Kerry Greenwood - Blood and Circuses

‘It’s no use crowding me,’ remarked Grossmith artlessly. ‘I ain’t your enemy.’

‘You ain’t exactly our friend,’ said the Snake through a closed mouth.

Grossmith grinned. ‘You bet. I ain’t never going to be your mate, Snake. But at the moment we could be allies. What have the ’Roys got themselves into? It’s too big for them.’

‘Then it’d be too big for us,’ said Jack Black. ‘All right. We can make a deal.’

‘Oh, can we?’ asked Grossmith. ‘What deal is that?’

‘You leave us alone and we’ll tell you.’

‘No,’ said Grossmith after a moment’s thought. ‘I can’t do that, Jack. You know I can’t do that. My chief is set against gangs and I can’t go over his head.’

Jack Black laughed suddenly and called for another beer.

‘But,’ said Grossmith, ‘you want to get rid of the ’Roy Boys and this is the way to do it. Because if you think that you can start a gang war in Melbourne like they have in Chicago, Jack, you got another think coming. You use the police for your revenge, and that’s good, I’ll put in a good word for you if I can. But you go out and buy a machine-gun and I’ll hang you if it’s the last thing I ever do. I’m not having it and that’s flat. And that’s all I’ve got to say, so I’ll be going if you don’t want to talk.’

‘Fetch Iris,’ ordered Jack, and Snake left the bar.

Grossmith ordered another beer and said slowly, ‘One of my constables was shot last night.’

‘Yair?’

‘In Brunswick Street.’

‘Oh?’ Jack yawned.

‘Lizard Elsie was with him.’

A faint interest dawned in Jack’s eyes. ‘Mad as a coot,’ he said. ‘That Elsie.’

‘Yair. She almost bit Wholesale Louis’s ear off.’

Jack Black roared with laughter. So did his men.

‘She still playing that trick? She’s a mean bitch when she gets going! So where is she?’

‘Lizard Elsie?’

‘Yair. Lizard Elsie.’

‘In the clink,’ said Grossmith.

‘Best place for her,’ decided Jack Black. ‘She might dry out. She’s been all right, the old Else. Done me a good turn, once. Picked me up outa the gutter and brung me home when I had a difference of opinion with . . . some people. And I don’t reckon she had nothing to do with Reffo. She never joined any mob. She’s always been on her own. But since she got on the red biddy she’s been going downhill. Poor old Elsie. The terror of publicans.’

Grossmith filed away the information that the Brunnies, at least, did not seem to hold any grudge against Lizard Elsie. He turned to see a girl being ushered in through the swinging doors.

Pretty Iris had been with the Brunnies for three years. Grossmith put her age at about twenty-five. She was slight, fashionably dressed and pale, with light brown hair and blue eyes. Her hand bore one small but very bright diamond. Diamonds also flashed in her ears. Pretty Iris had expensive tastes.

‘Jack?’ she inquired. Her voice was soft and high. The only things that Grossmith didn’t like about her were the rigid line of her thin lips and the baby intonations which she used on susceptible men.

‘Iris,’ he acknowledged. ‘Give the lady a seat, boys.’

Iris perched on the bar stool between Jack and Snake and asked, ‘What’s going on? I was at a dress fitting. I’m gonna lose my job if you keep dragging me away from the salon. Madam was most upset.’ In her spare time, when not assisting the Brunnies in their nefarious schemes, Pretty Iris was a mannequin.

‘If you lose your job you’ll have more time to devote to us,’ said Jack Black irritably. ‘This is . . .’

Iris’s fine eyes widened. ‘I know who it is.’ She laid a cool manicured hand on the policeman’s arm and he was washed with a gust of French perfume. Sergeant Grossmith was intensely aware of the pressure of her fingers. ‘What does he want here?’

‘He wants you to talk to him.’

‘And do you want me to?’ She cast a coquettish look at Jack and he shifted in his seat.

‘Yair. I want you to.’

‘All right.’ Pretty Iris was supplied with a small sherry by a disapproving Doris. She sipped daintily and then asked, ‘And what does Jackie want poor little Iris to talk about?’

‘The ’Roys.’

Her expression changed instantly. The smooth forehead creased into a frown and the red lips pouted. ‘Ooh, Iris doesn’t like rough boys.’

Grossmith, controlling an inward nausea, nevertheless found Pretty Iris effective. So did Jack Black. His face was darkening. He blinked.

‘Talk about it, Iris,’ he ordered, and Pretty Iris hitched up her skirt to sit more comfortably on the bar stool.

‘There was a man . . .’ she began, and giggled. ‘He thought I was wonderful.’ She drew out the syllables and Grossmith bit his lip. ‘He fell in love with me. The fool.’ True venom dripped from the words. Grossmith wondered if Pretty Iris had ever loved any man and why she was so set against the species. ‘So he took me out to nightclubs and he bought me presents. He said he wanted me to marry him. But he was only after one thing. All men are only after one thing.’ Her voice had deepened. She was forgetting her baby-doll affectations. ‘So he tried harder. He began to tell me secrets as though his secrets would bring me closer to him, make me love him. One night when he had been drinking he told me all about a woman—he called her his perfect woman. He loved her like billy-o. She lived in the same house and she wouldn’t look at him. I wasn’t interested. Every bloke has a perfect woman they want to tell you about. A girl could get jealous, I said. A girl didn’t wanna listen all night to a drunk mooning about after his lost perfect woman. So he said, “I’ll tell you a secret,” and I said, “What secret?” And he said, “I’m going to make a lot of money very soon.” And I was interested, so I said, “How?” and he leaned real close and he said, “Exit.” I said, “I never heard of it,” and he smiled and said, “No,” so I pressed him.’

Grossmith was listening intently. Pretty Iris bloomed under the attention. She ordered another sherry. When it came Jack Black put his hand over the glass.

‘Not until you tell the rest,’ he said. Pretty Iris pouted again and wriggled in her chair. ‘Beast!’ she complained.

‘Go on, Iris,’ said Jack Black unsteadily. She raked him with her eyes.

‘So he said he was going to get a lot of money from Exit. I asked what it was and he laughed again and said it was a funeral parlour. And he said that it was real big. Not just small time, he said. He said he was going to get hundreds of pounds from Exit. I asked him what he was going to do and he wouldn’t tell me. I asked him who else was in it. He said three names: Damien Maguire, William Seddon and Ronald Smythe. I asked him who was helping him and he said the ’Roy Boys. No, actually he said that it was Albert Ellis. But Ellis isn’t in anything on his own. I made like I didn’t know the name and then he got sober all of a sudden and begged me to keep schtum. I said I would,’ Pretty Iris ended artlessly. ‘Or otherwise he would have got cross.’

‘You’re a talented woman,’ said Grossmith slowly. ‘And I can see why they call you Pretty Iris.’

Iris glowed. She patted him on the hand again. Jack removed his palm from her glass.

‘You’re a good girl,’ he told her. ‘A very good girl and Jack’s going to get you a present.’

‘Ooh!’ squeaked Pretty Iris. ‘A present!’

Grossmith could stand no more. As he got up he said, ‘Thanks, Jack. What was the man’s name, Iris?’

‘Smith,’ said Iris with infinite scorn. ‘Robert Smith. They’re all called Smith, aren’t they?’

Grossmith left the pub, thinking hard.