The Cobbler's Kids (15 page)

‘Christ! I hope not. It’s just the sort of mad trick Dad would play, though. I told you ages ago that I thought Dad’s started betting and no one would ever dream of suspecting a young kid of being a go-between. The police are always on the look out for men acting as runners. In fact, they go to all sorts of lengths to try and catch them.’

‘You mean they wouldn’t give a little kid like Benny a second thought!’

‘Exactly! So, if the old man is using him to carry bets then the crafty old bugger is taking one hell of a risk. He could land himself inside.’

‘Never mind about him, what happens if Benny is caught?’ Vera said worriedly. ‘They’d probably say he was in need of care and attention, and might even put him in a reform school. Have you thought about that?’

Eddy pulled a face. ‘We’ve got to find out for sure and stop him doing it. If I face Dad with it, pretend I have proof, then it might scare the old fool into stopping it.’

‘The shock of you speaking to him again will scare him if nothing else does.’ Vera grinned.

Eddy didn’t respond to her quip. ‘What, apart from that ticket with the letters and figures on it, makes you think that Dad might be using Benny as a runner?’

Vera shrugged. ‘All the men who seem to know who he is when we are out.’

‘Perhaps we should try and find out a bit more and be sure of our facts before we tackle Dad,’ Eddy said uncomfortably. ‘There’d be hell to pay if we were the ones in the wrong.’

The matter was decided for them a few nights later. Vera arrived home to find Benny almost hysterical and her father in a towering rage.

‘What’s happened? What’s he done?’ Vera asked worriedly

‘Silly little sod has made a cock-up of an errand I sent him on.’

‘What sort of errand? Was it delivering a pair of boots?’

‘No, it wasn’t delivering any bloody boots. I simply told him to take a note to some chap up the road. He’s seven years old, for Christ’s sake, he’s old enough to go to school, so he should be able to deliver a simple message like that.’

‘Depends what the message was and how far he had to go,’ Vera prevaricated.

‘As far as Great Homer Street and then hand a piece of paper to a chap.’

‘So what went wrong.’

‘He lost the bloody note, didn’t he.’

‘I didn’t lose it,’ Benny sobbed, his breath coming in great gulps. ‘It was stolen from me.’

‘Stolen?’ Vera knelt down in front of the little boy and gathered him into her arms. ‘Who stole it then, Benny? Was it a bigger boy?’

He rubbed his hand across his tear-stained face angrily. ‘I keep telling Dad it was a man. He was waiting out in the jigger and as I ran past him he grabbed at me …’ His tears choked the rest of the sentence.

Vera hugged him tighter. ‘Was … was that all he did?’ she asked hesitantly.

Benny nodded.

‘He simply took the note from you, nothing else? He didn’t hurt you?’

‘Only my arm. He twisted my arm to make me give him the note I was holding.’

Vera stood up and faced her father. ‘Was this a betting slip?’ she demanded stonily.

Michael Quinn was so taken by surprise that guilt showed on his face.

‘What the bloody hell does it matter what it was,’ he barked.

Vera chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. ‘Then in that case, if it was some innocent message, it won’t matter if we tell the police what has happened.’

‘Tell the scuffers! Don’t talk so bloody daft, girl. What do you think they are going to do about a trivial thing like this?’

‘This man, whoever he was, attacked a little boy who was doing nothing wrong. That’s a crime. If they catch him, they’ll punish him.’

Tight lipped, Michael Quinn turned away. ‘Forget the whole bloody matter,’ he ordered. He moved to the polishing machine, picked up a boot and began operating the foot pedal so that the noise made talking difficult.

‘Take him away out of my sight and stop him snivelling before I thump his skull and give him something to really bleat about,’ he rasped nodding towards Benny.

‘Thump his skull! That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it!’

They all looked round in surprise as Eddy came through into the shop from the back room. ‘Don’t bother to try and explain,’ he said quickly, cutting Vera short as she began to speak. ‘I’ve heard all I want to hear. You don’t want the police brought in, do you Dad, because you’re using young Benny here as a runner.’

Michael’s face darkened. ‘What the hell are you going on about?’

