Back in his room, he was sitting, staring at the wall when there was a polite knock on the door. That was unusual. This was a hall of residence and people tended to barge in without knocking and apologize later. But, the whole area was like that, stunned by what had happened. It was as if common courtesy was a refuge people retreated to in order to deal with what happened.
“David. Thank God you’re all right.” Colin Thomas was an old friend of his. “We knew you were up near the front and thought you might have had it. It’s a nightmare out there; those bastard Blackshirts… ”
“How many?” Newton could barely speak.
“Dozens got beaten up and arrested. We know of three dead so far. George got shot at the bridge, right at the start. Freddie too. Shot in the back as he ran.” Thomas hesitated, his voice shaking and his eyes wet. “David, you were walking out with Rachael weren’t you? I’m sorry; a group of six Blackshirts cornered her. One of them recognized her, knew she was Jewish. The bastards knocked her down and started kicking her, right there in the street. A couple of the lads saw it, but they were too far away to help. By the time they got there, she was dead and the Blackshirts had legged it. I’m so sorry. Anyway, you’re all right. Look, I’ve got to go. We’re still trying to find out where everybody is and get an idea of who has been arrested.”
The door closed. Newton stared at the mirror, guilt at what he inevitably saw as his craven cowardice ripping at his soul. Very, very quietly he made himself a promise. Never, never, never again will I turn my back on somebody who needs protection.
He didn’t see his own reflection in the mirror. Instead he saw his memories. The girl who, when the student’s canteen had served bangers and mash, had given away her pork sausages to her friends. Her great beaming smile when the students had got together to buy her a proper kosher meal in return. Her lying helpless on the ground, her ribs kicked in by men wearing hobnailed boots while he had cowered behind a door.
He realized he had something very important to do. Something that mixed atonement and vengeance, and was more than a little of both.
The woman walked with the practiced swing of an experienced prostitute. This was Sally’s beat, her corner of Queen’s Road and Arkwright Street. It was a good corner; lots of traffic and the entrance to the station was close enough for her to pick up travelling trade. There was even a pub with rooms opposite and she had a working agreement with the landlord. She didn’t embarrass him by plying for trade in his bar, but she could rent one of his rooms by the hour and use the side door to get in. The fact she had such a good spot wasn’t by chance. She paid the local ‘Firm’ their protection money without argument, didn’t try to hold out on them and never stole from her clients. The Firm was a loose organization of local criminals who controlled the underworld in Nottingham. Every city had its firm, under one name or another. Some were relatively benign, others vicious. Nottingham had one of the better firms. She played straight with them; they played straight with her. They’d given her a good pitch and trusted her enough to send some of their better clients to her.
Things were changing in Nottingham. They had been ever since the Auxiliaries had arrived. What had been a pleasant, friendly city had turned into one with the brooding air of menace typical of a city under occupation. The Auxiliaries weren’t police any more; not after the way they had smashed the demonstration. They were an occupation force and were regarded with sullen hatred.
Sally saw two of them approaching down Queen’s Road. They were thick on the streets, had been ever since the riot the other side of town. The official line was that some students had started a brawl and the Auxiliaries had broken it up; but there were uglier rumors than that. Like students who had been arrested but had then vanished without explanation.
“Hey, Johnsie, you want some of this?” One of the Auxiliaries grabbed her arm and spun her around. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back so his partner could see her face in the yellow glow of the streetlight.
“You joking? Never know what you’ll catch from a tom.” The Blackshirt called Johnsie looked disgusted. “I’ll bet it’s rotting away down there.”
“Nah, this one’s clean. And she’s going to give me a free ride to prove it. Aren’t you love?”
“Look, I…”
“Because, if you don’t… Remember what we did to that Jew-girl? You’ll get the same.”
Sally sighed and led the Auxiliary over to the side door of the pub. The other Auxiliary shook his head and leaned up against the wall, waiting for his partner to finish. The streets were empty, almost. It was too early to be crowded from people going home after a night out, too late for the back-from-work crowd. He turned around, wondering how long he was going to have to stay around out here when a youngster bumped into him. He smelled of beer and was obviously very drunk. He put his arm around Johnsie’s shoulders and breathed heavily into the Auxiliary Policeman’s face.
“You gave them students a seeing-to didn’t ya mate. Stuck up gits, they all are. Deserve what they got. Let me buy you a drink.” The youngster tried to push a ten shilling note into the Blackshirt’s pocket. For a moment, the Blackshirt tried to push the young man away. He hesitated; ten shillings was ten shillings.
The hand with the banknote clamped over his mouth. He felt an agonizing pain in his back. Newton thrust the carving knife into Johnsie’s liver. He twisted it around. It left the Blackshirt bleeding to death so fast he could feel his life draining from him. Newton let the body fall to the ground, then reached down and took the .38 Webley from the man’s belt.
That was when he heard the side door of the pub slam.
The second Blackshirt was looking down at him from the step. He fumbled with the revolver holstered at his waist. A woman was standing beside him; one hand raised to cover her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Newton didn’t hesitate. He brought the Webley up and fired a single shot that took the Auxiliary in the forehead.
“Get out of here lad. That shot will bring the law. The real law.”
Newton backed away and then looked at the woman. One cheek was reddened and her lips were slightly swollen. There was a long pause. She nodded very slightly.
“Yeah, I did what he wanted and he smacked me around anyway. Why d’ya do it, lad?”
“The girl they killed? She was my girl. I didn’t realize it was them though.”
“Yeah, word is they were a couple of Mosley’s boys before they joined the Auxiliary, so I heard. Those two have been beating on a lot of the toms here. They’ve really got the Firm mad at them. The cops will think that the Firm did it as a lesson to the others. The Firm won’t care who did. Saved them the job, you see. You’re in the clear, this time. Now, scat.”
Sally was only two years older then Newton, but her years working the street gave her voice an timbre of experience that brought an immediate result. Newton dropped the revolver and left. As he ran around the corner, he heard the first blast of police whistles.
“Nasty case.” Fleming read the newspaper account and shook his head. “Still, if the Blackshirts go around beating up the local toms, they can expect the Firm to get upset about it. The word is that the police have already concluded this was a gangland killing and are just going through the motions. If it had been one of their own, it would have been different, of course. They’d be tearing the town apart and there would be help coming in from every police force in England. But, Blackshirts? Police don’t really care one way or the other about what happens to them. The only witness they’ve got is a tom who says the first one was dead when she came out and the one with her was shot from the shadows. She didn’t seem to care much either.”