Beware This Boy (30 page)

Jack shook his head. Too quickly and too hard. “No, Granddad.”

“I’d ask him, but he’s in no condition at the moment. So I thought if there was any way you could help out, we’d all appreciate it. Maybe he let slip a name, for instance.” Joe’s voice was quiet, but as usual he conveyed an authority that was unmistakable.

Jack was looking so terrified that Eileen couldn’t help herself. She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Jack, you don’t have to be scared of us. We’re your family. But Brian
was positive he could get a passport for himself and Vanessa. Is it true what he believes?”

“I think so, Auntie.”

“Who’s getting it for him? We might be able to speed things up.” Joe leaned forward slightly and Eileen saw her nephew flinch.

“He did sort of mention somebody … I don’t know him myself but … he lives in one of the back-to-backs near Water Street.”

Joe scowled. “Why aren’t I surprised about that? Go on, son. Could you get in touch with this person, do you think?”

“I could try, Granddad.”

“Will he want money?”

Jack nodded.

“Any idea how much?”

“No, Granddad.”

Joe turned to Eileen. “What do you think? A false identity these days – what are we talking about? Two quid? Ten? Twenty?”

“I don’t know, Dad. They probably take as much as they can get.”

Joe stood up and went to the sideboard. “Let’s start with that, then, and if we have to we’ll come up with more.” He reached into a drawer and, fishing about at the back, took out a tin that had once held toffees. “We’re going to have to borrow from your gran’s housekeeping for now.” He stirred the pile of coins in the tin. “A bit short of three pounds.”

“I have a couple of pounds in my purse,” said Eileen. “I’ll get them.”

“All right.” Joe took an envelope from the drawer. He tipped the money from the tin into the envelope, then paused and removed a couple of shillings. “I’d better leave her something for shopping.”

Eileen returned with the two pounds and Joe added them to the envelope. He handed it to his grandson.

“That’s five pounds altogether. See if you can find this fellow. We need to get things in motion right away.”

Jack stashed the envelope in his pocket.

“Off you go, then,” said Joe. “Fast as you can. Come back here as soon as you’ve seen him.”

“Yes, Granddad. I’ll just let our Brian know I’m going.”

He scurried off upstairs before either Joe or Eileen could protest.

Brian was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, dragging on a cigarette. The small room was thick with smoke.

“I’m going to take some money to Donny for your papers …” Jack’s voice tailed off as he waited to see how his brother would react.

Brian shot bolt upright. “There’s not supposed to be money exchanged. What did you tell them? Did you mention the timers?”

“Nothing, Brian. Nothing, honest. I don’t even know about timers or anything. Granddad and Auntie Eileen just thought they’d have to pay.”

“So they will,” said Brian, letting out a deep breath. “Knowing Donny Jarvis, he wouldn’t keep his end of the bargain if his life depended on it. Of course he’d want money as well as – forget what I just said about timers, Jack. It’s nothing like that. He just wanted me to fix something for him.”

“Yes, Brian.”

Brian lit another cigarette from the butt of the first. “My end’s done. The bag is in the wardrobe. You can take it to Donny.”

Jack went to the wardrobe and removed the shopping bag that he’d delivered what seemed like eons ago.

“Hide it under your coat,” said Brian sharply. “You don’t want anyone asking difficult questions.”

Jack tucked the bag inside his jacket.

“How much money are you taking him?” asked Brian.

“Five pounds.”

“God, that’s nothing. Donny will laugh his head off.”

“That’s all Granddad and Auntie Eileen could come up with for now.”

Brian scowled. “Tell Donny we’ll get some more. But tell him I’ve got to get out of this house soon or I’ll blow the whole thing. I don’t give a shite.”

Suddenly he jumped up and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Got that, Jack? Donny Jarvis isn’t the only one with power here.” He gave Jack a pinch. “Are you clear? Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“Yes, Brian.”

“Repeat it back to me.”

“We can come up with more money but Donny has to hand over the papers before he gets it.”

Brian burst out laughing. “Well done, little titch. That’s it. Now off you go. Report back to me.”

Bert Teale opened Donny’s door. “Well, if it isn’t the little pansy. What you want, missie?”

“I need to talk to Donny.”

“Did you bring stuff?”

“No, I—”

“Well, he don’t want to talk to you lessen you bring stuff.” He started to close the door but a voice from inside the room called out.

“Let him in, Bertie. Didn’t you hear him? He needs to talk.” Donny giggled, which Jack found very odd indeed, coming from him.

“Come in then, pansy,” said Bert. He yanked Jack into the house by the collar.

Donny was lying on the couch, and curled up on the floor beside him, like a dog, was Thelma. She appeared to be asleep. Jack hoped desperately that she wasn’t dead. The room was filled with smoke, strange and acrid-smelling, but not unpleasant. Donny was puffing on a long tube attached to a round pot on the floor that was making funny bubbling sounds. He actually smiled at Jack. “Welcome, you little sod. What is it you want?”

Jack didn’t know if he should say anything in front of Bert and Thelma, but he was too afraid to consider much beyond the immediate task. “I was wondering if you, er … had them goods you were going to give me for my brother. I’ve got the bag …” His voice tailed off.

“Bert, go take a piss,” Donny said. Thelma didn’t stir.

Bert knew better than to protest, although he looked sullen and flicked Jack hard on the cheek as he went by. Donny settled back on the couch. His eyelids drooped.

“Now then, our Jackie, you have to be careful what you say. Careless talk costs lives. How
is
Brian doing, by the way?”

