Реймонд Маршалл - The Paw in the Bottle

Terrified, Julie backed into the lounge. Theo slouched in after her, looked round and grunted.

‘Pretty good, isn’t it? Fancy wanting to leave a joint like this.’ He eyed her speculatively. ‘You do want to leave, don’t you?’

‘I’m going,’ Julie said weakly. ‘And no one’s going to stop me.’

‘I am,’ Theo said, and flopped into an arm-chair. ‘Get the weight off your feet, Jane. Me and you’s going to have a little talk.’

Julie made a dash for the telephone, but before she could reach it, Theo had left his chair, grabbed hold of her and swung her round. As she opened her mouth to scream, he smacked her face. She staggered back with a thin wail of pain and fear, over-balanced and fell on her hands and knees.

‘Next time you’ll get my fist,’ Theo said. He caught hold of her arm, dragged her up and shoved her roughly into a chair. ‘What’s the matter with you? Want to get hurt?’ Julie began to cry weakly. Satisfied she’d give no more trouble, Theo went back to his arm-chair.

‘You’re going through with this job or there’ll be a load of grief coming your way,’ he told her. ‘I don’t want any arguments. If you won’t play with Harry, you’ll play with me.’

‘I won’t!’ Julie sobbed. ‘I’ll tell the police! I won’t do it!’

Theo laughed.

‘That’s what you think,’ he said, and took out a limp wallet from his pocket and produced three grimy photographs. ‘Ere, take a look at these. I pinched them from a police photographer. Real life pitchers. They’ll interest you.’

Julie flinched away.

‘I’m not going to look at anything,’ she said wildly. ‘If you don’t go.’

‘Do you want me to hit you again, you silly mare?’ Theo asked, leaning forward. ‘Look at ’em or I’ll bash you.’

He threw the photographs into Julie’s lap. She caught a glimpse of disfigured faces and she swept the photographs to the floor with a shudder.

‘Pick ’em up and look at them,’ Theo said, getting to his feet. ‘I’m not going to tell you again.’

Slowly Julie bent down and her fingers touched the photo-graphs, lifted them. She looked at them, her face twisted into a horrible grimace.

‘That’s vitriol,’ Theo said. ‘Smashing pitchers. Proper life-like they are. I knew that bride. Her name’s Emmy Parsons. She’s a tart. A nigger did that to her. She wasn’t a bad-looking bride before she got splashed. ’Ere, keep looking at ’em. I haven’t finished yet. That other bride’s Edith Lawson. Fooled around with another bride’s man, so she got splashed. See that? And this other one. Got a proper basin, didn’t she? Slap in the puss. She was a real smasher. Used to work in a café in Leicester Square, but she talked too much. A bloke came in one night, ordered a cuppa coffee, and as she ’anded it to him he splashed ’er. I was there at the time.’ Theo grinned. ‘She made a noise like a train going through a tunnel. And listen, Jane. The cops never found out who done it. They wouldn’t find out if it happened to you. And it’s going to happen if you don’t play ball with us.’

Julie shivered, dropped the photographs. The sight of the women’s disfigured faces filled her with cold dread. No other threat could have been more effective.

Theo tapped her shoulder.

‘Look, this is the stuff.’ He held between finger and thumb a little green bottle. ‘I carry it around, see? And don’t think you can run away and hide. I’m good at finding people. From now on I’m going to watch you. One move out of turn and you’ll get it. Keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told and you’ll be all right. But start something we don’t like and you’ll kiss your looks good-bye. Understand?’

‘Yes,’ Julie said.

‘Right. Well, that’s all for this time, Jane. No more nonsense. We want to know how the safe opens by Wednesday. No excuses. Wednesday, or I’ll be along and I’ll shake you up again. Meet us at the Mayfair Street office at eight o’clock, Wednesday. If you’re not there, you’ll be sorry. Understand?’

‘Yes,’ Julie said.

‘Okay. Now where’s the bathroom?’

She didn’t know why he should want the bathroom, but she was too dazed and frightened to think clearly. She pointed.

‘Through there.’

‘Come on, that’s where we’re going.’

‘I don’t want to...’

‘You’re going to start a lot of trouble for yourself if you don’t get out of that habit, Jane,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

She stumbled down the passage to the bathroom with him at her heels. She had a presentiment that something horrible was going to happen to her, but there was nothing she could do about it.

‘Nice joint,’ Theo said, closing the bathroom door. ‘Everything laid on. Almost a pleasure to keep clean. Okay, Jane, just stand by the bath, will you?’

She cringed away from him.

‘Please leave me alone,’ she implored him. ‘I’ll do anything: don’t touch me.’

‘Don’t be a silly mare,’ he said, grinning. ‘You got me outa bed three hours before my time. You’ve mucked up my morning. Brides don’t do that to me.’

‘Please...’

‘And you don’t either, you—’

The obscenity petrified her.

‘See how you like this.’ He aimed a light blow at her face so she brought up her hands. Then he hit her viciously in the pit of her stomach.

‘Didn’t want you to sick over any nice carpet,’ he explained with a cruel little grin, and as she crumpled to the floor and began to retch he sidled out of the bathroom and shut the door.

At three o’clock the same afternoon, Harry sat on the same park bench Theo had occupied in the morning and stared up at the windows of Wesley’s flat. He waited impatiently for Julie, but Julie didn’t come. At a quarter to four he was angry and slightly alarmed.

‘What’s happened to her?’ he wondered uneasily. ‘She can’t have hooked it without waiting for me.’

After waiting another five minutes he got up and walked rapidly to a telephone box not far away. He put through a call to Wesley’s flat, but there was no answer.

He began to get seriously worried.

‘Where the hell has she got to?’ he asked himself as he stood uneasily outside the telephone box and stared up at the blank windows.

It was too risky to go to the flat. For some moments he was undecided what to do, and he was aware of a growing feeling of apprehension. If Ma French had done anything to her! He clenched his fists angrily. It was no good standing here, wondering. He’d have to find out. He waved to a passing taxi, gave an address in Chelsea and sat back, lighting a cigarette with an unsteady hand. If they had done anything to her! He’d make them pay somehow. She was his now. If anyone thought they could touch her, they’d have him to reckon with.

Mrs. French and Dana were having tea in their small service flat when Harry came striding in.

Dana went to him.

‘Why, hello, Harry. I wasn’t expecting you.’

But Harry ignored her, pushing past her and confronting Ma with a look of rage on his face.

‘What’s happened to Julie?’ he demanded roughly. ‘We were going to meet this afternoon. She hasn’t turned up. I’ve rung the flat and there’s no answer. Do you know anything about it?’

Mrs. French met his furious stare calmly.

‘You’re behaving like a damned fool, as usual, Harry,’ she said. ‘Why should you care what’s happened to her?’

He pulled himself together with an effort. He mustn’t let her suspect he was in love with Julie. There’d be time for that when the job was done and he’d received his cut. If either of these women thought he was going off with Julie they’d stop him. He was sure of that.