Harry sauntered into Petticoat Lane next Saturday morning. It was a bright September day and he was feeling at one with the world. He’d finished an early shift at the docks and had the rest of the day ahead of him. In his pocket was a gold bracelet he’d ‘found’ in a bombed-out house in Kensington, probably lost in the flight of its owner. It was a heavy chain with a coiled snake as a clasp. It came from an affluent area, so he had hopes of it fetching a good price. He had thought of taking it in to Mr Ing, but decided against. It wasn’t that Mr Ing didn’t recognise the provenance of the pieces Harry brought him – he knew perfectly well they were stolen – but business was tough and he asked no questions. However, last time Harry had approached him, with a locket on a chain, Mr Ing had shaken his head.
‘No, young man, can’t take that. Too recognisable. Rozzers been watching my window.’
It was warning enough. Harry had taken the locket away and hadn’t been back since. He had sold it to Mikey Sharp for, he knew, a fraction of its true worth, but even so it had put a decent amount of cash into his pocket and had given him some more capital for his black market trade. The gold bracelet, too, was distinctive, but he thought he’d get a reasonable price from Mikey. Mikey had the contacts to sell it on quickly and discreetly and still make a tidy profit himself.
As he walked between the stalls he didn’t notice a young lad, known as Snout, keeping pace with him. Harry was thinking about Lisa, seeing her again this evening. Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, he was longing to see her. He’d take her to the Palais and they would dance, and afterwards...?
He’d decided he’d buy her a present today. He’d never given her the blue bead bracelet he’d bought before she’d disappeared, but he wasn’t intending to give her that, he could afford something much better now, especially if he could sell Mikey the gold bracelet in his pocket.
‘The Jew-boy’s in the market,’ Snout reported to Ginger Allsop, Mikey’s number two. Ginger nodded.
‘Keep your eye on him, Snout. Mikey wants to know where he goes and what he does.’
The lad scampered off and soon picked up Harry again as he was inspecting some jewellery on a stall. He’d seen a brooch he thought Lisa would like; a silver butterfly with delicate filigree wings. It was expensive, but, Harry decided, he would come back and buy it when he’d done his deal with Mikey.
Ginger Allsop headed for the Black Bull and found Mikey sitting, as usual, in the back bar.
‘Jew-boy’s in the market,’ he said.
Mikey gave a wolfish grin. ‘Is he now? And where’s Parker?’
‘Haven’t seen him, Mikey.’
‘Well, bloody well go and find him! What’s the use of a tame copper if he ain’t around when you need him?’
‘What’ll I tell him?’
‘Tell him to keep watch. If the Jew comes here to sell me something I shall turn him down, tell ’im I’m thinking about it. When he goes back out into the street, that’s when Brenda does her bit and Parker arrests him, OK?’ He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Did Snout follow him last time he was here?’
‘Yeah, he lives in a room down the docks, but his stuff is stashed in a burnt-out in Shoreditch.’
‘OK. Stay away from here now and don’t let him see you if he comes here looking for me, right?’
‘Right, boss.’
‘But you lot be ready. If he makes a break for it, an’ he will, let ’im go.’
‘Let ’im go?’
Mikey leaned forward and very softly, told Ginger of his plan. Ginger grinned. ‘OK, boss, I’m on it.’
Ginger hurried back out into the Lane. It was a warm day and it was very busy. The crowds were out, strolling through the market, looking both for true bargains and for stuff from under the counter, but Snout was looking out for him and it wasn’t long before Ginger, too, could see Harry Black wandering among the stalls.
‘You know that rozzer what stands by the church at the end of the lane?’ Ginger said to Snout. ‘PC Parker.’
‘Yeah, the bloke with the moustache.’
‘That’s ’im. Well, tell him to come to my stall, fast as he likes. Say Ginger sent you. OK?’
‘What about Jew-boy?’
‘I’ll take care of ’im. You fetch the cop.’
