A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (21 page)

Harry shook his head slowly.

"There was a woman."

"Isn't there always?"

"No we were together and something happened to her, she disappeared, while I was away. It could be serious, I don't know if she's alive or dead and I need to find her."

"And when you do, what about me?"

He smiled and stroked her arm gently.

"I'm with you now and that's settled, no I just need to find out what happened to her. I have to know if she's alive or dead. After that, I'll be able to settle down with a clean slate. You see we lived together, but it was never really love's young dream. We looked out for each other."

She smiled a little smile.

"Sounds like you were friends."

He nodded looking at her hopefully.

They continued to talk throughout the day and once he started to tell her about his life and his friends, he found he didn't want to stop. He had kept so much in, for so long and it felt like such a relief to get everything out in the open. Jean Griffiths was no shy schoolgirl. She was willing to be a part of his life, with all that entailed. He had been shocked later that morning when he'd seen her pick up the gun and look it over carefully. He had rushed over, only to be stopped with a wave of her hand. She had told him that her parents had been farming folk, before her dad had fallen ill and she had no fear of weapons and had herself, fired both a shotgun and a small calibre rifle, in younger days. Harry had been unsure of how to react to this and had made a joke of it. She was very different to Ruth that he was sure of.

He took her out on the town and bought them both new clothes, something she was very grateful for. He had mentioned getting a better place to live, but she had told him that it was better keeping a low profile if his friends were so publicly known. He had reluctantly agreed.

A few days later he had met up with Jenny in a teashop. He explained about Jean and was more than a little surprised at her reaction. Knowing that she was Ruth's best friend, he had expected angry words and had been shocked that Jenny was pleased for him, saying that time had passed and she had never really thought he and Ruth were that well suited. She asked questions and insisted that he bring Jean to the club with him when he came. Johnny had sent word that he was to take things easy and that they would find a way of easing him back in, but that it would take time. He had given Jenny the address of the flat as they parted, and she had smiled and tucked it away.

After leaving Jenny, he made his way to the East End and drank a strong ale in a little pub called the Gold Lion. Royle sat in a corner beside the toilet doorway and facing the main entrance. Harry liked to be in control of events and not be controlled by them. One of his rules was to never sit in a room with his back to the door. And another was, to always have an exit as close as possible. The man Harry had arranged to meet was late and Royle didn't like it. Meeting strangers was bad at the best of times, but for Harry it was a very stupid and dangerous thing to do. He didn't want to let Jean down, but this was different because this was keeping a promise to pay a debt, a debt which was long overdue.

An ale and a half later and the man appeared. Harry had just lit up a Woodbine and was putting down the matchbox when a shifty looking man in a dirty raincoat pushed open the street door and walked in. Neither man knew the other, yet both recognised something out of place in the other. Their eyes met and Royle nodded his head in a gesture designed to tell the other man to sit down in the vacant chair opposite. The stranger shuffled into a sitting position and mumbled something. Harry looked straight at him.

"I didn't catch that friend?" The man looked up from the beer stained tabletop.

"I didn't say owt."

He returned his gaze to the dirty wooden surface. Harry shook his head and having taken a short drag at his cigarette, addressed the man more directly.

"I thought we had an understanding. Peter the ponce said you had information".

"I might have and then again I might not have."

Without warning, Royle grabbed the man by his thick dirty scarf and dragged him forward with such a force that his face smacked hard into the table, sending the beer glass and the full ashtray crashing to the floor. The man groaned and the pub fell silent and all eyes turned towards them. A woman's voice from behind the bar rang out sharply.

"That's enough Mr, you want to fight, do it outside; otherwise that's two drinks you'll be wanting, is that right love?"

Harry smiled to himself.

"And one for yourself."

"Ta dear, don't mind if I do."

The woman walked across and handed a dustpan and brush to the now bleeding scruffy man in the dirty raincoat.

"If you're staying you can clean up after yourself."

The man in front of Royle was groaning and a little blood was pooling beneath his nose; otherwise he looked much the same as before. He looked up at Royle and sniffed, as he picked up the dustpan and brush. Harry headed toward the bar. Paying the middle-aged brunette, he sat back down. The man took the offered beer and took a large mouthful. Harry cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Now where were we?"

"Ruth, was that her name?"

Harry nodded.

"Yes, Ruth Marker, now tell me what you know?"

Hours later found a brooding Harry Royle back at the flat. Harry had Ruth in a little compartment of his mind and that was alright, he could get on with things and know where he stood. Then came that dirty, seedy little man and it had all come flooding back. His mind was all over the place. He had told Jean enough and she had gone out for a walk, to give him breathing space. The idea was for him to think; instead he had sat there brooding. Thanks to the information he had obtained from the seedy man at the pub, at least Harry had something to go on. This didn't ease his mind and just made things worse for him.

He decided to get out and talk to the girls on the street. This had gone on for three long nights. Each night he went in search of answers. It wasn't easy getting anything even close to information from any of them, as they had learned to keep their mouths firmly shut. Too many ponces stood in the shadows, waiting to pass a razor across the cheek of any girl who spoke out of turn or for that matter to anyone taking liberties with their girls unless paid for. Add to this, the fact that very few of the girls spoke more than a little broken English.

Most of the Soho crowd were French girls, brought over with kisses and promises of rich lifestyles in England's glorious capital, only to be beaten and subjected to the choice that was, in fact, no choice. Some tried to run and now and then a girl would turn up face down in the gutter, or in Sally Hardacre's case in the Thames. Harry struck a match, knowing full well that his face would be picked out in the bright glare of the phosphorus flame. Leather shoes creaked in the still night and worn soles shuffled in the alley opposite. A whispered curse drifted just below the cigarette smoke, as Royle pushed his hand into his overcoat pocket and closed his fingers on cold metal.

