Bryce Courtenay - The Potato Factory

Ikey paused to emphasise his point, jabbing his forefinger at Bob Marley. 'That don't come natural, my dear! That's trainin', expert trainin', what you got young from a certain someone what is present and is beseechin' you to offer an 'elping hand in 'is hour o' most urgent need!'

Ikey cleared his throat and his tone became unctuous. 'I'm a bit short at the moment, unforeseen expenses and the like, but you knows me credit to be good. Me lovin' wife Hannah will pay you when she comes to see me.'

Marley shook his head. 'Don't know 'bout lovin' wife, Ikey. Yer missus weren't none too pleased findin' out 'bout Mary and yer high-class brothel in Bell Alley an' all!'

'Oh shit, she knows about Mary? 'Ow'd she know about Bell Alley then?'

Marley laughed. 'S'pect she read it in The Times. The 'ole of London's talkin'

'bout you, Ikey. What ya done an' all, inta-nash-nil forgery ring, plots to send the 'ole country broke wif fake English longtails floodin' the European market. Britain's credit in question by the Frenchy parleyment! Austry-'Ungarian empire financially embarrassed and undermined! Yer a right notorious bastard, you is. If ya wasn't in so much shit you'd be the bloomin' toast o' the London criminal class. You is the biggest thing what's 'appened since Queen Caroline's trial!'

Ikey ignored Marley's exaggerated banter. 'Well, you may be sure Mary will pay you, then,' Ikey whined.

'Mary? Mary's in Newgate! She's been in front o' the beak and is awaitin' sentencin' at the Old Bailey. She's Botany Bay bound for sure.' Marley sniffed and looked ominously at Ikey. 'City arrested 'er three days after ya scarpered, charged 'er wif runnin' a bawdy 'ouse, but that were only the excuse.'

'Oh Jesus!' Ikey cried. 'Mary get the boat for runnin' a bawdy house? It ain't possible, runnin' a respectable brothel ain't no crime what merits transportation!'

'That's what folks is sayin' in the Lane. There's talk she'll get the full fourteen years.' Then Marley added darkly, 'On account of you, ya bastard. City ain't convinced she don't know nuffink 'bout that printin' press and what you've been up to wif the deaf and dumb Frenchy.'

Ikey looked up astonished. 'She kept stum? She didn't bleat?' If Mary had turned King's evidence and Ikey were caught there wasn't a judge in England who wouldn't find her information damning.

'She didn't say nuffink to nobody! That's a bloody good nemmo that is.' Marley jabbed a finger into Ikey's scrawny chest. 'Better'n what the likes o' you deserves, Ikey Solomon.'

Marley paused and shook his head. '

'Fraid I can't give ya no credit, Ikey. I can't take no chances.' He shrugged. 'So that's it, it's all a matter o' business, knows what I mean? Pay up and I 'elps you to escape, don't and I marches ya straight to the City constabulary and collects me considerable reward for the heroic hap-prehension of England's number one notorious villain.'

Ikey examined the tops of his mittened hands, shook his head slowly, then looked up at Bob Marley accusingly. 'You got a bet each way, is that it!' In a broken whisper he added, 'Shame on you, Bob Marley!'

Bob Marley shrugged.'

'Fraid so, me old matey. Business is business!' He paused, grinning. 'Now who was it taught me that?'

'Ow much?'

'Twenty sovs down.'

'Twenty sovs!' Ikey wailed. 'That be pure daylight robbery!'

Marley, not bothering to reply, shrugged and held out his hand.

'Fifteen? Fifteen sovs!'

Marley shook his head slowly. 'I'd like to, Ikey, but this ain't no ordinary deadlurk what's needed. I got expenses. Twenty sovs now and ten fer every week what I keeps ya safe in 'iding.'

Ikey made one final attempt. 'Twenty and five!'

'Twenty and ten, take it or leave it. I 'asn't got all night.'