Harry kept his hand in his pocket all the time he was in the market and there was the bracelet, heavy and comforting in his hand. Too many pickpockets in a place like this, he thought. They wouldn’t dare touch anyone working for Mikey Sharp, but Harry wasn’t, not any more. Harry was his own man. He threaded his way between the Saturday crowds and went into the Bull. He bought himself a drink and sat at the bar for a while, watching and waiting. When he was quite sure no one was interested in him, he walked through to the back, knocked on the door and, without waiting for an answer, went in. He would never have dared do that in the early days, but now he was a player, a man with a business of his own, Mikey’s equal.
‘Harry boy!’ Mikey greeted him with a grin. ‘Good to see you, mate. Drink?’
He poured a large measure of whisky from a bottle on the table and handed it to Harry. ‘Good to see you, son. What brings you?’
‘Just a bit of business.’ Harry looked round the room. A couple of Mikey’s men were at a table in the corner, big blokes with lived-in faces, who could make short work of any trouble, or troublemakers.
Mikey glanced across at them and with a curt nod of his head, said, ‘Charlie, Jumbo, get lost.’
The two men got to their feet and lumbered out of the room. Mikey waved Harry to a chair.
‘Well, now, Harry boy. What you got for me today?’
Harry drew the bracelet out of his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘Thought this might interest you, Mikey. Solid gold, this is. Worth a bomb!’
‘Liberated by a bomb, was it?’ Mikey, laughing at his own joke, picked it up, feeling its weight in his hand. He looked at the chain links and the snake clasp.
‘Nice piece, if it’s real.’
‘Course it’s real,’ retorted Harry. ‘Any fool can see that.’
For a moment Mikey’s face darkened – no one dared call him a fool – but then he looked up with a grin. ‘Snake’s a bit obvious,’ he said. ‘Difficult to shift something so easily recognised.’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem for a man with your contacts,’ Harry said.
Mikey was thinking the same, but his face showed nothing more than a vague interest. ‘Have to think about it, mate, sound a few people out, know what I mean?’
‘Not leaving it with you,’ Harry said.
‘No! Course you ain’t. Wouldn’t expect it, even though we done good business together before. No, you hang on to it, mate. I’ll put a few feelers out, see who’s in the market. Come back next week, I’ll have an answer and some money for you, too, most like.’
Harry scooped up the bracelet from the table and slid it back into his trouser pocket. ‘Next Saturday, then.’
Mikey lifted a hand. ‘I’ll be here,’ he said.
Harry left the room and walked out through the front bar. Mikey went to the side window and watched. If everything went to plan, the Jew-boy, Harry Black, wouldn’t be here next Saturday, wouldn’t be troubling him again, wouldn’t be setting up business on Mikey’s territory.
Outside in the street Harry paused, wondering if he should change his mind and get some sort of valuation for the bracelet from Mr Ing. As he stood there a young woman bumped into him, grabbing at him as she stumbled over the kerb. He put out a hand to catch her and she gave a piercing scream.
‘Let go of me! Let go of me! Take your hands off me. Police!’
From nowhere, it seemed to Harry, a copper in uniform appeared at his side and grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Now then, now then, what’s going on here?’
‘He’s took me bracelet!’ cried the woman. ‘Bumped into me and pulled it off me arm. He’s took me bracelet!’
The policeman’s grip tightened on Harry’s arm. Harry tried to twist free, but his arm was forced up behind him. ‘Now then, young man, let’s have a look in your pocket, shall we? See if this lady’s telling the truth.’
Harry had recognised the ‘lady’ concerned. Brenda, one of Mikey’s Sharp’s tarts. Harry had even used her himself once or twice. He glanced back at the pub and saw Mikey standing at the window, smiling. He’d been set up.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘it’s in my pocket.’ The cop relaxed his grip and reached out his hand to retrieve the bracelet. It was all Harry needed. With a violent twist he hooked his leg round that of his captor, bringing him crashing to the ground. He swung a punch at the girl, catching her full in the face so that she, too, collapsed on to the pavement, blood spouting from her nose. Ginger, Charlie and Jumbo exploded from the crowd, but Harry shoulder-charged Ginger, who fell against Charlie. Jumbo, roaring as he came in for the attack, grabbed Harry’s jacket, almost ripping it from his back. As he had so long ago in Hanau, he pulled his arms free, leaving Jumbo holding the torn jacket, but Harry himself free to streak off down the street. Several people made attempts to stop him, grabbing at him as he ran, but the street-rat, when in flight, was unstoppable. Within moments he was out of sight, weaving his way through the Saturday crowds into the maze of streets behind the market.
