The Thousand Faces of Night (1961) Page 4

  'You're learning, Papa,' Marlowe said. 'It's the same problem, and the solution is always the same. You've got to fight. If he uses force, use more force. If he starts playing it dirty, then you've got to play it dirtier.'

  'But that's horrible. We aren't living in a jungle.' Maria had come quietly back into the room and spoke from just inside the door.

  Marlowe raised his glass to her and grinned cynically. 'It's life. You either survive or go under.'

  Papa Magellan had turned to face them. For a moment he looked searchingly at Marlowe, and then he said, 'That job you're looking for. Why go to Birmingham? You can have one right here working in Kennedy's place.'

  Marlowe swallowed the rest of his brandy and considered the idea. It was just what he was looking for. A job in a quiet country town where nobody knew him. He could lie low for a few weeks, and then return to London to pick up the money when all the fuss had died down. After that, Ireland. There were ways and means if you knew the right people.

  The whole idea sounded very attractive, but there was the added complication of the trouble with O'Connor. If that got too messy the police would step in. Contact with the police was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

  He put down his glass carefully. 'I don't know, Papa. I'd have to think it over.'

  'What's the matter? Are you afraid?' Maria said bitingly.

  Her father waved a hand at her impatiently. 'You could stay here, son. You could have Pedro's old room.'

  For several moments there was a silence while they waited for him to answer. The old man was trembling with eagerness, but the girl seemed quiet and withdrawn. Marlowe looked at her steadily for several moments, but she gave no sign of what she hoped his decision would be. As he looked at her she blushed and frowned slightly, and he knew that she didn't like him.

  He half smiled and turned back to the old man. 'Sorry, Papa. I'm all for a quiet life, and it sounds to me as if you're in for quite a party in the near future.'

  Magellan's face crumpled in disappointment and his shoulders sagged. All at once he was an old man again. A very old man. 'Sure, I understand, son,' he said. 'It's a lot to ask a man.'

  Maria moved over beside him quickly and slipped a hand round his shoulders. 'Don't worry, Papa. We'll manage.' She smiled proudly at Marlowe. 'My father had no right to ask you, Mr Marlowe. This is our quarrel. We can look after ourselves.'

  Marlowe forced a smile to hide the quick fury that moved inside him. He was seething with anger, and mostly it was against himself. For the first time in years he felt ashamed. 'We can look after ourselves,' she said. An old man, a young girl. He wondered just how long they would last when O'Connor's tough boys moved in and really cracked down on them.

  He reached for his coat and kept his face steady. Whatever happened he wasn't going to get involved. All he had to do was keep his nose clean and lie low for a couple of weeks and there was a fortune waiting for him. A man would be a fool to risk everything after five years of blood and sweat. And for what? For an old man and a girl he'd known for precisely an hour.

  He buttoned his coat and said, 'Maybe I'd better be leaving after all.'

  Before Magellan could reply there was the sound of a truck turning into the yard outside. It halted at the door and the engine died. 'It must be Bill,' Maria said, and there was excitement in her voice. 'I wonder if he's had any luck?'

  The outside door rattled and steps dragged along the corridor. A figure appeared in the doorway and stood there, swaying slightly. He was a young man of medium size wearing a leather jacket and corduroy cap. His fleshy, good-natured face was drawn and white with pain. One of his eyes was disfigured by a livid bruise, and his mouth was badly swollen, with blood caking a nasty gash in one cheek.

  'Bill!' Maria said in a horrified voice. 'What is it? What have they done to you?'

  Johnson moved forward unsteadily and sank down into a chair while Papa Magellan quickly poured brandy into a glass and handed it to him. Marlowe stood in the background quietly watching.

  'Who beat you up, boy?' Magellan demanded grimly. 'O'Connor's men?'

  Johnson swallowed his brandy and gulped. He appeared to find difficulty in speaking. Finally he said, 'Yes, it was that big chap, Blackie Monaghan. I went round the shops like you told me, and it worked fine. I got rid of all the stuff for cash.' He pulled a bundle of banknotes out of his jacket pocket and tossed them on to the table. 'One or two people told me they weren't interested. I think someone must have tipped O'Connor off.'

