They came out of a little shabby pub into the darkness. Away to their right, the sky glowed red where the fire still raged, burning the row of garages, flaring up every now and then as the flames reached a reserve of petrol.
They stood for a moment in the shadows watching the glow in the sky, the whisky they had swallowed steadying their nerves, bolstering their courage.
“When they hear we weren’t found,” Cora said, pushing her hands deep into her trouser pockets, “they’ll begin looking for us again.”
George glanced up and down the dark, deserted street. It was just after ten o’clock. His legs ached and his body sagged. The exertion of breaking out of the flat, the wild scramble over the roofs with the flames pursuing them, the nightmare climb down a water pipe had exhausted him. Dust and grit scraped his skin every time he moved. His clothes were white with plaster, his face streaked with smuts. Cora was no better off. She had a triangular tear in the knee of her slacks, and her elbows had burst through the woollen sleeves of her sweater. The smell of smoke still clung to her hair
But she had recovered her nerve. She had swallowed three double whiskies in rapid succession, and George had seen the terror drain out of her like dirty water out of a sink.
“Plans,” she said, and took out a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her pocket, stuck a cigarette between her lips and lit it. She drew hard on the cigarette, and then forced a stream of smoke down her nostrils. “We’ve got to go somewhere tonight.” She cocked her head at him. “Got any money, George?”
He pulled out a handful of loose change. He had twelve shillings and a few coppers.
She grimaced. “That’s no use,” she said. “Any money at home?”
He shook his head. "I don’t think it’d be safe to go to your place. We’ve got to duck out of sight, and keep out of sight.”
He thought in dismay of his clothes, his books, his personal belongings. "I’ll have to go hack,” he said.
She shrugged. “Go if you want your throat cut, but you’d better wait until the morning.”
“We’ve got to go somewhere,” he said helplessly. “Look at the mess we’re in. If the police spot us, they may ask questions.”
She brooded into the darkness. The red glow of her cigarette bobbed up and down.
“Little Ernie,” she said, at last. “He’ll put us up.”
Immediately George became uneasy. “He knows too much,” he said. “I don’t think we should go to him.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” Cora returned shortly. “Ernie’s all right. He’ll help us.” She began to move down the road. “He’s had his eye on me for some time.”
George fell into step beside her. “I don’t like him,” he growled. “He’d better keep his hands off you.”
Cora didn’t say anything.
They walked on in silence until they reached a bus stop. While they waited, George watched her out of the corners of his eyes. Her grey-white face was hard and expressionless, but she held her head high, and she moved with a jaunty swagger.
The bus took them along Piccadilly, and they got off at Old Bond Street. The passengers on the bus gaped at them in undisguised astonishment. George, embarrassed, kept his eyes fixed on his dusty, cut shoes. Cora looked round with arrogant indifference, staring with jeering contempt at anyone who looked at her.
They walked up Old Bond Street towards Burlington Street: an odd couple in one of the richest streets in the world. Four prostitutes waited at the corner of Old Bond Street and Burlington Street. Their harsh voices chattered excitedly in broken English. Their French accents reminded George somehow of the Parrot House at the Zoo.
Cora paused, gave them a quick glance, and said, “Eva about?”
The four women stopped talking and stared at her. One of them, tall, hideous, fox furs hanging from her gaunt frame, seemed to recognize her.
“What a mess you’re in, darling,” she said, with a harsh laugh. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Seen Eva?” Cora repeated, her hard little face tightening.
“She went hack with a client about ten minutes ago.”
Cora nodded and walked on.
George hadn’t stopped. He crossed the road and waited on the opposite corner.
“Come on,” Cora said impatiently. “I hope Ernie’s at home." They paused outside a tall building in Clifford Street.
“This is it,” Cora said, pushing upon the front door. They began to walk upstairs. On every landing was a front door with a card set in a brass frame. George read the lettering on the cards as they passed. “Frances", “Suze tte", “Marie", “Jose".
As they turned to mount the last flight of stairs, they heard a door open, and a moment later, an elderly, well-dressed man came down the stairs, whistling softly. When he saw them, alarm jumped into his eyes and he stopped whistling. He paused, uncertain, and gripped his stick.
“Well, make up your mind,” Cora said contemptuously. “Either come down or go back. We want to come up.”
