James Benn - Rag and Bone

“OK. Here’s what I need to know. Was Egorov doing business with you, selling information about the shipment of supplies to the Soviet Embassy? If so, then I need to know if his death was in any way connected with that business, as opposed to a conflict with another party. No names, I just need to know the motive for his murder.”

“This is for the investigation you mentioned, on behalf of General Eisenhower?”

“Yeah. If I can solve it, it’ll mean a promotion. More pay, easier access to even more supplies. Listen, I don’t give a hoot who killed him, I just need a story that will hold up. But if his death involves our business in any way, I need to know it so I can steer the investigation in another direction.”

“All right,” Topper said. “I think we may be able to come to an understanding. I need to discuss this with my father. We’ll also need to make arrangements to get these crates delivered safely. We have a warehouse nearby. How long will it take for you to get everything here? You do have transportation, don’t you? Our deal doesn’t include a pickup.”

“Five minutes,” I said. “Everything’s in a truck, close by.”

“Good. Let me speak to him alone.”

Topper and Archie talked for ten minutes or so, in hushed tones I couldn’t make out. Then there was silence, and in a minute Topper came out. “Want a drink?” he said.

“No thanks,” I said, not wanting to start up a repeat of the previous performance. “Is your father coming out?”

“No, he’s not feeling well. But he did agree to two fifty, and we can tell you something about the Russian.”

“Something?”

“Nothing held back. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” I said. “Deal.” I had no idea what the actual cost of the peaches was to the army, but I was sure two hundred and fifty pounds, illegal as it was, would cover it.

“The Russian was not ours. We had nothing to do with his killing.”

“Topper, that may be true, but it’s what I’d expect you to say.”

“I understand, but there’s something else. The map you mentioned, the one showing the route of the supply truck. That was for us. We were to receive it, but it never arrived.”

“Do you think Egorov was the courier?”

“No, that’s not how it was done. Truly, we have no connection to the man, nor do we know who killed him. But the fact that he had the map, it does point to his interference in a business arrangement.”

“Which you won’t reveal.”

“Or ever acknowledge again.”

“OK,” I said. “Then let’s finish the rest of the deal.” I followed Topper out, and Charlie fell in behind us, promising to return my weapon when the transaction was complete. Topper stopped to chat along the way, as people thanked him for the peaches. He was especially popular with the young ladies, but the old ones liked him, too. Never underestimate the power of peaches in syrup when an island has been at war for four years. It was a happy group, and I had to stop three or four times to accept thanks as well, from those who’d seen me carry in the covered crate and put two and two together.

Once we made it aboveground, I led Topper to the bombed-out buildings, with Charlie at our heels. “Got the money on you?” I asked, wanting to sound like a legitimate bad guy.

“I do, and that’s where it’s staying,” Topper said, wheeling to face me as I felt the muzzle of my own gun at my neck. “All set?” Topper yelled over his shoulder.

“That we are, boy,” I heard Archie respond, a cackling laugh finishing his sentence. “Wasn’t too hard either, even though this fellow is the size of a house.”

Archie stepped out from between two trucks, advancing until his bayonet pointed straight at my chest. “Don’t you play with me, Boyle. Either you’re a thief or not. I don’t like how you mix your business.”

“Big Mike?” I said into the darkness.

“I’m OK, Billy. Except for the shotgun digging into my back. They got the drop on me.”

“Amateurs,” Archie said. “What pitiful amateurs. It gives honest crooks a bad name. First you ask too many damn questions, then you accept a pittance for these wonderful fruits of nature, then you tell Topper you’ve got the truck full no more than five minutes away. What did you expect, boy? You may as well have brought the whole load to my doorstep.”

“If you need anything done, boss, I’d be happy to oblige.” Stanley stepped from behind the truck, a scarf wrapped around his neck to hide the bloodstains. “Very happy,” he added, his voice still nasal and stuffy.

“No need, no need. We’ll take the truck and let these two fools find their own way back. But if you see them an hour from now, do whatever pleases you. And I might do the same!”

“Archie, you can’t take the truck,” I said, trying to sound reasonable.

“Oh no?” he said, waving the bayonet in a circle in front of my face. “I say I can do what I please. No man has stopped me, and yet many have tried. Why, in tires and engine parts alone, this vehicle is worth as much as the cargo. Now be glad you have your lives for one more day, and never come back to Shoreditch. And if you send coppers from the Met, there’s no one down below who will ever admit to seeing you. You know that’s the truth, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling the complete fool. Archie had clearly been listening to my conversation with Topper, and snuck out just before we left, taking Stanley and Clive to hunt for the truck. There had to be a side passage from his room at the rear of the siding. “I do.”

“And do you want to know why?” Archie whispered, leaning in close to my face, the tip of his bayonet lifting my chin until I had to look him in the eye. He lifted the blade and placed it flat against my lips, the point sharp against my nose. His voice rose with each line, echoing off the dark, black walls surrounding us. To these I turn, in these I trust- Brother Lead and Sister Steel. To his blind power I make appeal, I guard her beauty clean from rust.

He spins and burns and loves the air, And splits a skull to win my praise; But up the nobly marching days She glitters naked, cold and fair.

Sweet Sister, grant your soldier this: That in good fury he may feel The body where he sets his heel Quail from your downward darting kiss.

Keeping the blade on my lips, he leaned in closer, and kissed the cold steel. I felt the razor sharpness against my lips along with the unwelcome warmth of his, and someone’s blood seeping between my teeth.

“‘The Kiss,’ by Siegfried Sassoon,” Archie said, stepping back, as if at a formal recital. He bowed gracefully and pointed down the ruined road, back to the center of London. “Go.”

“I didn’t lie to you about the Russian,” Topper said as we passed him by. “And I warned you not to come back, didn’t I?”

I thick, heavy splats of rain hitting the windows. For a couple of seconds I didn’t remember what had happened last night, or realize that those two seconds were going to be the best part of my day.

The rain was murderously fierce, driving sideways against the glass, the dark, leaden London sky giving promise of a cold soaking and another postponed bombing run. Wordlessly, I joined Kaz in morning exercises, doing deep knee bends and stretches, trying to think of the next boneheaded move I could make. I’d told Kaz the whole story the night before, about how they’d sent Stanley out to stumble in front of the truck, as if he’d been mugged. Big Mike, being a public servant at heart, had gone to help, and ended up on the wrong end of a sawed-off. Then I showed up, we had the poetry reading, the Chapman gang drove off in our truck, and Big Mike and I hoofed it until we found a taxi, thankful that at least they hadn’t taken the coins from our pockets. During the cab ride, I got angry with my dad for never telling me how he had handled the gangsters who were threatening Nuno. A few tips on dealing with the underworld would have come in handy.