Outside the Black Bull, Mikey’s tame policeman and his other henchmen got to their feet, red-faced and angry. The crowd that had gathered began to disperse, encouraged by PC Parker’s angry warnings that ‘The excitement’s over! There ain’t nothing to see here, so move on, before I arrest you for loitering and causing a public nuisance.’
When the crowd had melted away, they all went into the pub and Mikey explained the second part of his plan.
Once Harry was clear of the market and was sure he had lost his pursuers, he made his way back to Shoreditch. He thought Mikey probably knew where he lived, down at the docks, but thought his hide-out in Kemble Street would be safe enough for the time being. He took no risks, however, taking several buses and two Tubes before he was certain that no one was following him. He reached Kemble Street in the middle of the afternoon. Going down into the cellar, he pulled the door closed behind him, lit the Tilley and considered what to do next. Clearly Mikey was behind his ‘arrest’. It was one of his tarts who’d started the whole thing off, his henchmen who’d joined the fray. Harry knew he was lucky to have made his escape.
He took the bracelet out of his trouser pocket and slipped it in with his cash in the hidden, inner pocket. Once again he’d proved the wisdom of never having anything valuable in the pockets of his jacket. That was all he’d lost, his jacket. He’d have to steer clear of Petticoat Lane from now on, but there were other markets in other areas of London which were not the province of Mikey Sharp.
He looked along the rows of tins, the bottles of whisky and the box of silk stockings he’d acquired from a bloke in a pub. He had enough here to keep him going for some time. He fed his contacts a little at a time... keeping the prices high. He had a new source of spirits, not just whisky. He’d been in touch with Dickett again and paid a little over the odds for part of a consignment due to go to Mikey. Not the most sensible thing to do, he now realised, but the offer was too good to turn down and he was establishing his own ring of customers. He needed to keep the supplies coming.
Provided he didn’t tread on Mikey’s toes again, he reckoned he’d be safe enough. He’d move to another patch. In the meantime, he still had the bracelet, which he would offer elsewhere, even if it meant a cut in the expected price.
He’d go to Livingston Road later as planned. In the meantime he might as well have an hour’s kip, then he’d go down the public baths and get himself cleaned up, ready to take Lisa dancing. He flopped down on to the mattress and was almost instantly asleep.
He awoke with a jolt an hour later as someone grabbed him and he was dragged to his feet. Despite a struggle, his arms and legs were securely tied and he was pushed down into one of the old armchairs. The cellar was full of men. Mikey’s men. Jumbo, holding a wicked-looking knife, stood guard over him, while Charlie, Ginger and PC Parker inspected the items ranged along the shelf.
‘Definitely black market stuff, wouldn’t you say, constable?’ Ginger was asking with mock formality.
‘Definitely,’ agreed the policeman.
Some of the tins and some bottles of beer were left on the shelf, and the rest Ginger and Charlie packed into boxes they had brought with them.
‘What about ’im?’ Charlie jerked his head at Harry.
‘We check his clothes,’ said Ginger, ‘and if we think he’s hiding anyfink else, we’ll ask ’im, ever so politely, where it is.’
Once they had finished with the black market goods, they turned their attention to Harry. ‘Stand ’im up, Jumbo,’ Ginger said. Jumbo pulled Harry to his feet and held him firmly while Ginger patted him down.
‘Something in his pockets,’ Ginger said. ‘Get his trousers off.’ Charlie reached down and cut the ropes round Harry’s legs.
Harry struggled, but with his arms still tied and Jumbo holding him in a bear hug from behind, there was little he could do. His trousers were stripped from his legs and the contents of his pockets tipped out on to the table.
‘Well, well, what have we ’ere?’ Ginger had discovered the inner pocket and pulled out Harry’s roll of notes and the gold bracelet.
‘Mikey’ll be pleased to see this,’ Ginger said. ‘Makes all this effort worthwhile.’
He stuffed the money into his own pocket, but replaced the bracelet in Harry’s. ‘Tie ’is legs again and then turn this place over, see if there’s anyfink else.’
