He’d given the fucker long enough.
You must be gettin’ soft in yer old age, Tiggie, he had said to himself.
Nah. No chance of that. It was just, he knew the longer you left it to call in a debt, the more power you had over the debtor when you finally went knocking on their door. Because one thing Tiggie Benson would bet his shirt on was that Sir Aidan La-di-da Fonthill had not forgotten. No more than he, Tiggie, had.
It was a seed of fear planted in the fucker’s brain. It would have grown to quite a tree by now. Spreading its roots and stretching its branches, cutting off the sunlight of hope, taking all the goodness out of the soil.
Or summink.
Tiggie was not much of a one for gardening. But he did know about fear. He knew how to scare the shit out of a cunt like Fonthill.
It was easy.
You just had to wait.
Mind you, this weather was giving him the right royal hump. Relentless, it was.
But it was something to stand like a statue in it. And the harder it was to do it, the more afraid Fonthill would be. And the more afraid Fonthill was, the better for Tiggie.
Still, his ears were getting cold. Something other than rain was dripping from the end of his nose. If he ended up catching pneumonia on account of this cunt, then he would make the fucker pay twice over.
So maybe it was time.
And if the fucker wouldn’t come to the Tiggie, the Tiggie would go to the fucker.
Or summink.
Tiggie wasn’t much of a one for sayings.
He had just made his mind up to make his move when the door to Fonthill’s house opened and the fucker himself poked his head out.
It was funny. It had been several months now since the game, but Tiggie knew it was the man he was looking for immediately, even across the street, even with the hard, icy rain between them.
Fonthill’s face was pinched and anxious. Afraid, Tiggie acknowledged with a glow of satisfaction. Shit-scared, he might even say. All the better.
Fonthill beckoned to him hurriedly.
Naturally, Tiggie took his time crossing the road.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Ain’t you going to invite me in? It’s not very nice out here.’ Though it was somewhat drier standing under the stone canopy jutting out above Sir Aidan’s front door than it had been out in the street. And Tiggie was under no illusions that Fonthill would let him across the threshold. Still, he enjoyed pushing the toff’s buttons. He pointedly peered over Fonthill’s shoulder, taking in the well-appointed interior with a larcenous gaze.
‘Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can say here.’
‘You know what I’ve got to say. You owe me seven hundred quid.’
‘Seven hundred! It was more like five hundred.’
‘It was five hundred and sixty-two pounds, thirteen shillings. I let you off the six pence, if you remember.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yeah, well, you’re forgetting about interest, aincha.’
‘Nobody said anything about interest.’
‘Nobody said anyfin’ abah you keeping’ me waitin’ all this time.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sorry about that, but as I explained at the time …’
‘You got my money? You pay me now, we’ll call it six hundred.’
‘I don’t have it. Of course I don’t have it.’
‘Wha’ about your missus? She in? Shall I have a word with ’er indoors about it?’
‘No! Now look here. You leave my wife out of this.’
‘No, no, no. It don’ work like that. It don’ work wiv you tellin’ me do this, don’ do that. You owe me, my friend. That means until you pay me, I own you.’
‘I’ll get you your money. You have my word as a gentleman.’
Oh, Gawd! That was funny. Tiggie thought he’d never stop laughing at that. But suddenly he did. Suddenly it wasn’t funny at all. ‘Your word as a fuckin’ gen’lman ain’ worth fuck all to me, chummy. Your word as a fuckin’ gen’lman? Wha’ the fuck am I gonna do with tha’? You’ve got to be fuckin’ jokin’ aincha?’
Fonthill glanced nervously back over his shoulder, where it was all warm and cosy. Tiggie followed his line of sight, and heard children’s laughter, feet drumming rapidly across floorboards upstairs.
‘Got kiddies, ’ave yer? Li’l ’uns?’
Fonthill’s eyes widened in alarm. It was a look Tiggie recognized and thrived on.
The happy sounds continued, and in fact grew louder. A door slammed somewhere. There was an excited cackle. Thunderous pounding. A moment later, Tiggie’s question was answered when a boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs, propelled by the force of his hilarity. The boy looked up and met Tiggie’s eye. A look of wonder came over the boy’s face.
Tiggie raised his hand and waved.
Fonthill turned again. ‘Go back upstairs, John.’
But John could not tear his eyes away from Tiggie.
‘Now!’ snapped Fonthill.
At last the boy turned and threw himself back upstairs as if his life depended on it.
‘In the East End, where I come from, I ’earda ’ard-up mothers selling their li’l ’uns for cash. You know ’ow it is, too many mouths to feed an’ all that. You’d be surprised what some toffs like you would pay for a scrawny underfed nipper from Whitechapel. Or maybe you wun’.’ Tiggie gave Fonthill a hard stare. ‘I dare say I could get you a decent price for one of yours.’
Fonthill made to shut the door in his face, but Tiggie was too quick for him, jamming his boot in the way. Tiggie leant forward to whisper through the gap. ‘One way or another, you’ll pay.’
‘I-I’ll get the money. I promise.’
‘You will, will ya? Now why do I find that hard to believe? See, if you could get the money, I think you woulda got it me already. Doanchoo?’
The silence that came in response was more eloquent than any words.
‘Now listen. Listen. I din’ come ’ere just to give you grief. I don’ wan’ one of your children, tho’ if you was prepared to part wiv one of ’em – girl or boy, don’ matter – well, we migh’ come to some arrangement.’ Tiggie felt the pressure on his foot increase as Fonthill leant harder in on the door. ‘’Old up, ’old up! I know you prob’ly don’ wanna. So I ain’ even gonna ask. Not for now. We’ll call that security, like wiv a bank. You know wha’ I’m talkin’ abah’? If I need to, I can always call it in. But for now, we won’ even talk abah’ it. Forget I mentioned it. Instead, I got a differen’ proposal. Your word as a gen’lman ain’t much use to me, I tell you that much. But if you take this door off my right foot, I’ll tell you wha’ is.’
There was a moment where Tiggie could almost hear the cogs in the fucker’s brain turning. Then slowly the door eased open and he was free to move his foot again.