Velda had heard that several of the living vans had been damaged by the Teddy Boys but it wasn’t until she returned a while later from the fairground to check her own accommodation that she realised two of the support poles had been broken, the striped tent fabric ripped in places and the two red-and-green-painted front wheels of her van had been hit with such force by a lump hammer that they were buckled so that the van was unstable. Until repaired, it was not possible for it to be lived in.
As she was staring at it, worried about what she was going to do accommodation-wise, Gem came by. She was labouring under the weight of a huge cauldron-sized iron pot filled with gravy that one of the women had prepared for their collective Sunday dinner. She was going to put it with the rest of the food that was being laid out on long trestle tables that had been set out further down in the living van area. Witnessing Velda in such distress, she put the steaming pot down on the ground and put her arm around the big woman’s shoulders.
‘Soon have it back to rights, love, and as good as new. We didn’t escape either. Several of Sam’s rides were damaged and a couple of the dodgem cars are complete write-offs, but all our living vans escaped those louts’ attention, thank goodness. But don’t you worry, Velda, whatever help you need, you’ll get. You can’t live in your van until the wheels are fixed, though, so in the meantime you can come and stay with us. I hope you won’t mind the sofa but I’ll make it as comfortable as I can for you. One condition, mind, I shall expect a free tarot reading,’ she quipped in the hope of lightening the situation. Not that she ever would have a reading with Velda. It was the last thing she wanted. Velda had a gift for seeing into the past and present of those whose cards she was reading and Gem had a secret she wanted keeping that way.
Velda looked at her, panic-stricken, and blustered, ‘No, no, you’re full already with your family. I’ll be fine, honestly. I really appreciate you offering though. I can fix up a makeshift tent meanwhile.’
Gem frowned at her, bemused. Why would coming to stop with her for a short time land Velda in such a tizzy? She had thought her offer would have been jumped at; a proper home to stay in against a cold, draughty tent until her van was fixed. She must have misunderstood; it was her way of showing that she didn’t like the thought of imposing on them. ‘I’m not having you sleep in a tent for the next couple of days, Velda. No disrespect meant, but you’re not exactly a teenager. It still gets very chilly at night. You could end up with pneumonia. You’re coming to stay with us and that’s final. I’ll send one of the youngsters to crawl inside the van and fetch out what you need, some clothes or whatever to do you meantime.’
Ren had been lucky. Her stall and living van had escaped the eyes of the marauders so with no repairs of her own to see to, she was helping the Miller family repair their Hit The Moving Target stall which, at the moment, was minus its canopy. The props holding it up had been smashed through and the mechanism that moved the targets along that the punters tried to hit with the three balls their sixpence bought had received some damage.
Despite Donny ending their friendship, it still didn’t stop her being worried for him. How could she suddenly stop loving a man she had for so long? So, before she had even checked on her property, she surreptitiously went in search of him. She was gratified to spot him looking no worse for wear, in discussions with his parents over repairs to their stall which had received minor damage. As she turned to go to check her own, a memory returned from the previous night of the woman coming out of the club draped over a man, them both the worse for drink, who had resembled Donny’s wife Suzie so closely. As she progressed through the fairground to check on Donny’s welfare, she passed Suzie’s parents’ stall which had only received minor damage but she saw no sign of Suzie herself offering to lend them a hand. Maybe, though, she was helping the other women prepare the meal.
And then, as she was heading back to check on her own stall, Ren had seen her. She was walking brazenly through the stalls carrying a small suitcase, having obviously stayed out the night somewhere. What was most noticeable to Ren was that Suzie was wearing the same coat and shoes that she had seen her double wearing the previous night, coming out of the club draped over the man she was with. Looking like someone was one thing but wearing the same clothes too? The woman she had seen with the man had been Suzie after all.
Her thoughts tumbled then. Suzie must have excused herself a night away from her husband, telling him it was a girlfriend she was visiting, because she couldn't see Donny agreeing to her going out with another man. Suzie was cheating on Donny; there was no other explanation for what Ren had observed last night. How could Suzie do that to such a lovely man as Donny? He treated her like she was the most precious gift in the world and he absolutely adored her. If it was possible for a heart to weep, hers was weeping now. She felt so much sorrow for the man she loved more than life itself being treated so badly by his wife. It had almost destroyed her to watch and hear Donny pledge his love, body and worldly goods for life to another woman but her consolation had been that Donny was happy. But the thought of what this would do to him, she couldn’t bear. This would destroy him.
But what could she do? She could confront Suzie. Tell her she knew what she’d been up to and warn her that if she didn’t curb her ways then she would tell Donny. But then Suzie would just deny it. And, besides, Ren had no proof to support her accusation. This was just so awful. All she could hope was that this was just a one-time adultery on Suzie’s part. The fair was moving on in six days’ time, the town they were playing in next was twenty miles away, so Suzie would not be in a position to continue assignations with the man Ren had seen her with last night anyway.
