A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (11 page)

"Joseph French I'd like you to meet Mr Jones and Mr Smith. Ain't that how it goes in the films? Look, Harry, these two gentlemen here are going to be like brothers to you, I swear. Now don't panic, don't run, stay calm for five minutes and you'll understand everything. Now for real introductions all round. This tall gentleman in the smart suit is Alan Parry, the crime reporter for the Sunday London Reporter, biggest newspaper this side of the States. And Mr Oliver Jenkins over here, is really police sergeant Jenkins of A division, West End Central, Savile Row."

Harry stood frozen to the bridge, his head swimming with conflicting thoughts. Royle recognised Jenkins from the police station and remembered shaking hands with the man only hours before. Johnny continued.

"Gentlemen this is Harry Royle, the fellow who is going to make us very happy men."

Royle, stunned, felt unable to move or to comment on the strange moment. He felt Mangusco take his arm and steer him off the bridge and into a waiting car. The vehicle was driven by a woman who was about Harry's age. She looked back and glanced nervously at him. Johnny looked at the young brunette and at the other men. Oliver Jenkins spoke up quickly.

"Don't worry about Sally she's good as gold, works at our nick and I'd trust her with my life, she's a good un, honest Johnny."

Johnny smiled and nodded. Leaning over the girl's shoulder, he whispered in her ear, before settling back in his seat. The car lurched unevenly and then regained its former straight line in the traffic.

"For you maybe, but now for me too."

Jenkins bristled.

"What did you say to her?"

"I just told her that she was a very pretty girl."

Mangusco mimed drawing a line across his cheek with his finger.

"You bastard Mangusco, there was no need for that."

Johnny smiled at him.

"Look, Jenkins, women are like horses, lovely so long as they're tame, a man just needs to rein 'em in every now and then. Anyway to business, I think Harry is having kittens over here, so let's put him right."

Alan Parry addressed Royle directly.

"Look, Harry, do you mind me calling you Harry?"

Royle shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay Harry, it's like this. Our readers despise crime, especially when it's violent or involves women. Sex crimes are the worst. They hate them, but, and here's the irony, they can't read enough about them. Put a killer on the front page and no one looks twice, but put a sex fiend on it and you can sit back and watch the copies fly out of the window. Now my paper is a Sunday title and we have a little problem. You see with a daily paper people get used to reading it all week, come Monday, well they want it back, same as before, a regular comfort a daily paper, like breakfast in the morning.

A Sunday paper is a different kettle of fish altogether. You see when Mr Smith buys it one bright and breezy Sunday morning as he's picking up his gaspers, it might be because something catches his eye. He takes it home, has a good read and the next day he's back to his daily paper again, all a vicious circle. Well, it is unless you can hook Mr Smith and land him, then he'll be yours. We have to run serials, with cliff-hangers, you know like the old silent flicks. Come back next week to see if the girl gets splattered all over the railway tracks. We build up a story and then run it for five weeks or so. That way we can keep all the Mr Smiths and the Mrs, not forgetting the Miss Smiths reading for as long as the story runs. The final week promises an unforgettable story, set to begin the following week, the likes of which, the Smith's have never read in their lives. Will they come back and buy a paper? Yes, but only if it is lurid enough to grab them.

Now you were news, and big news as a crazed, drug-fuelled sex killer, but if as Johnny tells me, you're not the Don Juan of Luton or wherever you come from, well you're just an armed blagger and that's page two in a daily and news round-up for us. But if you can bring us a real life White Slaver, his minions and slaves, well I'll be only too happy to help clear the name of a poor innocent and much wronged young man. And our friend the sergeant here, well he'll be an Inspector if he helps bring such evil to trial."

Harry whistled at the car's ceiling and chuckled. Finding his voice after a moment he addressed the others.

"That is bloody brilliant, I'm nearly speechless, but how can you all be in cahoots with each other, it doesn't make sense, well not to me."

It was the sergeant's turn to speak and the other two simply sat back and smiled.

