Tiger Ragtime (23 page)

‘And you really believe that everyone will see it that way?’

‘What other way can they possibly see it?’ He looked out of the window. ‘It’s a fine day; I’ll walk you to Stuart Street and the Windsor for your lunch date.’

‘You don’t have to.’

He reached for his hat. ‘I was thinking of calling in on my sister anyway.’

‘She’s been complaining that you visit her far more often than you used to.’

‘If she expects me to ignore the fact that I’m about to become an uncle she can forget it.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Let’s go, you don’t want to be late.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Are you sure that you’re happy with the idea of working in Mr James’s club?’ He wasn’t sure why he’d asked the question and he had absolutely no idea what he’d do if she said she wasn’t.

‘It’s a great opportunity.’

‘Yes it is, but it’ll be hard work and long hours.’

‘And more money than I’ve ever made before Micah. Money my family can use.’

‘One thing I’ve discovered since I’ve been in the Bay is that one member of a family can’t keep a whole tribe and the Kings are a tribe. Besides, your uncles wouldn’t be very pleased if they knew that they and their children were one of the reasons you took the job in the club.’

‘I’m far more selfish than that. I took it for me.’

‘You always were more ambitious than the rest of us in the band put together.’

‘And you think that is wrong?’

‘Absolutely not. Especially in someone with your talent,’ he said quickly.

‘Did you know that Mr James has plans to open clubs in London?’ Now that Micah had set her mind at rest about the wardrobe Aled James was buying her, she couldn’t wait to tell him about the future Aled was planning for his club – and for her.

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘He said he’d want to me to headline in all of them, eventually.’

‘And incidentally make him a lot of money. I always knew you were destined for great things, Judy.’ He waved to a group of seamen across the road. ‘Just don’t forget where you came from.’

‘As if I could.’ She looked at half a dozen small girls who were playing hopscotch on the pavement. ‘It only seems like the other day I was doing that.’

‘It only seems like the other day I was watching you,’ he said.

Chapter Twelve

‘I could really earn as much as a pound a day?’ David sat with both hands clamped around the pint of beer Aled had bought him, but he made no effort to lift it. He was too amazed by what Aled was telling him.

‘You could, and in time I have no doubt that you will, but it might take a while. And to start with, it’s a job you can do while working on the building site. All you have to do is refer to a list of races, the horses that are running in each race and the odds against them winning. Plus, of course, you’ll have to keep a book of copies of all the betting slips you’ve issued and a note of the amount you’ve collected, and the winnings you’ve paid out.’

‘But betting and gambling are illegal.’

‘There’s a handsome profit to be made and no bookie’s runner who’s ever worked for Aiden has gone to gaol, or will. Why don’t you try running a book for us for a couple of weeks? If you prove you can handle it, there may be a permanent job at the end of it for you in my club.’

‘As a bookie’s runner?’ David asked.

‘No.’ Aled finished his brandy. ‘Inside my club everything will be legal and above board. I’ll need croupiers, card dealers, crap game organisers and a whole lot more a bookie’s runner is a good way in to any one of those jobs. Are you doing anything this afternoon?’

Deciding Gertie could wait, David answered, ‘No.’

Aled opened his card case. ‘Go to the White Hart in James Street. Aiden Collins is running a training school for people who want to become bookie’s runners. Give him this card, and tell him that I think you have the makings of a runner. He’ll soon work out if I’m right or not. How is your basic arithmetic?’

‘I’ve never had trouble adding up money.’ David wasn’t boasting. He hadn’t learned to read and write until Mary had met Harry and Harry had taught him alongside the rest of the family. But he’d always been able to work out what the farm was owed at the livestock sales.

‘Aiden will check how good your calculations are. We won’t let you loose with the books until we’re sure you’re up to it. Now, I’m meeting a lady and I can’t keep her waiting. Don’t forget: the White Hart, James Street. Ask for Aiden Collins and they’ll show you to the room he’s booked.’

‘Just one thing, Mr James.’

Aled jammed his panama on his head and turned around. ‘Yes.’

‘You said I’d have to keep a note of the winnings I pay out. What happens if there’s more money to pay out than I’ve taken in bets?’

Aled laughed. ‘There never is, boy. And that’s your first lesson as a bookie’s runner. The punters sometimes win, the bookie always does.’ Still laughing, Aled left the pub and headed down to Stuart Street and the Windsor.

As David was the only inexperienced would-be runner who turned up for Aiden Collins’s ‘school’ in an upstairs room of the White Hart, Aiden kept him behind after he had run through what he expected of his bookie’s runners. He saw the other three men out, closed the door behind them, motioned David back to his chair and sat opposite him.

‘Let’s go over it one last time. But before we do, you understand that we only take bets to win. No place and it doesn’t matter who is asking.’

It wasn’t the first time Aiden had mentioned the word ‘place’ but, too embarrassed to ask, David hadn’t a clue what it meant. He nodded agreement and repeated the basics Aiden had drummed into him, in the hope of at least sounding intelligent. ‘I only take bets to win.’