‘You know quite well what I’m going on about and that what I’m saying is the truth. I’ve got witnesses to prove it. That harmless little message that bloke took off Benny was a bunch of betting slips. You’ve got men coming in here regularly under the pretence of bringing their boots and shoes in for repair, but it’s actually betting slips they are bringing in. You bundle them all up and send Benny along to Hillson’s in Great Homer Street with them.’

‘If they’re other people’s bets then why on earth are you doing all this and taking such risks?’ Vera exclaimed aghast.

‘I’ll tell you why he’s doing it,’ Eddy said before his father could reply. ‘He gets a cut from the bookie and then another handout from the punters when they win! Isn’t that right, Dad?’

‘You mean you risk our Benny being caught and sent to a reform school so that you can make yourself a few bob on the side,’ Vera accused him angrily. ‘What sort of father are you?’

‘One who struggles to keep a roof over your heads and food in your bellies.’

‘Don’t come that with us, we know different,’ Vera told him, her blue eyes flashing. ‘We pay our way, so it doesn’t cost you anything to clothe and feed me and Eddy. What little housekeeping money you hand over barely covers what you eat, and certainly isn’t enough to keep Benny,’ she told him.

‘All you’re doing is putting more money in your own pocket so that you can go out and get drunk every night of the week,’ Eddy said contemptuously.

‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that, not as long as you’re living under my roof,’ Michael Quinn blustered.

‘I wouldn’t stay under your roof another minute if I didn’t feel I had to to make sure you don’t mistreat my sister and little brother,’ Eddy told him.

‘The lot of you’ve always been well looked after, cared for and had a good home,’ their dad thundered.

‘We did most of the time when Mam was alive,’ Vera conceded. ‘And that was only because she went without to make sure that we had everything we needed.’

‘That’ll do! One more word from either of you and I’ll give the pair of you a sound thrashing, one you won’t forget in a hurry.’

‘That’s right, throw your weight around,’ Eddy taunted him. ‘I haven’t forgotten the beatings you gave me when I was growing up, or the number of times you thumped my skull. Mam’s better off out of it. You led her a dog’s life right up to the day when you pushed her down the stairs,’ he added heatedly.

Vera and Eddy were unsure what to do about the betting situation. Although he refused to admit to it, they were pretty sure that this was what their father was up to, and they were worried about what the consequences might be if the police found out.

Michael Quinn’s temper and mood changes were erratic enough as it was, and knowing that when Benny came home from school he was there on his own with him every evening, until Vera got in from work, was worrying enough. If he was using him as a runner, then if he thought that Benny had been the one who’d told them he might retaliate in some way.

Vera knew that he was continuing to use his punishment of swiping his clenched knuckles across the top of Benny’s head, the same as he’d done when Eddy was Benny’s age. When she’d been combing Benny’s hair she’d felt him flinch and draw his breath in sharply.

When she’d questioned Benny he’d denied that their dad was still thumping him, so she’d waited until he was asleep and then investigated further. As she’d gently parted the thick curls at the top of his head she’d felt enraged at the sight of the huge lumps she found there.

Eddy was equally concerned when she told him about the state of Benny’s head. He was sure it was all linked to the betting slips in some way. Although he knew he was taking a risk, he had gone directly to the manager at Hillson’s to ask if Benny Quinn was bringing in slips.

‘What the hell has it got to do with you,’ the bookie asked belligerently, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and staring hostilely at Eddy.

‘I’m worried about him, that’s all,’ Eddy said nonchalantly. ‘He’s my little brother and I wondered what he was getting up to running around the streets after school.’

‘He won’t come to much harm. He’s a bright lad is your young Benny, and he knows all the streets and back jiggers off Scotland Road like the back of his hand.’

Eddy didn’t know what to say. His mind was working overtime. The bookie obviously knew Benny, and his comments were confirming what he didn’t want to hear. Benny was definitely being used to collect and deliver bets.

‘In my opinion he should be playing with his mates and kicking a ball around,’ he commented.

‘You can’t always make a youngster do what you want him to,’ the man said cryptically.

Vera and Eddy brooded over what he had been told, but before they’d decided what action to take a policeman arrived at the shop just as Michael Quinn was about to close.

‘A pile of betting slips have been handed in at the station,’ he told Michael Quinn.

‘So what’s that got to do with me? If you don’t mind I’m shutting up shop for the night, so will you push off.’

‘Not until you’ve answered a few questions.’