  He paused again and closed his eyes as if he was on the point of passing out. Marlowe had been watching him closely. A cynical grin curled the corners of his mouth. Johnson had been slapped around a little, but nothing like as badly as he was trying to make out. He was over-dramatizing the whole thing, and there had to be a reason.

  'Go on, son,' Magellan said sympathetically. 'Tell us what happened then.'

  'I was having a cup of tea in the transport cafe just this side of Barford on the Birmingham road. Monaghan came in with a couple of young toughs that hang around with him. They always turn up at the Plaza on Saturday nights after the pubs close, causing trouble. Monaghan followed me outside and picked a fight. Said I'd been messing around with his girl at the dance last Saturday night.'

  'Is that true?' Magellan asked.

  Johnson shook his head. 'I didn't even know what he was talking about. I tried to argue with him, but he knocked me down. One of his friends kicked me in the face, but Monaghan stopped him and said I'd had enough. He told me I'd stay out of Barford if I knew what was good for me.'

  Magellan shook his head in bewilderment. 'Why this?' he said. 'I don't understand?'

  Marlowe laughed shortly. 'It's the old tactics, Papa. Officially this has nothing to do with O'Connor's feud with you. It's just a coincidence that Johnson works for you.'

  Maria's face was white with anger. 'We must go to the police,' she said. 'He can't get away with this.'

  Marlowe shrugged. 'Why not? If Johnson went to the police what good would it do? It wouldn't touch O'Connor. Monaghan would be fined a couple of pounds for common assault and that would be that.'

  'I don't want to go to the police,' Johnson interrupted, and there was alarm in his voice.

  Papa Magellan frowned. 'Why not, son? You could have the satisfaction of seeing Monaghan in court, at least.'

  Johnson got up. All at once he seemed capable of standing without swaying. His voice was a little shrill as he said, 'I don't want any more trouble. I don't want to get mixed up in this any further. I didn't know it was going to be like this.' His face was stained with fear, and there was a crack in his voice. 'I'm sorry, Mr Magellan. You've been pretty good to me, but I'll have to look for another job.' He stood there, twisting the cap between his hands. 'I won't be in tomorrow.'

  There was a moment of shocked silence, and Maria turned away, stifling a sob. Magellan reached out blindly for support, his whole body sagging so that he looked on the point of collapse.

  Marlowe found himself reaching for the old man, supporting him with his strong arms, easing him down into a chair. 'Don't worry, Papa,' he said. 'It's going to be all right. Everything's going to be fine.'

  He straightened up and looked at Johnson. Shame was beginning to replace the look of fear on the other's face, and then that terrible, uncontrollable anger that he was powerless to control, lifted inside Marlowe. He surged forward and grabbed Johnson by the throat and shook him like a rat. 'You dirty, yellow little swine,' he raged. 'I'll give you something you really will remember.'

  He flung Johnson out into the hall with all his force. The man lost his balance and fell to the floor. As Marlowe advanced towards him he scrambled to his feet gibbering with fear, and then Maria grabbed at Marlowe's hair, wrenching back his head. She slapped him across the face and screamed, 'Stop it! Hasn't there been enough of this for one day?'

  As Marlowe raised an arm to brush her away, Papa Magellan ducked through the door, suddenly active, and clutching Johnson by the
shoulder pushed him towards the outside door. 'Go on, get out of here for God's sake!' he said. Johnson threw one terrified look over his shoulder and scrambled through the door and out into the fog.

  There was quiet except for Marlowe's heavy breathing. Maria was not crying this time. Her face was flushed and her eyes were flashing. 'What is wrong with you?' she demanded fiercely. 'Do you want to hang some day? Can't you control yourself? Is your answer to everything violence?'

  Marlowe stirred and looked down at her. He swallowed hard and said, 'When I was a kid my father wanted me to be a doctor. He was a wages clerk, so I had to be a doctor. I didn't want to be one, but that didn't make any difference. He beat me all the way through school until one day, when I was seventeen, I discovered I was stronger than he was. I slammed him on the jaw and left home.'