Ikey sighed and, turning his back to Bob Marley, he foraged deep within his great coat and fished into a bag of coins which he knew contained two hundred and seventeen gold sovereigns, the last of the money Silas Browne and Maggie the Colour had paid him in cash for the Bank of England watermarked paper.

Getting back from Birmingham had proved an expensive business. Twice he'd had to pay heavy bribes when he'd been recognised from his picture on posters which seemed to be sprouting like crocuses in April on the walls of every village or town through which he passed on his circuitous route to London.

Ikey slowly counted the twenty sovereigns into the slasher's hand. Marley counted the coins for himself, biting every second one as a test. Satisfied, he placed them in the pit pocket of his vest, then held his palm out to Ikey, wiggling the ends of his fingers.

'What?' Ikey asked, his eyes large and innocent.

Marley wiggled his fingers again. 'The ten sovs what's the first week's rent in advance,' he said quietly.

Ikey seemed at the point of tears as he counted ten more coins into Marley's outstretched maw.

'Cheers, Ikey!' Marley said, acknowledging the payment, then added, 'I got a nice little place, a deadlurk on Jacob's Island what is perfect for the purpose o' bein' in lavender. Lots o' bolt holes. Mind, 'iding a man o' yer extreme notoriety what everyone's lookin' for ain't easy and is very dangerous to me own safety.'

Bob Marley, now all business, placed his hands on his hips and looked quizzically at Ikey. 'You'll not be goin' out wif me dressed like that. Ain't a magistrates' runner or nark in London wouldn't recognise ya in an instant in that schemata. Buggered if I know 'ow ya got this far. Ya stick out like a bloomin' whore at a christening, ya does!'

Ikey opened his arms wide, palms outwards, and looked down at his chest in surprise. He had always assumed himself totally disguised in his long coat with his wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead. 'I'm as invisible as the very night itself, my dear,' he said, clearly bemused at Bob Marley's uncharitable remark.

'Quite right! Invisible as the bleedin'

'arvest moon on Chatham Common.' Bob Marley pointed at Ikey's coat. 'Take your'n orf and put mine on.' Then removing his battered top hat he retrieved a cloth cap from within it and placed this upon his own head. Removing Ikey's hat, he dropped it gingerly to the floor, replacing it with the top hat which he set firmly on to Ikey's head, giving its crown a solid thump. The brim immediately dropped over Ikey's eyes and kept sliding until it stopped, trapped halfway down Ikey's nose.

Ikey gave a small squeak of alarm. 'Not me coat, I can't take leave o' me coat, not now, not never!' he pleaded.

'Christ, Ikey. I'll wear it! Ya won't lose it!' Marley said impatiently. 'Ya can 'ave it again when we gets to the isle.'

Ikey now pushed the top hat furiously off his head so that it tumbled backwards bouncing on the floor and rolling. 'Never, not ever, no, no no, not me coat!' he moaned.

Marley watched in amazement as Ikey clasped his arms about his chest hugging his coat, whimpering and rocking as though his life depended on it remaining on his back.

Which, of course, in Ikey's eyes was most certainly the case. Without his coat Ikey considered himself skinned and in no way different to an animal being led to the slaughteryard. Once skinned of his coat he believed he'd soon enough be hooked and hanging like some freshly peeled beast.

Marley appeared to be thinking, his hand cupped to his chin, 'I tell ya what… ' He was about to say something, then changed his mind, paused and looked at Ikey. 'But it will cost ya another two sov.'

'What?' Ikey asked tremulously, backing away. 'You'll not have me coat, Bob Marley!'

'It be cold enough outside to freeze ya balls orf, but ya can wear me coat over your'n.' Bob Marley gave Ikey a fierce look. 'Mind, if I catches me death of this act o' extreme generosity, I'll cut yer bleedin' throat, Ikey Solomon!' He began once more to remove his coat, though first he removed the woollen scarf from its pocket and placed it about his neck.