going.

“Yer. Got anyfing to drink ’round here?”

“The Rising Sun is around the corner.”

“The street says you’re a bar of iron,” Hooligan said around the cigar. “Can’t be bent. Reg’lar churchgoer. That’s all right. Got no use for it meself, but I can work with it. I got what you might call a business proposition.”

“Have you now? I’m listening.”

“Word in the East End is that you came into a bit o’property afore some other blokes did. Blokes who’ve been huntin’ it for months. Now if you was to have it-and, mind, I ain’t saying you do, but if you did-what might yer be planning to do with it?”

“First of all, Mr. Hooligan, let me say that the property you speak of is not in my possession.”

“Naturally,” Hooligan said.

“But if it were mine to do with as I wish, I would return it to the monastery in China from which it was taken.”

“Having made no profit on it at all?” our guest demanded, clearly aghast at the thought. “You’ve been awastin’ too much time in church, m’lad. You’re a straight arrow and a scientific fighter, but you got no head for commerce. What’ll you get out of it, I ask yer? Not enough to pay your scrawny clerk in the front room or your scrawny ’sistant in this one. They’re undernourished, is what. Pathetic.”

I bristled at the remark, but the conversation continued without my opinions.

“And look here, unless you take it yourself, how many eyes’ll see it before it reaches China again? If it ever does, which I doubt. You may think you have Limehouse sewn up, but it’s still a big world out there.”

“I’ve got associates in China,” Barker said, “who will safely get it back to the place from whence it came.”

“That’s as may be, but you still have to get it there. I seriously doubt it’s gonna be easy even to get it outta London Town.”

“What have you heard?”

“Enough. There’s a book. Dunno what it’s about or what it looks like, but someone’s willin’ to kill people in order to lay hands on it. The Chinese government wants it, the Foreign Office wants it. Scotland Yard wants it, and Mr. K’ing wants it. I find that all rather interesting, as a businessman, you understand. Rumor says half a dozen people have been killed over it. Why, there’s only twenty or thirty people murdered in all of London in a year. That’s a powerful lot of killing to find one book.”

“And how are you involved?”

“I’m involved, Push, because it’s my territory. My new territory. You see, I’ve begun expanding on the north side of the river.”

“You’re a Surrey man from the south side,” Barker said. “Mr. K’ing will not like it.”

“K’ing doesn’t worry me. He’s all mirrors and smoke. Got himself a reputation among the Blue Funnel crowd and a good racket goin’, everyone tithin’ reg’lar to him like he was some kinda church, but it’s a good thing I’m a charitable man, else it would be a rough time for heathen foreigners dockside. All of them, if you get my meaning.”

“Speaking hypothetically, how many men could you lay hands on for such an action?” Barker asked.

“The Chinks ain’t exactly made themselves welcome here. I could get upwards of two hundred in a day, three if I’m willing to extend myself. Got friends in Liverpool and Manchester, I do.”

“But no plans.”

“None yet,” the gang leader said, dumping an inch of ash in the ashtray on Barker’s desk. “Not until I talked to you.”

“So what is the proposition?”

“I want to broker a deal. I’ll go to K’ing and say you’re willing to hand over the book, if the Chinese government chokes up enough of the ready to suit us. Who knows? K’ing might even put forth the money himself and hope for compensation from the empress later. Then he can go back to Peking and live like a lord the rest of his life.”

“Leaving Limehouse to be looked after by you and your associates.”

Hooligan grinned. One of his teeth was gold. “The people there’ll need protection, of course, and they’re already used to payin’ for it. It would be a pity to just waste it. It’s the law of supply and demand.”

“You’ve thought this out well,” Barker stated, his fingers tented in front of him.

“Well, I ain’t had me much book learnin’, but I got smarts. Got to survive in the streets.”

“So, Mr. Hooligan, what is to keep me from merely going and brokering the deal with K’ing myself and cutting you out entirely?”

“Glad you asked, and, by the way, this is information I am givin’ you for free, which you may not live to hear again, so pay attention. Word is that old K’ing is layin’ for you. Don’t know what it is you done to set him off, but set off he is. He’s been spendin’ money like water preparing for the New Year’s festival next week, but some of my informants tell me it ain’t goin’ to be the usual entertainment.”

“Talent?” Barker asked, with one of his cold smiles.

“Circus freak show, if you ask me.”

“I see. Thank you for the tip.”

“Now what about my proposition?”

“I’m sorry. I shall have to decline.”

Hooligan knocked off his cigar ash again. “Shoulda expected it. You know you won’t get penny on the pound if you give it to the government, nor none of the credit, neither.”

“I realize that.”

Hooligan turned his head toward his subordinate who stood by the window acting as lookout. “Hey, Benny, what’s that word that means you do things for the public good and not for money?”

“Altruistic.”

“That’s the word. You are altruistic, Push, and as a citizen of metropolitan London, I’m glad you’re looking out for my welfare. But you got no head for business. When you’ve failed and gone, I’ll have to buy these offices and turn them into something useful like a public house or a gin shop.”

“I’ve no doubt you shall turn a profit,” the Guv stated. “I thank you for the tip and hope you are not offended at my declining your offer.”

“You know old Patrick Hooligan. Always has another card up his sleeve. I owe you a bit o’ thanks anyway.”

“How so?”

“For involving old Bainy. Now that he’s dead, the Reach is wide open. All the boundaries is gone, and that Scotland Yard prig-what’s his name?”

“Do you mean Inspector Poole?”

“That’s the man. Poole is too busy trying to find the killer to mind the store. There’s enough smash and grab goin’ on to make K’ing and me both rich men. But with Bainy gone, it’s a cinch one of us is eventually going to get greedy, and devil take the hindmost, if you get my meaning.”

“I see.”

“Look, if you change yer mind, just stop by the Elephant and Castle of an evening. One o’ my boys’ll be there. C’mon, lads, I’m parched. Let’s go over to the Sun for a whiskey.”

“Thank you again for the warning,” Barker said as the man rose from his chair.

“Anything for a white man,” Hooligan said. “It’s us or them, or to put it more plainly, it’s us, period.”