Donny, unashamedly, did not hold back any of his emotions in showing his wife how glad he was to have her back. Suzie, in turn, gave an Oscar performance showing her husband how much she had missed him. To show him just how much she cared for him, she told him that she had planned a surprise for him on Saturday next. He had tried to wheedle a clue out of her as to what it could be but she had stuck firm; a surprise wouldn’t be a surprise if he knew what it was. Had he had any idea just what the surprise his wife had in store for him was, Donny would be totally shattered.
In the early hours of the following morning Sonny laid down the hand of cards with a satisfied flap. ‘Royal flush. Unless anyone can beat that then I think the pot is mine.’
The other five men around the table all threw their own hands in then with an amount of disgust. Stabbing out the nub end of his cigar into an overflowing ashtray, one exclaimed, ‘Fucking hell, Goodman, you haven’t won hardly a hand all night and then land the pot. You’re not Irish, are you?’
As he scooped up the pile of notes and coins, roughly four hundred pounds in total, small change for the other players but a king’s ransom to Sonny, he said, ‘I’d offer you a chance to win it back but it’s getting on for three and I’ve a nine o’clock meeting.’
‘Tomorrow night then. Here, same time,’ another man said as he swallowed back the dregs of whiskey from the bottom of a tumbler, then refilled his glass from the near-empty bottle on the table.
‘I can’t. You’ve cleaned me out tonight,’ said another man.
‘Yeah, me too,’ said another.
‘I’m heading back home tomorrow, so I can’t,’ said the third.
‘Then it’s just us three,’ said the man with the cigar.
Sonny nodded. ‘Fine with me.’
The room the game was being held in that Sonny had wangled himself a chair at was in the basement of a disused warehouse on the banks of the canal. Sonny scraped back his chair against the splintered wooden floor, stood up, went over to the coatstand by the door, a relic of when the warehouse used to be a thriving operation, unhooked his coat and pulled it on, then returned back to the table. ‘Same time, same place tomorrow night then.’ As he stuffed his winnings into his inside pocket, he addressed the table, ‘Been a pleasure, gentlemen.’
With that, he turned and left.
As soon as he left the building, he ran hell for leather down the weed-strewn rutted tow path towards the humpback bridge, steps at the side leading up to a road that would take him back into town, not slowing down until he arrived there in case the men he had just relieved of their money decided to come after him to reclaim it. The game had come in the nick of time for him as his finances had been running worryingly low as he’d been rather extravagant of late. Four hundred pounds would buy him a new topcoat, a couple of quality suits, three pairs of leather shoes, replenish his array of expensive aftershaves and still leave enough over to fund his fun for the next few weeks at least, should another game not come his way in the meantime.
Sonny had known as soon as he’d sat down at the table in the shabby room that two of the men around the table were card sharps. They clearly both believed Sonny was like the other three men; just businessmen having themselves some fun. They had no idea there was a third sharp at the table, the third being himself. Sonny had learned his tricks whilst growing up in the fairground from an array of experts who had made their living fleecing people out of their money with their packs of cards. Sonny had bided his time, letting the sharps believe that they were controlling the game, until the pot was of a substantial enough amount, then gone in for the kill and walked away with the lot. He had no intention of returning for a repeat tomorrow night. Now the men were warned, should he win the pot again it would probably end in violence, him receiving the worst of it and no money in his pocket for his troubles. Therefore, when he didn’t turn up tomorrow night, the men would come looking for him. It was extremely doubtful they would think to seek him in the fairground or recognise him out of his Raymond Goodman disguise but, regardless, it would be prudent of him to lie low until he was a safe distance away in the next town the fair was heading for as a precautionary measure.
The next night, at just after eleven, Sonny had just shut the door of his living van and flicked on the lights, intending to pour himself a nightcap, relax back in his chair and listen to some late evening music on the wireless, when he felt a thwack on the back of his head, then everything blacked out. When his vision swam back into focus, he found himself slumped in his armchair and it took him a moment to realise that a man was sitting in the chair opposite and another man, tall and broad with the battered face of an ex-boxer, was standing by the side of him, glaring at him menacingly.
The man sitting cross-legged in the chair was small, no more than five foot five, barrel-shaped, aged in his sixties and with receding grey hair. He was dressed smartly in a grey suit and tie, a dark overcoat draped around his shoulders. First impressions were that he was the kindly grandfather sort but then his eyes told Sonny that he certainly wasn’t. They were cold, hard; the sort that warned whoever looked into them he was not a man to cross if you valued your life.
Only for a second did Sonny wonder why a man like him was paying him a visit but then his stomach lurched as it struck him forcefully that those two sharps last night weren’t working for themselves but were in the pay of this man, who obviously wasn’t at all happy that his men had returned, unable to hand him his cut of their spoils. Those two sharps had played a good part, not giving Sonny any clue they weren’t playing for themselves but on behalf of a much larger outfit. A crooked game was one thing, but an organised crime one where only the criminals left the table with any money in their pockets, and the rest of the players with physical damage to them when money they had won had been taken forcefully back from them, Sonny would never have gotten involved in. What he couldn’t understand though was why those sharps had let him walk away with that pot last night and not relieved him of it there and then. It seemed he was about to find out.
Rubbing his smarting head, Sonny demanded,‘Who the hell are you?’