Harry could only watch helplessly as they searched the cellar, but he knew there was nothing else for them to find. They’d already got everything of value that he owned.
‘Anyfink else, Jew-boy?’ Ginger demanded. Harry shook his head.
‘Right,’ said Ginger, convinced Harry was telling the truth. ‘Soon as it’s dark we’ll get this lot moved to the Bull.’ He turned to PC Parker. ‘Following a tip-off, you came here and found this man, camping out in the cellar of a burnt-out what don’t belong to ’im, right?’
‘Right,’ agreed PC Parker.
‘Naturally, you arrested him. The evidence of his black-marketeering is all these tins on the shelf.’
Harry noticed the whisky and the silk stockings had gone. They only needed enough evidence to arrest him. The rest would go to Mikey.
‘Better bring another cop with you,’ Ginger advised. ‘Mikey’ll pay. Make sure you make it legal and you make it stick. Mikey don’t want to see him again, he wants him banged up and the key thrown away.’
‘Yeah, no problem. I got a mate who’ll go along with this. Look good on our records to have caught a black-marketeer.’
They pulled his trousers back on, retied his legs, and Harry spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening sitting in the chair in the cellar with Jumbo sitting opposite him, digging the dirt out from under his nails with the point of his knife. Harry looked at the knife. It reminded him of Rolf’s and he shuddered. Jumbo looked across at him and gave him a gap-toothed grin.
‘You’re going down for a long time,’ he remarked. ‘Shouldn’t play with the big boys till you’re a big boy yourself.’
As darkness closed in outside, Ginger and Charlie returned and quietly manoeuvred the boxes of contraband up the steps and out into a waiting van.
‘Parker’ll be back in a bit,’ Ginger told Jumbo. ‘He’ll take ’im away and then you can go ’ome. Keep your eye on ’im though. He’s slippery as an eel. Keep ’im tied up and your knife ’andy.’
It was only another hour or so before Harry heard voices upstairs in the kitchen. He looked across at Jumbo. The man was dozing in the opposite chair, but the knife was by his side. Harry looked at it, so near and yet so far. His wrists were bound so tightly that his hands had gone numb and he couldn’t move his arms at all. He wondered about trying to kick out at Jumbo with his bound legs, but it would serve no purpose. All he’d get was a faceful of knuckles.
The door at the top of the steps opened and two uniformed policemen came down.
‘My tip-off was right, Davidson,’ Parker said loudly as they surveyed the cellar. ‘Looks like we got a cellar-rat here, and look at them tins. That has to be black market stuff.’
‘Looks like it,’ Davidson agreed.
Parker walked across to Harry, totally ignoring Jumbo in the opposite chair. ‘Heinrich Schwarz, also known as Harry Black, I’m arresting you on suspicion of dealing in black market goods. You don’t have to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken down in writing and given in evidence against you.’
He pulled Harry to his feet and, reaching for Jumbo’s knife, cut the rope round his wrists, immediately replacing it with a pair of handcuffs.
‘Resisting arrest, are we?’ he snarled and pounded his fist into Harry’s face. ‘Owed you that,’ he said. Harry fell back into the chair, his head singing, blood spurting from his nose. Parker then cut the rope around Harry’s legs and between them, the two cops pushed him up the steps and out into the street. It was totally dark. No one saw them emerge from the house, no one saw Harry being pushed into a waiting police car, no one saw Jumbo depositing a box of tinned food into its boot. As he was driven to a police station some distance away, Harry wondered at them using a car, taking him so far.
Parker’s station, he thought gloomily. Parker’s station and Mikey’s petrol.
Once again Harry found himself in a police cell for the weekend and on Monday morning he appeared in the police court. The box of tins was produced as evidence of what the police had found in the cellar. Charges of assaulting a policeman, resisting arrest, and theft of a valuable gold bracelet were also brought. He was sent down. Heinrich Schwarz, aka Harry Black, was once again in the clutches of the law. He simply disappeared into the system. PC Parker had earned his pay; he shared Mikey’s bonus with PC Davidson and they had commendations on their records.
Jumbo, who was apparently entirely invisible during the arrest, had disappeared into the night. He was at Mikey’s side in the morning and none of them gave Harry Black another thought.