  He fumbled for a cigarette with shaking hands and continued. 'There was a Chinese officer in charge of the prisoners at that coal mine they sent me to in Manchuria. Li, they called him. A little name for a little man. He had a complex about his size, so he didn't like me because I was big. I used to work in a low level, up to my knees in freezing water, for twelve hours a day. Sometimes if he didn't think I'd worked hard enough, he used to leave me in there all night when the others were brought up. I still get dreams about that. He used to turn up in the middle of the night and call down the shaft to me, his voice echoing along the passage. Other times he'd have me strung up and he'd beat me with a pick handle.'

  Maria was crying softly, her head shaking from side to side. 'No more. Please, no more.'

  Marlowe ignored her and went on. 'And what have I learned from all this? I'll tell you. It's quite simple really.' He raised a clenched fist. 'This! This is what counts. The boot and the fist. I've been shoved around by someone or other all my life. My father, Captain Li, O'Connor, or Monaghan. They're all the same breed, and they can only be handled in one way.'

  She turned away blindly, and Magellan moved forward and put a hand on Marlowe's arm. There was a great pity in his face. 'I know what it's like to have a devil on your shoulder, but he's the one you've got to fight. Not the rest of the world.'

  Marlowe nodded wearily. 'I think I'll have that bath now, Papa. I could do with it.'

  He moved forward and paused, one foot on the bottom stair. 'Another thing, Papa. That job you were talking about. If it's still open I'll take it. O'Connor is beginning to annoy me. He reminds me of someone I once knew.'

  The old man smiled, his whole face coming alive, and he nodded. 'That's fine, son. You go and have that bath and we'll talk about it afterwards.'

  Marlowe turned and started to climb the stairs. His whole body was full of an inexpressible weariness. Already he was beginning to regret his decision, but he was committed to it. Whatever happened now he would not go back on his given word. He felt as if some strong force had him in its grip and was bearing him swiftly along to an unknown destination.

  He shrugged and a half-smile came to his mouth. What the hell. He wasn't scared of O'Connor or Monaghan or any of them. His smile changed into a wide grin as he went into the bathroom. He felt almost sorry for O'Connor. He was certainly in for a hell of a surprise.

  4

  The morning was cold with no rain, and a trace of mist hung over the fields behind the house as Marlowe crossed the yard towards the old barn. He could hear voices inside, and he paused for a moment on the threshold to light a cigarette before going in.

  Cold, clammy air enveloped him like a shroud, and he shivered. The place was brightly illuminated by several bulbs strung from an electric cable, and Maria Magellan and an old man were busy loading boxes and sacks on to a Bedford three-ton truck which stood in the centre of the barn. Two more were parked in the shadows down at the far end.

  As he moved forward the girl turned quickly. 'Good morning,' she said.

  'It's like an ice-box in here,' Marlowe told her.

  She shrugged. 'The walls are three feet thick. Just what we need to store fruit.' She moved towards a table that stood against the wall and lifted a metal pot from a small electric stove. 'Coffee?'

  He nodded briefly. 'Where's your father this morning?'

  'In bed.' She made a tiny grimace. 'Rheumatism, and he isn't very pleased about it. He gets an attack now and then when the weather turns damp. I'll probably have to lock his door to keep him inside.'

  He drank some of the scalding black coffee and grunted with pleasure as its warmth moved through him. He nodded towards the truck and the old man, still busy loading boxes. 'You keep early hours.'

  'You have to in this game if you want to make a living,' she said.

  'You should have awakened me and I'd have given you a hand,' he told her.

  'Oh, don't worry,' she said. 'I shall do another morning. Just breaking you in gently.'

  The old man approached, his gnarled hand busy with a pipe and tobacco pouch. He was wearing a greasy corduroy cap and an ancient patched suit. He looked seventy at least. 'That's the lot, Miss Maria,' he said in a cracked voice. 'I'll go over to the greenhouse now.'

  Maria smiled warmly. 'All right, Dobie. Breakfast at nine.' He turned to go and she added quickly, 'Oh, Dobie, this is Hugh Marlowe. He's going to drive for us.'

  The old man looked at Marlowe with vacant, watery eyes and nodded. Then he turned away, lighting his pipe as he went, and disappeared into the grey morning.