He came scuttling down, his mouth working with fear. He shot past them like a startled rabbit.
“I bet we put the fear of God into him,” Cora said, and laughed.
George sympathized with the man, he knew how startled he would have been to see two such filthy, wild-looking people if he were coming from such a place.
They reached the top landing. The card on the door read “Eva". Cora banged on the door with the little brass knocker.
There was a pause, then the door opened and a young woman in a smart grey tailored coat and skirt gaped at them. She had a mass of red hair, and her face was a mask of make-up.
“Ernie in?” Cora asked shortly.
“Well, my dear!” the young woman exclaimed. “Whatever have you been up to? What a surprise! Who’s your boyfriend?”
They stepped into a well-furnished hall. The floorboards gleamed, the big brass tray on ebony trestles glittered, and the thick rug on which they stood tickled their ankles.
“This is George,” Cora said, waving her hand carelessly in George’s direction. “I want Ernie.”
The young woman smiled at George. She had big, strong white teeth. “I’m Eva,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you. And what a mess you’re in! But don’t stand there, come in, come in.”
She took them down a passage and threw open a door. “Look, my precious, what’s blown in,” she called.
Little Ernie glanced tip. He was lying in a big armchair, his small feet up on a padded stool. He looked completely out of place in the lavishly furnished room.
George had never seen such a room. It was too big, the ceiling was too high, and the white carpet that went from wall to wall looked like a fresh fall of snow. The ivory furniture had chromium on it, and the enormous scarlet drapes hung from the tops of the high windows and tumbled on to the white carpet. Four big white suede armchairs stood about the room. A vast cocktail cabinet, filled with dozens of bottles of every conceivable drink, stood by the window.
If he had been told that he had strayed into Buckingham Palace, he would have believed it. The room was exactly his idea of a Queen’s boudoir.
Little Ernie scrambled to his feet. His eyes gleamed with sudden excitement and eagerness.
“For cryin’ out loud!” he exclaimed. “Cora, my ducks, and me old pal, George. Well, well, fancy you coming ’ere.” He turned to Eva. ” ’Ere, get ’er cleaned up, and then we’ll have a nice little chat. Come on, palsy,” he went on to George, “you come along with me. You two’ve been in trouble, I can see that.”
He took George out of the room and down the passage. He pushed open another door and led George into a small bedroom. It was elegant and well furnished.
“There you are,” Little Ernie said. “The bathroom’s just through there. Make yourself at ’ome. Sorry I can’t give you a suit, but you and me ain’t quite in the same class, are we? Feather weight and ’eavy weight, eh?” He smirked. “You lave a clean up, and I’ll get a drink for you. Could you do with a bite to eat?”
George suddenly realized that he was famished. “It’s good of you,” he muttered, embarrassed, worried. “If it’s not putting you out…”
Little Ernie winked. “Leave it to me,” he said, and moved to the door. He could not resist saying, “Posh place, ain’t it? D’yer like it?”
George nodded. “I’ve never seen anything to touch it,” he said frankly envious.
Little Ernie jerked his thumb to the door. “She works like a nigger,” he said, lowering his voice. “Never no trouble. Takes a pride in the place. A gold mine,” and, nodding, he left the room.
Twenty minutes later George returned to the big sitting- room. He had made himself as tidy as he could and brushed his suit. He had had a bath, and his big face was shiny and red from the hot water and soap.
He found Little Ernie busying himself before the cocktail cabinet. A small table was laid with a snowy white cloth and glistening silver. Eva was perched on the arm of a chair, a cigarette in her full red lips, her eyes expectant and curious.
“What’ll you have?” she asked George as he came into the room. “A dry martini?”
“’Ave a whisky, chum,” Little Ernie said. “You don’t want cissy drinks like them French cocktails.” He came across the room with a tumbler a third full of whisky and clinking ice. “Ain’t Cora ready yet? You women… you’ll be the death of me.”
While he was talking, George noticed that Eva did not once take her eyes off his face. She looked at him with open admiration and expectancy. He suddenly realized that Little Ernie had probably told her he was a killer. It gave him an exciting feeling of power.
“Come and sit down,” Eva said, patting the chair next to hers. “I’ve been dying to meet you ever since Ernie told me about you.”