"Son, I have been a copper on the beat in Soho since 1922 and let me tell you I've seen 'em all come and go. The public thinks the law, policing, courts and such is all very cut and dried, it's all black and white. Well sorry, but it's not, not by a long chalk. You walked out of our nick and we knew that you were one of Johnny's. That name, Joseph French, do you think we don't read? Instead, we smile and bow our heads and say sorry and shake hands. And why? Because the law tells us to, that's why. Our hands are tied behind our backs with rules and petty regulations.

Johnny here is a strong arm man. He doesn't hurt the public and he keeps an ear out for ponces, and looks out for the freelance working girls. He's not Robin Hood and he certainly ain't Father Christmas, but he's the devil I can deal with. I don't like him and he don't send me Birthday greetings. We've known each other for a long time. I don't take money and never would, I'm not bent. But I'm not stupid either and in this way we help each other.

Mr Parry here gives me things, which he can get because he drinks with all of the local villains, and so it goes around like a great big crooked circle. We know our city and we love it. We don't need outsiders ruining it. This Captain Mandell, well he happens to be making in-roads through a Greek, this Greek owns a few nasty flea pits just off Kings Cross. And Mandell wants rooms, last count he'd asked for at least twenty and he gave the impression that they were for Fifi's. Now that is two things, one your man is getting greedy and two, doing it on our manor. So we're going to put him out of business and Mr Parry here is going to put him on the front page."

Harry nodded his understanding and looked at Johnny questioningly. The gangster grinned.

"Don't worry Harry, I'm not doing it for me health or nothing. This Mandell is nothing, but a jumped up slag, but the man behind him, him I do know, and we go back a long way. See this here scar?"

Johnny pointed at a thin white line that ran across his cheek, from just under his left eye back to his left ear.

"Mandell's boss gave me this a long time ago. That's the man I want. Jenkins gets his sex jobs and good riddance I say. Parry gets his story, I get some nice cold revenge and hurt someone right in his money pouch. And you Harry get your name back, we're all winners. Let's have a drink, boys?"

The men nodded, and the car threaded its way through the crowded streets in the direction of Kings Road, heading towards Fulham. August was getting hot and top coats were being left at home, in favour of light suits and blazers.

It had been a week since the meeting on the bridge and things had moved ahead very quickly. The job was set for the coming Saturday.

It was Monday morning and Ruth and Harry had been out late all weekend and were both very full of the Monday-morning feeling. Royle had got as far as having a shave and putting on a clean shirt, but the buttons had stayed unfastened and Ruth sat reading the Daily Mirror in her housecoat. She looked over and waved at him. He was busy taking out a cigarette from its packet.

"I'll swap you a story for a ciggy."

She offered. He smiled in agreement and tossed her the packet and matches after he'd lit his own. He reached over and picked up his teacup and drained it. Ruth began reading in a mock BBC radio announcer's voice.

"Jailbreaker is arrested. Bernard Cresswell Freeman, who escaped from Lewes jail with Stanley Thurston eleven days ago, was arrested at Scarborough last night. It is believed he had been in the town only an hour."

She paused and looked at Harry, before continuing.

"Do you know him?"

Harry laughed out a cloud of tobacco smoke.

"No, of course, I don't."

She looked puzzled.

"Well I thought that you might have bumped into him, you know."

He laughed again.

"What do you think we were jail bird pen pals?"

Seeing the funny side of it, she too laughed, until she noticed why he had been so quiet. Her eyes quickly took in the gun and cleaning cloths and she turned back to the paper, burying her face in its pages and turning them with a sharp snap.

Royle raised his eyebrows and got back to his work. They had had many conversations about what was to come, and none of them had ended pleasantly. He assumed that it was a mixture of fear and anxiety which kept her from completely getting onboard with the whole idea. He knew that she too was excited about the prospect of clearing his name. He had always been truthful with the woman and didn't want to start hiding things from her now. It felt good to be accountable to someone. Even the nagging, he secretly enjoyed. It just felt good knowing that another person cared if he came home or not. He still didn't like her walking the streets, but he had learned to keep his opinions to himself and likewise Ruth had agreed not to moan about guns, death, murder and the hangman's noose, something he was very glad about.

