‘I think we both know that’ll never happen, darlin’. Two triple brandies, love, it’s lunch time after all.’ Mike started to protest. He started to protest because it sounded really, really good. Jack let him know that to refuse would insult him. Mike sighed, nodded and thanked the older man.
‘What’s this shit?’ Hamilton said tapping the paper open at the wanted ads. Here we go, Mike thought.
‘Looking for work, ain’t I,’ Mike said.
‘Mikey, all you have to do is…’
‘Please, Jack…’ Mike said. He didn’t want to offend the older man and it wasn’t because he was a dangerous individual. He just didn’t want to hurt the gangster’s feelings.
‘Sarah?’
‘Yeah, no. Sort of. I need to get away from all of that. She… we want a family and I just remember when I was a kid, my dad…’
‘Your dad was a good man,’ Hamilton said seriously.
‘He was. Could have been a better dad.’
Hamilton thought about this. It looked to Mike like his dad’s old friend was about to stand up for his dad.
‘I can see that,’ Hamilton finally said. ‘One of the reasons I never had kids.’
‘That and you’re still shagging twenty-one year old lap-dancers, if what I hear is right.’
Hamilton’s growling laughter made Mike think of a dog drowning.
‘Rank has its privileges, son,’ Hamilton told him. ‘Some of the work what I’ve got is legit,’ he said changing subject.
‘Jack, I appreciate it, I really do but…’
‘S’alright, I understand, I get it. I know you need some distance, but I don’t want to lose contact. Why don’t you and Sarah join me and…’ Hamilton stopped, a look of concentration spreading over his face.
‘You can’t remember your girlfriend’s name, can you?’ Mike said, grinning. Hamilton was shaking his head.
‘I’m getting fucking old. I can picture her. Great tits, fucks like a wolverine sewn into a sack.’
‘Nice,’ Mike said nodding.
‘You watch your mouth, Jack Hamilton!’ Jean howled at Hamilton. ‘I don’t care who you are out there!’
‘I’m sorry Jeanie, you know I’ve only got eyes for you, but you should see this girl’s tits.’
Mike was laughing now as he took another sip of brandy.
‘I will fucking bar you, you cheeky little bastard!’
Hamilton was laughing as well. Winding up Jean was a time-honoured tradition of the punters in the Beggar.
‘Seriously though, one Sunday, the four of us can go out to Epping Forest, have a walk, spot of Sunday lunch. My treat.’
Mike nodded, grateful. He did like Hamilton’s company, but he could never shake the picture of the number of times he’d seen the older man with blood on his hands. That was why Hamilton still ran this manor. That was why all the little fresh-faced, gun-toting gangster-wannabes left him alone. He wasn’t greedy, he just wanted his patch, but if you fucked around then he took care of business. Personally.
‘Now let’s have another drink.’
‘Jack, seriously…’
Sarah’s going to fucking kill me, Mike thought, I am well hammered.
‘…so he comes back in, looks in the quilt cover and then back at me and says: “Jack, why’s there a dead dog in my quilt cover?” Now Richardson was a hard fucker and you had to respect him, but I couldn’t help myself, I got all aggrieved and said: “Where did you want me to put it?” Oh, he gave me such a kicking. He was proper furious.’
Mike had heard the story before but he was still laughing. Jack’s face became serious again.
‘You picked a shitty time to become a civilian, Mikey, even the fucking yuppies are moving out. You hear about the body of that girl they found?’
Mike shrugged. ‘It’s the Jack the Ripper theme park, isn’t it?’ he replied. ‘Every nutjob in the fucking country wants to pay tribute.’
Jack was looking at him thoughtfully, nodding.
‘I like that. That’s, what-cha-call-it…?’
‘Profound?’ Mike asked, his heart sinking. He saw where this was going.
‘Yeah, profound. Good word. Where is it, Mikey?’
‘Jack, don’t do this,’ Mike said shaking his head. Hamilton had his hand out.
Mike sighed, reached into the pocket of his battered leather jacket and handed Hamilton the book. Hamilton looked at the cover, frowned and then reached into the breast pocket of his suit and took out a pair of reading glasses and held them in front of his face. Those are new, Mike thought.
‘Who’s Descartes then? Sounds like a frog.’ Hamilton put the book down on the bar. Here it comes, Mike thought.
‘Wish I’d read more,’ Hamilton said quietly. ‘Particularly history, I love that stuff. You know I heard once that down here, in Victorian times, everyone was a criminal. I mean they all had legit jobs but everyone, and I mean everyone, had something on the side. Had to, if they wanted to feed their family. Know what a dollymop is?’ Mike did, but he shook his head. ‘A part-time prostitute. You think on that. Imagine you’re a wife and a mother but sometimes you have to go out and sell yourself just to make ends meet. It’s going to get like that again, I reckon. You keep your Sarah close and you look after her. She’s a good one, son. You needed sorting out. You were breaking your mother’s heart. I almost had to step in, know what I mean?’ Mike swallowed hard. Thinking about his mum. The guilt. ‘You’re lucky Sarah saw something in you. Took the time. She may not like me or what I am…’ Mike started to protest. ‘Quiet. Sometimes I don’t like what I am. But you need anything, either of you, you just have to ask.’
Mike nodded.
‘Thanks Jack, that means a lot.’
‘And don’t you worry. I’ve texted her to let her know you’ll be late and that you’re with me.’ Then Jack started laughing. Mike felt his heart sink. I am so dead.
‘Hello Psycho, what’s this faggot shit?’ Mike bristled at the sound of the voice. He looked up as Davey Falconer picked up his book. Falconer was whip thin, with amphetamine eyes that looked yellow to Mike and a constantly moving jaw. His hair was slicked down with too much gel and, presumably aping Hamilton, he wore an expensive tailored suit. Saville Row can’t hide what a vicious little prick Davey Falconer is, Mike thought.
Falconer’s most defining feature, however, was the jagged scar on the right side of his face that climbed up his cheek to his temple. He’d tried to get people to call him Scarface, but it hadn’t taken. Mike was of the opinion that Davey wanted to take that scar out on the world.
‘Yeah, nothing screams homosexuality like literacy,’ Mike muttered.
‘What’s that supposed to fucking mean?’ Davey demanded. Hamilton was laughing. Mike just shook his head. ‘How much longer do I have to wait in the Jag, boss?’ Davey all but demanded.
‘Until I’m finished you cheeky little bastard,’ Hamilton told him, less than pleased. ‘I’m having a drink with young Mikey here.’
Davey looked at Mike. Mike could feel the other man’s resentful glare. He didn’t even want to look at him. His fingers tightened around the brandy glass.
‘I hear you’ve become a pussy now.’
‘That’s enough, Davey, go wait out in the car,’ Jack told the younger man.
‘You’re Sarah MacFadden’s wife now, yeah? Not a pussy, pussy-whipped more like.’