“That’s right,” Little Ernie said, grinning “Meet Frank Kelly’s gunman. He’s tough, but ’e don’t like talking about it.”
George sat down. The gun dug into him, and deliberately he pulled it from his hip pocket, and then glanced at the other two, tightening his mouth and scowling.
They both froze at the sight of the gun. Eva’s eyes dilated and her lips parted. Little Ernie stiffened, his face expressionless.
“Do you mind if I put it on the mantelpiece?” George said, carelessly, getting to his feet. “It’s a bit in my way.”
“That’s all right, chum,” Little Ernie said, his voice a trifle husky. “You make yourself at ’ome.”
As George put the Luger on the mantelpiece, the door opened and Cora came in. George looked at her; a shiver of pleasure and desire ran through him. She had washed her hair, which was now soft and fluffy; she was cleaner than he had ever seen her before, and she was wearing a scarlet wrap which enhanced her strange beauty. Her feet and legs were bare. George suspected that she wasn’t wearing anything under the wrap, and the thought sent his blood racing through his veins.
Nor was he the only one. Little Ernie, too, looked at her with frank admiration and lechery.
“Come on in,” he said, turning to the cocktail cabinet. “What’ll you ’ave? Doesn’t she look a beauty, Eva?”
“Wonderful,” Eva said, without any sign of jealousy. She reached forward and rang a hell. “I’ve got to leave you now,” she went on, gathering up her hat and bag. “Ernie’ll look after you. And keep your voices down, won’t you? My gentlemen friends are ever so nervous. They like to think they’re all alone with me, the poor darlings.” She waved her hand and went off, blowing a kiss to Ernie on her way out.
“What a gal!” Little Ernie said, sitting down. “See what I mean? It’s work all the time with ’er.”
The door opened and a thin sad-faced woman in black came in pushing a small trolley. She manoeuvred the trolley near the table, and went out without even a glance at any of them.
“There you are. Just ’elp yourself,” Little Ernie said, beaming on them. “Eat as much as you like.”
There were bowls of jellied soup and lobster salad, a pile of chicken sandwiches, and a plate of finely cut, lean ham. A silver bucket containing a bottle of champagne on ice completed the meal.
While they ate, Little Ernie took charge of the champagne.
“Only the best,” he said, smirking at George. “That’s Eva all over. Beats me ’ow she picks everything up. Must be ’er posh friends. You wouldn’t believe it, but I found ’er in a smelly little restaurant in Pimlico washing dishes. I took one look at ’er shape and took a chance on ’er. Like a monkey, she is. Picks up everything. Talks posh even. Best day’s work I ever done.”
He kept up a ceaseless chatter during the meal, and when the woman had taken the trolley and table away, he poured fresh drinks and sat down.
“Well,” he said, stretching out his short legs, “don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but you two certainly were in a state when you came in.”
Cora looked at him mockingly. Now that she had eaten and rested, she was once more her old self.
“That’s our secret,” she said, with a short, hard laugh. “If you really want to know, Ernie, we had a fire.”
Little Ernie picked his nose. “I ’eard the fire engines going,” he said. “So you ’ad a fire, did you?”
Cora nodded.
“Burnt your ’ouse and ’ome, eh?”
“Everything went up in a gorgeous bonfire.”
“Hmm.”
There was a long pause.
“’Ow’s Syd?” Little Ernie asked, looking at Cora sharply. She looked away, her mouth tightening “Didn’t you see in the newspapers?”
Little Ernie’s eyes narrowed. “Was that ’im? I wondered. Gawd love me… what a death! ’Ere, Cora, I’m sorry. You know that, don’t you? I’m sorry. I liked Syd. ’E’d got guts.”
Cora moved restlessly. The wrap slipped, and both men caught a glimpse of her naked thigh. She adjusted the wrap impatiently.
“I didn’t identify him,” she said tonelessly. “They may as well bury him. I haven’t any money.”
George shivered. It sounded so brutal, and yet he realized that it was only the sensible thing to have done.
“’Ow did it ’appen?”
“He slipped,” Cora said, looking Ernie straight in the eyes.
“Wasn’t pushed?”
“He slipped.”
There was another long pause. George felt that these two had forgotten him.
“Ain’t seen Crispin about for some time,” Little Ernie said thoughtfully. “’Ave you?”