Three long nights it had taken and now Harry knew that just feet away in the dark fog filled night stood Sailor. It had taken so many hours of questions, different girls and false leads. And then it had been Jenny of all people who had recognised the name and had taken Harry aside and told him where he would find the French pimp. Before telling him her story, she had extracted a promise from Royle. A vow to never tell Johnny about Sailor and the bad days when both she and Ruth together with Sally Hardacre had been his English team made to sell themselves lower because of not being exotic enough for Sailor's idea of quality merchandise, and prey to the man's many sadist whims.

Harry had felt genuine pity for the girl as he had heard more than he would have been comfortable asking for. At the end of the lurid tale, Jenny had gripped his shoulder and made certain of his word of honour on the matter of his silence. Johnny had always assumed Jenny had met Ruth in a nightclub and hit it off. And Jenny wanted him to go on thinking like that. Of the three girls, only Ruth had continued on the game, but as a freelance, Sally, like Jenny had managed to escape the life. Sally Hardacre had been working in a shoe shop when her past had caught up with her so violently and ended her life.

It had even been Jenny who had told Royle, that Thursday nights at ten thirty was Sailor's collection time from his girls, and so Harry had only to wait in the right place. The girl had cautioned him about the knife carried by Sailor in the small of his back in an upside down sheath. Jenny told Royle that until she had met Johnny, she had carried a knife, tucked neatly into its sheath on her thigh. After they'd got away from the Frenchman, the three women had taken to carrying knives and had vowed to die before going back to their old life. Two weeks before she was killed, Jenny had received a message from Sally, that Sailor had told her that both she and Jenny were to meet him. The night of the meeting was the night Sally Hardacre was killed and Ruth disappeared. Jenny Crosby shivered as she told Harry that it had been Ruth who had insisted going to meet Sailor in her place.

As soon as the match flame had flickered to darkness, Royle had stepped quickly to one side and hugged a parked car. Bending down he felt the cold, damp metal against his cheek. Then shuffling feet broke into a run and Harry took a breath. The other man was running quickly and his footfalls were heavy and careless. These were the sounds of a man used to being taken very seriously and who was afraid of nothing.

Harry pulled the gun from his pocket, flicked off the safety catch and waited. The footsteps stopped. Silence echoed off the cobbles like thunder on a still night. Harry stood up quickly and the raider's siren wailed through the night. The sudden unexpected sound distracted Royle for just a second, and he realised too late that the man was right in front of him. He pointed the gun and saw a flash of steel blade reflected in the moonlight, as it arced out towards his face. The moment stood still as Harry Royle waited for the blade to slice through his flesh. The blade missed completely as the man jerked upright and brought his arms out to his sides in a shocked gesture. Harry levelled the gun, only to realise that the man was crumpling to his lifeless knees like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.

As Sailor fell at Harry's feet, he could now see another person standing behind him. Jenny stood holding a small stiletto knife in her gloved hand. The knife flew into action, as Jenny Crosby lunged forward and delivered another five or six sharp, brutal knife wounds to the stricken Frenchman's body. A noise off in the shadows alerted Harry's trained ears. The sound of another man's heavy footfalls advancing toward them both. He stepped forward in front of the now kneeling Jenny, as a bullet ripped a hole into the car where he had stood just a moment before. Royle fired two shots in quick succession in the direction of the barrel flash and heard a man hit the floor.

Harry took a step back and pocketed the pistol. The woman stopped and shuddered, as she stood up. She threw the knife into the gutter and looked up at Royle. She was shivering in her thin white evening dress, looking phantom-like in the darkness. The siren warning of impending raiders continued to wail overhead. Looking around, he made certain they were now alone. Jenny turned to Royle.

"Harry, will you take me home, please?"

Harry stripped off his topcoat and draped it around Jenny's shoulders. They moved off away from the scene of death. Harry kicked the bloody knife down towards the open slats of a grid, which swallowed the weapon in a clatter, lost by the raider warning. The full realisation of what she had done came back to Jenny within minutes and she began to crumble.

Royle decided to take her back to the flat in Camden Town. Over several large whisky's and a good cry, Jenny Crosby managed to put things in perspective. Harry had had the good sense to call Johnny and tell him where Jenny was, explaining that they'd met on the street and when the raid started, he'd taken her straight home. He disliked using the public shelters for the reason that they were too public for his liking. The idea of being trapped in a place with only a single exit and those in authority able to shine a torch on every face was not something he cared to ever chance. Many people hated the idea of all that humanity squashed together coughing and spluttering over each other, not to mention the endless George Formby sing-a-longs and the would be Vera Lynn's which was enough to make London above ground seem much more of an attractive prospect to many. And he and Jenny now felt the same way. Preferring to take their chances out in the open. Thankfully, Johnny Mangusco was very relieved that she was with Harry and thanked him for looking after her. The raid lasted four hours and during that time a friendship was formed.

They talked and Royle found Jenny Crosby to be a different girl, from the one he had assumed her to be. Tipping his glass back, he looked at the pretty blonde opposite him.

"What? Harry, what?"

He smiled.

"I was just thinking about Ruth, she'd like us being friends, wouldn't she?"

Jenny managed a weak smile.

"Yes, she would. She always told me that I'd like you, but I always thought you were just another of Johnny's thugs, sorry but there it is."

A hollow laugh came from the door behind them. Jean had come in, unnoticed over the sound of the air-raid siren. She opened her mouth, as they turned to look at her.