“Not so well, Donny. He’d like to leave as soon as possible. He says to tell you he wants you to keep your end of the bargain.”

“He does, does he?” Donny waved the pipe contraption in the air, then sucked on it deeply, holding his breath before blowing out the smoke. “It’s dear to get what he wants. Very dear. Say, fifty pounds. Tell him if he can come up with that, I’ll get him the goods.”

Jack took the envelope out of his coat. “I don’t have that much. But you can have this now and the rest later.” He had no idea if Brian would be able to get the money, but that wasn’t his problem. At least, he hoped it wasn’t.

In spite of his drowsy state, Donny was alert enough to count the money in the envelope. He dropped it on the floor. “That’s a joke, that is, little Jackie. Your Brian won’t get a pot to shit in for that.”

Thelma stirred. Donny moved his foot and rested it on her haunches.

Jack tried to avoid looking at the girl. “Sorry, Donny. I’ll try to get the rest for you. When can he have the stuff?”

More drawing on the pipe. More bubbling. Then Donny waved the mouthpiece in Jack’s direction. “Tell him you’ve got to make the drop at the Cowan house, right after blackout. You have the money, he can have the goods. Simple as that. You can put it in the oven.”

“Thanks, Donny.” Jack placed the bag gingerly on the floor and turned to go.

“What’s your hurry?” said Donny. “Take the weight off your beaters. You’ve been a good kid, all told. Here …” He held out the pipe. “Take a puff. You’ll like it.”

“No, no thanks, Donny. I’d better get back.”

“Suit yourself.”

“What is it?” Jack couldn’t help but ask.

“Just baccy. A rather special kind of baccy, mind you. A friend got it for me in return for a couple of favours. It comes from darkie country. It’s called ganja.”

He took another drag on the pipe. Jack seized his chance and sidled to the door. “I’ll pass on the message, Donny. Tonight after blackout. Put the money in the oven. Fifty pounds.”

Donny didn’t seem to hear. Jack opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard. Bert was leaning against the wall, hunched into his coat. Jack didn’t give him another opportunity to slap or pinch but took off into the street. The funny tobacco smell clung to his clothes.

At Tyler’s request, Cudmore had provided a thick swatch of employee files. They had set up young Eagleton at a desk in the office. He looked a little daunted when Tyler told him he had to go through them.

“Just pull out any that you think we should examine more closely. You don’t have to go back further than three months, but see if there’s anybody who’s been moving around from factory to factory. Also, make sure as best you can that the references are genuine. Let me know if a letter is signed by somebody calling himself Goebbels. Or Churchill, for that matter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Eager – you can wear your specs. Makes you look like a boffin.”

“Yes, sir. I presume that’s a good thing.”

Tyler left him to it and began the final interviews. There was a steady flow of workers but he learned nothing new. None of them thought the explosion was anything but an accident.

“Fifth columnists? Sabotage? Never. We’re all Englishmen here,” said one wizened bloke who worked the night shift. “If it was done on purpose, how’d anybody do it?”

Good question.

He asked all of them for suggestions as to improvements in the future, and most had a lot to say.

“Management should come into the canteen sometimes and show us they’re human.”

“We should go on a tour of the airdrome and see the bombers. We don’t even know where our shells go.”

“Me, I work here so I can do my bit for the King and Queen and the little princesses. My own girl is the same age as
Princess Elizabeth. I want to make sure that madman in Berlin doesn’t ever get to them.”

“Mr. Endicott should give us more credit for brains, not to mention patriotism,” said a woman with a thick Brummie accent. She looked as if she’d had a tough life but that didn’t stop her from being astute. “I work the lathes. We need a break in the middle of the shift. Everybody gets the sags after tea time. We’ll work better.”

That complaint had been voiced yesterday when the women were contemplating going on strike. Tyler was feeling something of the sags himself by now and he sympathized.

Cudmore wrote everything down. Tyler was glad that at least he’d been able to give the workers a chance to vent their frustrations.

After the last interview, Tyler said. “Mr. Cudmore, take a note, if you please, and make sure Mr. Endicott receives it. ‘By the authority vested in me by His Majesty the King and the chief minister of the realm, Winston Churchill, I hereby declare all of the suggestions herein recorded be implemented as soon as possible, on pain of death.’ ”

Cudmore didn’t bat an eye. “Quite right too, sir.”

Another alarm sounded in the late afternoon, but no raiders, and Tyler followed the lead of the seasoned Brummies and stayed where he was.
Move only when you hear the bombs dropping
.

The secretary had found Smith’s file and gave it to Tyler. There was no record of his being in the army. He’d come from Manchester to work at Endicott’s. Better pay was the reason given. He had a good letter of reference from the supervisor at the factory where he’d worked previously.

“Did anybody check on this?” Tyler asked.

“Oh dear, I’m afraid not, sir. We were hiring a lot of people all at the same time. I wasn’t able to follow up on any of the
references. We did place him on the usual probationary period of two weeks. He has shown himself to be a reliable worker. He’s never late. No absenteeism.”

Tyler hesitated. He knew the secretary was overworked.

“There are a couple of other workers who have been in the army,” added Cudmore. “Mr. Abbot was a corporal with the Royal Lancers of Leicester. He was invalided out in ’17 with a gas-caused ulcer. A good man too. Most reliable. The other man is Phil Riley, who joined the reserve army in ’38. He is a part of the home defence now.” Cudmore regarded Tyler anxiously. “Is this important, sir? I’d vouch for all three of them.”