‘Can’t you come back tomorrow when I’m open, my grub’s on the table.’

From the room behind the shop, Vera and Eddy could hear what was going on. Quickly, Vera opened the door and slipped into the shop on the pretext of telling her dad that they were all waiting to start their meal.

‘Evening, Miss. I’m PC Walters from Atholl Road Police Station. This won’t take more than a minute, but there’s some questions I need to ask.’

‘She knows nothing about it,’ Michael Quinn said abruptly. ‘Go on, start without me,’ he ordered, pushing Vera back towards the living room. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’ Turning to the policeman, he again asked him if he’d come back in the morning.

‘If it is only going to take a minute then why not get it over and done with right now, Dad,’ Vera suggested.

‘Thank you, Miss! It’s about some betting slips. The cards they’ve been written out on originally came from here. The words ‘Quinn’s Boot and Shoe Repairer’s’ is on all of them.’

Michael Quinn frowned. ‘I issue tickets on all the repairs I handle. Nothing to do with me if the ticket has been used again for some other purpose.’

‘We’ve also been informed a short time ago that someone saw a man grab hold of a little boy, in the jowler that runs between the back of this shop and Great Homer Street. The lad was about seven or eight with fair, curly hair. Was that your little boy who was attacked, Mr Quinn?’

Before their father could answer, Eddy pushed Benny into the room. ‘Go on Benny, tell the Bobby what happened in the jigger,’ he ordered.

‘Perhaps we should leave it for now,’ Vera said worriedly as Benny wriggled away from Eddy and grabbed at her hand.

‘I’m sorry, Miss, but it is my duty. The name of this shop is on all of these tickets. Since the information on them appears to indicate that they have been used as betting slips we are trying to find out how this came about.’

Michael Quinn seemed to suddenly have a change of heart. ‘I think I may be able to help you officer. We had a bit of a celebration here recently, a party because my son Eddy finished his apprenticeship. Amongst the people here was a young chap called Steve Frith …’

Michael Quinn paused, raising his eyebrows knowingly, leaving the police officer to draw his own conclusions. He ignored Vera’s sharp intake of breath and her quick denial that Steve could be implicated in any way.

‘So you’re saying that you think this chap Frith has something to do with these betting slips and that he was the one who grabbed your little boy?’

‘It’s possible … I’ve heard rumours. Perhaps you should cut along and have a word with him and leave me to shut up shop for the night,’ Michael Quinn said dismissively.

‘Hold on, Dad. Steve couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this!’ Vera protested heatedly.

PC Walters looked puzzled. ‘Was the man who attacked you someone you knew son?’ he asked, turning to Benny.

Benny nodded timidly.

‘Was his name Steve Frith?’

‘Speak up, son,’ Michael Quinn said brusquely. ‘Tell the policeman that’s who it was.’

‘This is absolutely ridiculous,’ Vera stormed. ‘It couldn’t possibly have been Steve.’

‘Why do you repeatedly say that?’ PC Walters frowned. ‘Is there something you should be telling me?’

Vera looked nervously at her father. ‘I know it wasn’t Steve Frith who grabbed hold of Benny because I know Steve too well. We … we’re going out together.’

PC Walters closed his notebook and put it back into his pocket. ‘Thank you for your help, Miss. We’ll have to look into this,’ he said ominously. ‘The whole thing will have to be investigated further, Mr Quinn, and since your name is on the tickets we’ll get back to you, you can be sure of that. Yes, we’ll certainly need an explanation on how your shop’s name was on all those betting slips,’ he repeated as he rammed his helmet back on his head.

The moment he had locked the shop door behind PC Walters, Michael Quinn turned angrily on his family. ‘What the hell are you lot playing at?’ he hissed furiously. ‘Do you want to see me in jail and you all out in the street without a roof over your head? If the law can pin a betting offence on me that is what will happen. And as for this silly little bugger,’ he shook his first threateningly at Benny, ‘if he opens his trap and lands me in it, I’ll see he ends up in reform school and no two ways about it!’

‘You’re wicked,’ Vera said contemptuously. ‘Is that how little you care about your family? Save your own neck and damn the rest of us. And why mention Steve Frith’s name? He has nothing to do with any of this.’

‘Then he’ll have no trouble proving that he’s innocent, will he. It gets the cops off our backs while we sort our story out.’