“I can’t be bothered with him,” Cora returned, her eyes watchful. “He’s around, I suppose.”
“I wonder.” Little Ernie lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the fireplace. “I did ’ear that ’e’d come to a sticky end. Marvellous, ain’t it, the way I ’ear things?”
Cora continued to stare at him watchfully.
“Listen, Ernie,” she said. “I want a place for a week.”
“Do you now? What makes you think I’ve got a place for you?”
“Come off it, Ernie. You must have dozens of flats in the West End.”
“And they cost me a packet, too,” Little Ernie said darkly. “I only want it for a week.”
“’Ow much can you pay?”
“Nothing.”
“’Ave an ’eart.”
She looked at him. He seemed to read something in that look, because his ferrety eyes lit up.
“Why don’t you get wise, ducks?” he said. “You ain’t got any dough. Why don’t you get in the game?”
While this conversation had been going on, George sat listening, a dull, brooding expression on his face. He was trying to imagine how Frank Kelly or any of the other big shot gangsters would have handled Little Ernie. He was sure they wouldn’t have stood a rotten little pimp like him for five seconds. All the same, Little Ernie knew too much: he might also he useful. It wouldn’t do to get too tough with him. But it wouldn’t do, either, for him to think that George was a stooge who sat and listened and was not consulted.
His contempt for the little man was so great that he felt no diffidence in handling him
He surprised them both by barking, “Cut that out!”
When they jerked round to stare at him, he went on, sitting forward, his heavy face congested with blood, “She’s not going on the game, and you can keep off that subject if you know what’s good for you!”
Little Ernie’s eyes opened. “That’s all right, palsy,” he said hastily. “I was only having a bit of fun,” but he glanced at Cora uneasily and looked away.
Cora’s mouth tightened. “Don’t get excited,” she said, giving George a long, cold stare. “Ernie’s only trying to be helpful.” She looked at Little Ernie. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a bit jumpy. Now, be nice, Ernie. How about a flat?”
Little Ernie opened his mouth to say something, but caught the look in Cora’s eyes. He hesitated and then said, “For a week, eh? Well, per’aps. I’ll think about it.”
George hunched his great shoulder muscles. “You’d better do more than that,” he said. “We want a place. You’ll get your money all right. I’ve got plans.”
Little Ernie scratched his head. He was suddenly not quite sure of George. The gun, which continually caught his eye, lying on the mantelpiece, disturbed him This big, hulking fellow could be dangerous. It might he wise to get in with him, rather than antagonize him.
“You leave it to me,” he said. “I’ll fix you up tomorrow.” He got up and went over to the cocktail cabinet. “’Ave another drink?”
George shook his head. “No,” he said shortly. “I’ve had all I want.”
Cora was watching George with a puzzled expression in her eyes. “Can we sleep here tonight, Ernie?” she asked.
Little Ernie nodded. “Sure,” he said. “’E can ’ave my room and you can ’ave the spare room, unless you and ’im want to kip together.”
George felt the blood rush to his face. He got up and walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up his gun, keeping his back turned to them so they should not see his embarrassment. He wanted to say that Cora and he would share a room, but his nerve failed.
“I want a bed to myself,” Cora said in a cold, tight voice.
George drew in a quick breath. What else had he expected? he thought angrily. There was time for that when they got a place of their own.
“That’s settled, then,” Little Ernie said. “Well, I’ve got to shoot off. Must ’ave a word with the girls before turning in, you know. Gotta encourage ’ern, bless their sweet ’carts. I’ll be seeing you. Make yourself at ’ome,” he went on, looking at George. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded, gave Cora a quick, searching glance, and went off, moving softly, like a ghost.
George and Cora stood silent until they heard the front door click shut, and then Cora said sharply, “You dotty or something? Ernie can help us. What do you want to bark at him for?”
“He’s a filthy little rat,” George said, clenching his fists. “I saw the way he kept looking at you.”
“So what?” Cora said, sitting on the settee. “Why should you care, if I don’t?”
George stood over her. This was the time. It was now or never. One of them had to be master, and if he were to have any peace in his life, it must not be Cora.
“Because you’re my girl,” he said. “I love you, Cora. You’re on your own, and you need someone to look after you. Well, I’m going to be that someone.”
