Alan Petrillo - Asylum Lane

“Do you always make yourself so comfortable wherever you go?” the vicar asked, dropping his hat onto the table.

A thin smile spread across Goodwin’s face. “I’ve always found that it’s easier to make the best of the situation I find myself in. There’s much less disappointment in life that way.”

Reverend Elsworth snorted. “Indeed! I myself am used to dealing with individuals who show respect for the people they do business with and in how they comport themselves.”

Goodwin’s grin widened. “Reverend, you need not worry about how I comport myself. Your only concern should be for the cash you’ll entrust to me. You did bring it, did you not?”

The vicar nodded and set a satchel on top of a small stack of papers.

“In there.”

Goodwin undid the straps holding the satchel shut and then opened the bag and peered inside. He whistled softly.

“It always warms my heart to see stacks of cash.”

“Yes, well let’s remember that cash is in exchange for the freeholds we discussed.”

“Of course, the properties.” Goodwin said, setting the satchel on the floor. The vicar was still standing and Goodwin indicated the other chair. “Please sit down and review these papers. They are the ones we discussed to shelter the cash for you, yet allow you to have control of the investments through me and the company we established.”

The vicar picked up the bundle and Goodwin continued.

“The largest investment is in the Scarborough Villas freehold. The others are the properties we discussed earlier. The Walmgate Road coppersmith, the auction house, the Leeman Road seed merchant, and the buildings on Lowther Street and Bootham Square.”

The vicar sat back in the chair and held the papers up to the light, saying nothing as he read, but occasionally grunting softly. When he finished reading the last page, he stacked the sheets neatly together and tapped the small bundle on the table several times before laying it flat.

“I shall sign it now,” he said.

“You can see that I have already endorsed the documents as managing partner for the various freehold properties,” Goodwin said, pushing a pen and small inkwell across the table.

Within minutes, the vicar had signed the copies and Goodwin separated the papers into two stacks.

“There’s an original set of documents for each of us,” he said, pushing one group of papers toward the vicar. “In that way, if one set is lost, the other partner has confirmation of the transaction.”

“I intend on keeping these papers in a very safe place,” the vicar said.

“As do I, reverend. You can be assured of that.”

The vicar pushed back from the table and retrieved his hat. “I’ve put my trust in you, Mr. Goodwin. I expect it to be kept closely.”

When the vicar had left, Goodwin smiled broadly and leaned back in the chair again. The Dealer would be pleased with the transaction, he thought. Very pleased.

Lund fidgeted with the food on his plate, pushing the peas from one side to the other. As the waiter approached, he laid his fork and knife down.

“The meal does not appeal to you this evening?” the waiter asked.

“No, it is not the meal,” Lund responded, pushing the plate of nearly-uneaten food toward the center of the table. “I think I do not feel well.”

The waiter leaned back from the waist, as if to get a better view of Lund. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

Lund shook his head.

“Then I shall clear the table. Perhaps you would like an aperitif to settle the stomach.”

“Ah, a splendid suggestion. Please bring me a large brandy.”

The waiter whisked the cutlery and crockery away and Lund returned to brooding. What measures should he take now, he wondered. He had suspected all along that his sly schemes with the Dealer were fraught with danger. Now the shylock was holding him hostage for an exorbitant sum of money as a commission.

Lund looked around the front room of Pym’s at the scattering of other diners still in the room.

There wasn’t much he could do about the situation, he mused. He couldn’t go to the police and tell them that he was being extorted. Or could he, he wondered. Perhaps there was a way of informing on the Dealer, and yet keeping his own indiscretions out of it. He would have to give that idea more thought. Putting large amounts of ill-gotten money to actual use had turned into more of a challenge than he had thought it would be.

Lund slipped his fingers into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. Squinting at the face, he was surprised to see that it read nearly 9 o’clock. As he replaced the watch, the waiter set a snifter of brandy in front of him, and left the dinner bill at the corner of the table.

“I trust you will visit us again when you are feeling more robust,” the waiter said with a smile.

Lund raised the brandy snifter and inhaled the potent fumes.

“There’s a thought worth drinking to,” he said.

The Dealer stepped into the Lendal Club’s marbled entry hall and handed his hat to the hall porter. Then he shrugged off his coat and let if fall into the porter’s outstretched arms.

“I expect I shall be here for some time,” he said, pushing a tuppence into the man’s hand. He smiled as he thought that the porter would appreciate having the price of a pint when he finished working.

The Dealer found Goodwin nursing a whiskey in the Great Room and ordered one for himself. Settling back into the creaking leather of an ancient stuffed armchair, he checked the room for eavesdroppers. Seeing none, he exhaled noisily. “I trust that you had a profitable day?”

Goodwin smiled widely and leaned forward, the whiskey glass clenched in his left hand.

“I tell you that vicar is made of money. Lot’s of it.” Goodwin kicked at a black satchel laying at the foot of his armchair. “It is all in there.”

“The reverend actually brought the entire five thousand pounds in cash?” the Dealer asked. “He wasn’t suspicious?”

Goodwin threw back his head and laughed, drawing the attention of two nearby members from their newspapers. Leaning closer across the gap between himself and the Dealer, Goodwin whispered conspiratorially, “The man is a pigeon ready for plucking. And I have his tail feathers right there in the bag.” He laughed aloud again, and then took a large swallow of whiskey.

The Dealer studied Goodwin with a hard glare. “One element of this game is exceptionally important to us. The papers you gave the vicar — they are genuine — or as genuine as you could have them made?”

Goodwin smiled widely. “I used the best paper man in York. The one they call Johnny Quill. The vicar will never know those documents are forgeries until he tries to sell the properties. And there is little chance he will do so any time soon. He wants to shelter his money. So it’s important that he hides it somewhere. We simply gave him a place to do so.”

A houseman arrived with the Dealer’s whiskey. The Dealer raised his glass to Goodwin.

“You have done well, son. As usual. And yet we still must get through the issue of getting the money from Lund. Once we have done so, we are well situated.”

The two of them touched glasses and drank deeply.

Goodwin stared at the Dealer for a long moment. “We are well situated right now, with the money in this bag.” He nudged the satchel with his boot. “We could finish it here and now.”

The Dealer swallowed another gulp of whiskey. “Why should we leave Lund’s two thousand quid on the table? Think of it — seven thousand pounds. All in cash. What could go wrong with the little arsehole of a banker, I ask you? The man is a frightened mouse. He will do as I have instructed him.”