‘I want to bet on Flash Lightning in the three o’clock at Aintree tomorrow afternoon. The odds are?’ He handed David a cheap child’s exercise book and looked expectantly at him.

David flicked through the handwritten book, found the race and the list of horses he wanted. ‘Flash Lightning is 3 to 1.’

‘I bet a shilling, Flash Lightning wins. I get?’

‘Four shillings.’

‘Which is?’

‘Your original shilling plus three,’ David suggested tentatively, his head swimming with the facts and figures Aiden had thrown at him.

‘I want to place a bet on Green Bay in the three thirty. The odds are?’

‘Even.’

‘I’ve put on half a crown. Green Bay wins.’

‘You get your half a crown back plus half a crown, which makes five bob.’

‘You catch on quick, kid,’ Aiden muttered. ‘Lemon Top in the four o’clock?’

David checked. ‘It’s the 1 to 3 favourite.’

‘I bet three shillings. I get?’

‘Your three shillings back, plus a shilling.’

‘Never forget the second number is the bet, the first the winnings – but only if the horse wins the race outright. Wins, not placed second or third.’

‘So that’s what “place” means,’ David blurted thoughtlessly.

‘That’s what it means.’ Aiden didn’t smile. He gave David a second book with a blue cover. A sheet of carbon paper separated the first two pages. ‘The pages are double-numbered. Place the carbon between them. Make sure you have the same number on the top and bottom copy. You don’t want to go issuing slips out of sequence. You write down the punter’s name – preferably a nickname, they’re more difficult to trace should the book ever fall into the wrong hands – the time of the race, the horse, the odds and the amount you’ve taken. You give the top copy to the punter. The bottom stays in the book. You NEVER take it out. It’s our only proof the bet was placed. And if the punter doesn’t have his copy of the slip, there is no pay-out. Not even if the punter is your brother and you remember him placing the bet, otherwise he could present the ticket at a later date and claim twice. You’re a bookie’s runner, not a charity. I’ll be here at seven o’clock tomorrow evening to help you check your books and the slips you’ve issued. Tell your punters: pay out starts at seven thirty. Not one minute before. You’ll need this.’ Aiden handed him a grey canvas bag.

‘What’s this for?’ David looked inside the bag. It was empty.

‘The money you take. Keep it safe. Inside your shirt would be a good place while you’re working. If it’s hot enough to take your shirt off, make sure the top of the bag is tied tightly then slip it inside, not outside, your trousers. The boss gets cross when money goes missing, and,’ he eyed David coldly, ‘the one thing you don’t want to do is make the boss cross. Especially on your first day.’

David took the empty bag, folded it and pushed it into his suit jacket.

‘When you start work tomorrow morning, let one or two people know – but casually – that you’re prepared to place bets. Word will get out without you advertising. You take the money, you issue the slips. No credit. If you haven’t any change to give the punter after he’s placed his bet, you make a note of what he’s owed at the top of his slip and tell him to collect his change later whether or not his horse has won. You walk away from anyone who offers to pay you at the end of the week when he gets his wages. You
always
take the money upfront. Get it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You finish your shift on the building at six?’ Aiden questioned.

‘Yes.’

‘The boss is particular about how his people look, so wash and change into your suit before you come here to pay out the winners. And this is the only place you pay out. No matter how hard the punters press you or how pathetic their hard-luck story, you only pay out at the end of the day and you only pay out behind closed doors with either me or Freddie standing behind you. There are two reasons for that. One, if there’s a challenge to a race result it will be made in the first half hour. Either Freddie or me will have heard it on the wireless and we will have made a note of it. We’ll have a full list of the final results when you turn up to pay out and we’ll check your payouts against them before you hand over any cash. Two, if the coppers catch you paying out in the street, or on the building site, they’ll nab you as soon as look at you and then you’ll end up in the cage. So where do you pay out?’

‘This room and nowhere else.’

‘This room is rented until Friday. After that we’ll move on to a different pub. And we’ll continue to move on to a new place every week. That way we stay one step ahead of the law.’

Despite Aled James’s assertion that none of his runners had ever gone to gaol, David had to ask the question. ‘What happens if the police stop me and find the money and the books?’

‘They won’t.’

‘But if they do,’ David persisted.

‘You open your mouth to ask for your lawyer and then keep it firmly shut until he arrives.’

‘I don’t have a lawyer,’ David was unfamiliar with the American term.

Aiden handed him a card. On it was printed AIDEN COLLINS – ATTORNEY AT LAW. ‘You tell them I can be reached at the Windsor Hotel.’

‘You’re a lawyer?’

‘All the one you’re ever likely to need, boy.’ Aiden picked up his hat from the stand. ‘You know what to do?’

‘I think so.’

‘You’d better know so, boy. The boss doesn’t like sloppy work or people who make mistakes.’

‘I’ll try not to make any.’