The man smiled and said evenly, ‘Well, you’re not who you say you are, are you? Raymond Goodman. Does he actually exist?’
Sonny eyed him warily. ‘What do you want?’
‘The four hundred you fleeced off my men last night for a start.’
Sonny snapped, ‘I won that fair and square.’
‘Hardly. My men are pros, but whatever tricks you used they hadn’t come across before.’
‘So I take it you’re here to collect. Why didn’t your men just have me jumped last night and relieved of it?’
‘Normally they would have, but you led them to believe there were richer spoils to be had so they decided to follow you to see which hotel you were staying in, to then return in the morning and clean you out before you returned from your meeting.’ He paused for a moment to light a fat cigar and blow a large plume of foul-smelling smoke into the air. ‘Only they were quite surprised when it wasn’t some posh hotel you returned to, but here.’ He took a slow look around the living van before bringing steely hard eyes back to rest on Sonny. ‘Not exactly the Ritz, is it?’
Sonny shuffled in his seat. It was one thing himself invading flatties’ homes, enjoying their hospitality whilst knowing they would have him hung, drawn and quartered should they discover just what member of society they were inviting in, but outsiders invading his home, knowing exactly who he was and how they felt about his likes, was another matter. This man was the sort that wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep should he decide to make an example of Sonny, leaving him fighting for his life or, worse, dead. ‘Look, no argument from me, I’ll get you the money. If I’d have known it was a professional game I would have steered clear. I expect you’re a busy man and have more important places to be.’
The man held his hand up. ‘Not so fast. I never discuss business without a drink. Jonathon, do the honours.’
The brute’s name was Jonathon! Had Sonny not been so frightened, he would have laughed. A bottle of cognac was on a shelf in the kitchen area, along with a couple of glasses. ‘Business? What business could you have with me except to get your money? As you can see, I’m just a fair worker.’
The man leaned forward and eyed Sonny darkly. ‘Did you not listen to me? I said I do not talk business without a drink.’
It was only his boss Jonathon got a drink for and, despite the fact he could desperately do with one, Sonny felt it prudent to stay put.
Drink in hand, the man took a gulp, swilling it around his mouth before he swallowed it. ‘Not a bad drop. Obviously you do well for yourself. Now, that business I referred to. There are times I need a safe place for keeping certain items for a length of time, somewhere the filth wouldn’t think to search.’
Sonny eyed the man quizzically. ‘This is a travelling fair, we’re never in the same place for longer than a week, a fortnight at the most. I can’t see how that would…’
The man’s eyes darkened thunderously and he smashed a fist hard down on the arm of the chair, making Sonny jump. ‘The reason I’m who I am and you’re just a pleb is because I’ve got brains. A fair is the perfect cover because you do move around. The police believe we like to keep our loot where we can keep our eye on it so wouldn’t dream of thinking we’d ever let it out of our sight. But I won’t have any trouble worrying over my goods being out of my sight until I come to collect when I’m ready to as they’ll be kept very safe and secure, won’t they?’
He was leaving Sonny in no doubt that should anything that was left in his safekeeping not be available when it came time to collect, just what would happen to him. ‘Yes, yes, course they will be, Mr er…’
The man sat back and smiled as he took another sip of his drink and a draw from his cigar. ‘Glad we understand each other. I want a list of the places the fair is playing in for the rest of the season and where it holes up over winter. Just expect a visit from a representative of mine at any time, understand.’
Sonny didn’t like this state of affairs one little bit. What if the police did get wind of this arrangement? But then, as matters stood, it seemed he wasn’t in any position to refuse. ‘What do I get out of it?’
He flashed his gold tooth at Sonny with a smile. ‘You’ll get your cut when the goods are handed over to my representative.’
Sonny supposed that was something. ‘And what about last night’s winnings?’
He thought on that for a moment before he responded, ‘Well, whatever way you did it, you won it. I’ll just take the same cut as I would have done from those two clots had you not outwitted them. Half.’
Sonny had thought he’d end up with nothing for all his troubles so half was better than he’d hoped for. He looked over at Jonathon, then back at the man in the chair. ‘Alright if I go and fetch your share?’
‘Go with him, Jonathon.’
The man and his minder left straight after Sonny had handed him his money and his parting words to him were that someone would be in touch very soon.
A while later Sonny had finished the whole bottle of cognac that had been almost three-quarters full before the crime boss and his henchman had arrived. He couldn’t believe what he’d gone and gotten himself involved in. Pinching a wallet, cash lying around or thieving some jewellery he could pawn from someone’s house he’d gotten himself invited into was one thing. Sonny suspected that the man wanted him to hide items of great value, high on Wanted lists by police. He had no choice in this matter though, it was do as the man said or risk ending up in a concrete coffin on a building site.
But just where would he hide the man’s goods? The hiding place would have to be inside his van as far too many people had access to anywhere else in the fair. But where was he going to find a place inside his van to hide goods? Bleary-eyed, he slowly looked around before his eyes came to rest on the arch leading into his bedroom. Then a slow smile kinked his lips. He knew just the perfect place to hide the man’s goods and, should they be uncovered in the meantime, it wouldn’t be him that paid the price.