  'Is he much use?' Marlowe asked. 'He looked pretty old to be still doing a day's work.'

  Maria poured herself a cup of coffee and shrugged. 'If he stopped working he'd die. He's that kind of man. Anyway, he knows more about market gardening than any man I know. We wouldn't be without him.'

  Marlowe helped himself to more coffee. 'He's still too old to be humping sacks of potatoes on to trucks. Another morning wake me.'

  Her eyes flashed angrily. 'Don't worry, Mr Marlowe. I'll see you earn your money.'

  He grinned and lit another cigarette. 'I'll earn it all right.'

  He moved towards the truck and lifted the tailboard into place. 'What do I do with this lot?'

  'One of two things,' she told him. 'Either sell the stuff at the market or go round the shops like Bill Johnson did yesterday.'

  'Is there any point in going to the market?' he said. 'I thought O'Connor had everything sewed up there.'

  She nodded. 'Just about, but there's one independent wholesaler left. Old Sam Granby. He's been ill for a long time and his nephew Tom has been in charge. Tom's mixed up with O'Connor, but the old man isn't. We heard yesterday that he might be back today. It's worth a try.'

  Marlowe nodded. 'I'd better get cracking then.'

  She frowned and took a slip of paper from her pocket. 'I nearly forgot this,' she said. Marlowe examined the paper. It was a list of various kinds of fruits and vegetables with prices marked beside them. 'You mustn't go below those prices,' she explained, 'otherwise we shan't make a profit.'

  Marlowe grinned. 'That wouldn't do at all,' he said. 'Don't worry. I'll get the price you want.'

  She took an old fur-lined jeep coat from a cupboard and threw it across to him. 'You'd better put it on,' she said. 'It can get pretty cold in the cab of that truck.'

  He pulled on the coat and climbed up behind the wheel. As he slammed the door she moved a little nearer and added, 'Don't forget, Marlowe. Stay out of trouble.'

  He pulled the starter and the engine roared into life. He grinned mockingly at her. 'Don't worry about me, angel. I hate trouble.'

  Disbelief showed clearly on her face, and he released the handbrake and drove out into the yard before she could reply.

  The journey into Barford took just under half an hour. For most of the way he drove with the side window down, the cool morning breeze fanning his cheek. He felt no particular anxiety about what might happen when he reached the market even though it was probable that Kennedy had already reported the happenings of the previous day to O'Connor.

  The streets of Barford were quiet and deserted, but when he drove into the large
cobbled square in the centre of the town he found thirty or forty trucks and vans parked. The place was a hive of activity and noise, with men passing rapidly between the vehicles pushing large handcarts loaded with produce.

  Half-way along the south side of the square on the corner of a narrow street a large warehouse lifted into the sky. A yellow painted board stretched high across the face of the building carrying the legend: 'Inter-Allied Trading Corporation'. A few yards farther along on the same side of the square a faded wooden board indicated the premises of Sam Granby.

  Marlowe parked the truck not far from O'Connor's place and threaded his way through the busy crowd of porters. There was a small loading ramp outside Sam Granby's warehouse, and as he walked towards it he saw Kennedy leaning against the large double door that led into the interior of the building, smoking a cigarette.

  Kennedy's face was badly marked and his lips were bruised and swollen to several times their normal size. As Marlowe mounted the steps that led up on to the loading ramp Kennedy recognized him. For a moment he stared at Marlowe in astonishment and then an expression of fear came into his eyes. He turned and darted into the interior of the building. Marlowe paused long enough to light a cigarette and then followed him in.

  Inside the warehouse several men worked busily packing apples into wooden boxes. There was a glass-fronted office at the top of a flight of old-fashioned iron stairs in one corner and Kennedy was clearly visible as he talked excitedly to someone who was sitting down.

  Marlowe mounted the stairs and opened the door of the office. There were two other men present besides Kennedy. The one who sat behind the desk was young and dark haired with sharp, crafty eyes. The other reclined in an old easy chair, the springs of which sagged dangerously. He was the fattest man Marlowe had ever seen, with a great, fleshy face that carried an expression of perpetual good humour and candid blue eyes that sparkled merrily.