Chapter 7

Saturday, August 26, 1939

The train north was late pulling out but wasn't as full as Harry had expected. The gang had all felt relieved when the proposed rail strike had been called off at the eleventh hour. Harry's plan was particular about the men travelling by train and coming back driving full army vehicles. Johnny had put Harry in charge and had warned the men to all follow his orders to the letter. The Russian had furnished full military paperwork, complete with passes and travel warrants, all checked and approved by Royle. The men had been lucky and taken over a decent enough carriage. They had noticed a lot of soldiers, but that was becoming normal. The newspapers were full of the possibility of war with Germany, but nothing was set in stone and besides, Alan Parry had told them only hours before, that war wouldn't come. He had said if anything Britain would sign a last-minute pact with Germany against Russia, as they were the bigger threat.

This was not a sentiment shared by the little middle-aged Russian, who had said it was all so much foolishness. Harry agreed with Ruth and Jenny that only time would tell. Royle had felt so many emotions since coming up with the plan. Raw emotions born of a genuine fear of not only things going wrong but of his being caught. What would a jury say when asked for an opinion of a man who not being content with killing and robbing, would embark on a mission to steal enough weapons to equip a small army?

"You all right?"

The question came from a man sat opposite Harry, not one of Johnny's usual men, this one was a so called specialist, meaning a thug. But he had been as nice as pie, and the last thing Harry needed was any more trouble.

"Fine, mate, just nervous, you?"

The man smiled.

"You bet, it won't be a picnic, not this one, but Johnny says you can get us in, so we'll be good with you in charge."

Other men stirred in their sleep. Some smoked in silence while three others played cards in the corner quietly. Harry leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Sleep came quicker than expected and he only began to come to as he heard a voice and felt the uneven lurch as the train began to slow down, in preparation for the station approach. Royle had been looking forward to at least taking in the countryside, instead ahead rose yet another town, this time in Surrey. He thought of prisons and thought of the convict recently taken in Scarborough. He'd always liked the seaside and remembered his own adventures in Yorkshire. He wondered if that other jail-breaker was still loose.

The brief for part one of the plan was simple, act and be to all intents and purposes a handful of salesmen down from the capital for a conference. A hotel had been booked and rooms reserved for the men from the Wonder Wireless Company. Harry had decided that no one would expect a wireless salesman to carry around a big radio set, so leaflets were perfect. If anyone asked, they could have a leaflet. The telephone number was kosher, shame the owner had gone away for two weeks. The address, well that was not quite right, as it belonged to Vine Street Nick. Johnny liked that one particularly. He had told the men to hand out plenty of leaflets, all of which stated a huge discount, so long as the leaflet was posted to Mr P.Inspector at the address below. Johnny had roared with laughter at the joke. On the platform, the men looked odd, like soldiers out of uniform or protesters in need of a march.

Harry quickly ushered the gang members off the platform, through the station, out into the street and into waiting cabs. Within twenty minutes, they were booking into the High Duke hotel, with its promise of fine cuisine and unlimited hot water. The hotel was all brass and mock-Gothic pillars, as far as Harry could tell. It did look a bit upmarket and that was less obvious than hiding out in a flea-pit. The men had insisted on taking up their own suitcases, as they couldn't afford anyone seeing that they only contained weapons and army uniforms.

The afternoon turned into evening and the men remained in the hotel, as per orders. They passed Mangusco's money across the bar freely and enjoyed the alcohol and the cigarettes. Some of the tables had been put together and cards flew across them. Royle had introduced the group to the manager and explained who they were and had given the man five pounds, courtesy of the firm's managing director, in the case of high spirits or breakages. The manager had squeezed out a smile made of grease and arranged for bar snacks to appear as if by magic on the bar.