The Razor Queen took several quick steps in our direction, flipping out the blade of her cut-throat razor as she walked.
Bernie looked up and jumped when he caught sight of her.
“Keep still… or I’ll cut your throat,” she said in her thin, childlike voice. “And I ought to do that anyway! They told me you’d brought my ape here to murder it!”
Flashes of anger played in her ice-blue eyes, but instead of carrying out her threat, she told Bernie to take off his belt and give his end of the chain to her.
Bernie didn’t move.
“Do as I say!” she snapped, going up to him and pointing the razor at his face. “The ape is mine! Only mine! And I’m going to take it home with me.”
Bernie still didn’t move. That made her unsure, and she turned to me.
“Stand up, Lizzy!” she commanded. “That will be your name 409from now on. Lizzy is a name that I like. I want you to undo the chain from that big idiot’s belt!”
I looked at her and to my surprise I wasn’t in the least afraid. It was as if I’d suddenly said goodbye to fear. Instead of obeying the Razor Queen’s command, I patted the paving stone beside me to show she could sit there if she wanted to.
At first she was confused. Then she became angry and her small knuckles clenched the handle of the razor so tight that they went white. But when she saw that waving that nasty weapon about was having no effect, she just stood there with confusion written all over her doll-like little face.
I patted the ground alongside me once more. Looking round quickly as if worried someone was watching us, she folded the blade of the razor and, rather hesitantly, sat down by me.
So there we sat—me, Bernie and the Razor Queen—shoulder to shoulder, and after a little while I felt her hand on my arm. She was carefully stroking my fur. When I turned to look at her, I saw her face wrinkle up in disappointment.
“Your fur,” she said, “it’s very coarse, isn’t it? It’s nothing like as soft as I expected.”
At that moment a sharp light lit up the night sky. It was followed by the deep, dull thud of an explosion that resounded under the bridge.
What on earth was that? 410
The Razor Queen was the first to be on her feet. She stood still and listened as Bernie and I got up.
There were more sounds. An angry chattering echoed under the arch. I recognized the sound at once—I’d heard it no more than a few hours earlier.
It was the chatter of a tommy gun.
The Razor Queen walked hurriedly along the quay. When she was clear of the bridge, she came to a halt and looked across to the north side of the river. Then she began to run up the steep stone steps.
Bernie and I followed her and that’s when we saw a cloud of grey smoke rising towards the sky.
We hastened up to the road bridge where we joined the Razor Queen. She was standing there, her bright blue eyes fixed intently on something in the distance.
The smoke was rising from the house on Oswald Street!
I knew at once what had happened: Tommy Tarantello and his men had struck back at Moira!
“Cod-Eye!” the Razor Queen murmured beneath her breath.
She rushed out over the bridge towards the fire and the gunshots.
A second dull explosion was followed almost immediately by several bursts of tommy-gun fire. Blue flames erupted through one of the windows. 411
The Razor Queen had reached the high point of the bridge by then, her pale face picked out by a streetlamp. Then I lost sight of her.
Several cars had stopped at the crossroads and people came running out to see what was happening. Bernie stood beside me, staring open-mouthed at the fire and the smoke.
“But Moira… Moira,” he muttered. “Moira will be burnt.”
Somehow, I knew what he would do next, and as Bernie was about to rush off towards the Oswald Street house, I threw my long arms around him. He didn’t even notice. He even managed a couple of lumbering steps dragging me with him.
“Moira!” he panted. “Moira!”
I had time to wrap one arm round two of the uprights supporting the railings of the bridge and so stop Bernie going any farther. He turned round and took hold of the chain with both hands as if he intended to pull it free. Only then did he seem to notice that it was still looped tight around my neck. He stopped and stood there, uncertain what to do. Then his face twisted in despair as all his strength and determination suddenly deserted him. I quickly took him by the arm and led him back over the bridge. Away from the burning house.
412The only thought in my mind was to find a safe hiding place. Somewhere neither gangsters nor police would find us.
I aimed for the run-down tenements that backed the wharves opposite the Broomielaw. While I was looking for a covered alleyway or an outhouse in which we could hide, a chill drizzle had begun to fall. We could hear the sound of sirens from the other side of the river.
Eventually we struck lucky. We found an unlocked washhouse in one of the back courtyards. Someone must have done their washing that evening as the hearth under the washtub was still warm.
In one corner we found a couple of dirty mats to lie on and Bernie curled up, his face hidden in his hands. After a while, his breathing told me that he’d fallen asleep.
I stayed awake. The first thing I did was free myself from the chain and, after that, I set about coming up with a plan of some sort.
What I really wanted to do was take myself and Bernie out to Li Jing in Gourock, but train tickets to get there were fairly expensive and neither Bernie nor I had any money.
Was there anyone else we could rely on? Skipper Simmons, maybe… though it didn’t seem very likely that he would still be in the city.
But then it came to me. All of a sudden, I knew how we could get out of Glasgow.