She leaned hack and crossed her legs. “You?” she said. “Don’t make me laugh. What have you got to offer me? Why, you can’t even look after yourself.”
“We’ll see about that,” George said grimly. “If Ernie tries any funny stuff, he’ll be sorry!”
Cora’s jeering expression suddenly changed to blazing rage. "If you interfere with me,” she exclaimed, jumping up, “I’ll make you sorry! I’m going to do what I like! I’m in the market. The man who offers most gets me.”
Again George’s slow mind groped for inspiration from Frank Kelly. Kelly always kept his women. He treated them tough and loaded them with jewels. But how could he do that? Now he had got Sydney out of the way, he wasn’t going to lose her. Little Ernie could give her the world. He had just got to compete with Little Ernie.
“What do you want?” he asked abruptly, struggling to conceal his doubts and fears.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“You’re in the market, aren’t you?” he said, clenching his fists. “Well, then, what’s the price?”
“I think you must be drunk or mad,” she said angrily, and turned away. “What can you give me? Leave me alone and peddle your silly hooks!”
George sat down. He took out a cigarette and lit it. His hands were steady, his mind coldly determined.
“I’ve got nothing now,” he said, “but I can get it. You don’t want to throw yourself away on a little rat like Ernie. Name something and you shall have it.”
“Oh, shut up!” Cora snapped. “You’re nothing but a cheap bluffer. You live in dreams. I want more than dreams, and I’m going to have more than dreams.”
The Luger dug into George’s hip. It gave him extraordinary confidence in himself. Thoughts crowded into his desperate frustrated mind. He had killed a man! Nothing else that he could do could be worse than that. Even if he killed another man, it wouldn’t be worse than the first killing. Once a gangster kills there is no stopping him. He had read that som ewhere, and it was true. Sooner or later Crispin’s body would be found. Bodies were always found. Then the hunt would be on. If the police didn’t get him, then Emily and Max and the two Greeks would. Well, until then he was going to live his life to the full. He was going to have Cora. He wasn’t enduring this black, ghastly frustration any longer. If he had to buy her, then he’d buy her, no matter what the cost.
He reached out suddenly and caught hold of Cora’s arm. He jerked her down beside him on the settee. The silk wrap parted, and he had a momentary glimpse of her that tipped the scales of his sanity. He caught her to him and held her, his great strength crushing her, frightening her.
“What do you want?” he said, her hair against his face. “I mean it. There’s nothing I can’t get for you.”
“Let me go!” she said. “Will you let me go!”
He released her and sat back.
“Well?” he said. “What do you want?”
Cora could scarcely believe this was the same man. The hard face, the wild, desperate eyes, chilled her. But she was quick to see that she must call this ridiculous bluff. In his present state of mind, she felt he was dangerous. He might do anything unless she provided an outlet for his pent-up, violent repression.
“I want a complete outfit,” she said. “And I want it now. Give me that, if you can, you cheap bluffer.”
George looked at her steadily. “You mean clothes?”
“Of course, I mean clothes. I want something to wear when I go out tomorrow morning. I want a complete outfit. And don’t think I can’t get it. I’ve only to ask Little Ernie.”
“I’ll get you the money,” George said slowly.
“I don’t want the money, I want the clothes. I want something decent to put on when I get up tomorrow morning.
George hesitated. She had purposely asked for the impossible. There were no shops open at this time, but, of course, Little Ernie could get an outfit from one of his girls. It would be the simplest thing in the world for him to do. But George had no girl to borrow anything from. She had laid the trap and he had walked into it.
Cora, studying his face, saw doubt and dismay there, and she got up with a laugh.
“Now shut up, you bluffer,” she said. “I’ve had quite enough from you for one night. I’m going to bed.” She went to the door, and looked back over her shoulder. “I don’t think you and I have much in common, do you, George?” she went on. “I think you’d better go back to your cat and your hook selling.”
George sat brooding for some little time after she had gone. She was slipping through his fingers. He had to do something. Tomorrow would be too late. She had asked for a complete outfit of clothes: well, she must have it.
He got to his feet, picked up his hat and stood staring down at the thick white carpet. Getting an outfit of women’s clothes at eleven-thirty at night might set even Frank Kelly hack on his heels. He must prove to himself that he was a better man even than Frank Kelly. He crossed the room and quietly let himself out of the hateful little flat.