Aiden lifted his finger to his hat. ‘Try hard. See you tomorrow. Seven, sharp.’

‘I’ll be here.’

David watched Aiden leave, then walked to the window. Aled James had promised he’d make real money when he had recruited him, but after meeting Aiden Collins he wasn’t at all sure that he was doing the right thing in becoming a bookie’s runner. Like Harry, Aled had an air of what his sister Mary called ‘class’. Aiden looked like a roughneck who wouldn’t hesitate to beat a man to a pulp – or worse – if it suited him.

Driving all thoughts other than the money Aled had promised he’d make from his mind, David flipped his cap on to his head, picked up his jacket, stuffed both books into the pocket and left the room.

Harry Evans was discussing the recent stock take with his Uncle Joey, who had been appointed to the post of managing director of the chain of Gwilym James’s department stores and Timothy Grove, the manager of the Cardiff store, when there was a knock at the door. Timothy shouted, ‘Come,’ and the assistant manager looked around the door.

‘Mr Harry Evans wanted to know when Mr James arrived, sir,’ he said diffidently.

‘I did.’ Harry left his chair.

‘Miss John has shown Mr James and Miss King into private room two, on the third floor, sir. The girls were wheeling in the garments that Miss John had set aside for them when I left. Shall I bring Mr James up here, sir?’ the assistant manager asked.

‘No, thank you. I’ll go down and meet him.’ Harry glanced at Timothy. ‘You did say the conference room was free all day?’

‘It is, sir, but if you’d prefer to use my office –’

‘The conference room will be fine. Thank you. I’m not sure how long this will take.’

Harry hadn’t taken Joey into his confidence, but the fact that Harry hadn’t talked about the mysterious ‘Mr James’ had led Joey to suppose that whatever his nephew wanted to discuss with the man was important – and probably personal.

‘I can take over here, Harry,’ Joey offered.

‘Thank you.’ Harry reached for his jacket and hat.

‘We’ll be having tea in the restaurant if you’re free to join us, Harry.’ Joey winked at the manager. ‘I enjoy shaking up your staff.’

The manager, who knew Joey well, said, ‘I’ve noticed. Every time you eat a meal with us, waitress breakages go up twenty per cent.’

‘See you later.’ Harry left the office. He automatically checked the carpets for dirt and the walls and mirrors for smudges. Joey might be his uncle, but he had worked his way up to his present position from that of trainee assistant manager in the Pontypridd store. And Joey had taken care to pass on all the knowledge he had gleaned along the way to Harry.

Harry took the lift down to the third floor, chatted to the lift boy and discovered that, like all lift boys who’d been in the job for more than six months, the lad hoped for promotion to the sales floor. He left the lift, walked down the corridor and knocked on the door of the second private room he came to. Miss Johns opened it.

‘Mr Evans, sir.’ She looked from Harry to Aled James. The similarities between them were less marked when they were standing side by side. Their height and colouring were the same, but Aled’s face, creased by lines of experience, appeared harder, and the chill in his eyes was more pronounced when it was set against the warmth in Harry’s.

‘Mr Evans, it is nice to see you.’ Judy left her chair and offered Harry her hand. He took it, squeezed it, leaned towards her and kissed her cheek.

‘How are you?’

‘Fine, thank you, Mr Evans.’

‘I have tickets for
Peter Pan
. I’m bringing Mary and the children down to see it the weekend after next.’

‘I hope you enjoy it, Mr Evans.’

‘If it’s half as good as my sister said it was the last time I telephoned her, we’ll do just that. And speaking of Edyth, how is she?’

‘Busy in the shop when I left this morning.’

‘I intend to go down there and see her after I’ve left here this afternoon.’ Harry turned to Aled, who was lolling back in his chair smoking a cigar.

‘It’s been a long time, Harry.’

‘It has,’ Harry agreed. ‘Can you spare me a few minutes when you’ve finished here?’

‘Possibly, if Miss King requires fittings for alterations once she’s chosen her day wardrobe.’

‘Some of the evening gowns might fit better if they were taken in at the waist, Mr James,’ Alice Johns suggested.

‘They might.’ Aled flicked ash into the tray Alice had placed at his elbow.

Harry spoke to the supervisor. ‘I’ll be in the conference room, Miss Johns; perhaps you could ask one of the assistants to show Mr James upstairs when you’ve finished here.’

‘Yes, Mr Evans.’

Harry closed the door and walked away. Memories that had lain dormant for over twenty years rose, unbidden and unwanted, into his mind. Just as David had said on the day of the carnival, he and Aled could be twins. But when he had last seen Aled his surname had been Cooper, and he had been five inches taller and several pounds heavier than him. An advantage Aled had used to punch and beat him every chance he could get. And for years he had relived that pain and humiliation in his nightmares.

David stopped at Edyth’s bakery after he left the White Hart but any hopes he’d had that he’d be able to buy her tea and cakes in one of the cafes in Bute Street were dashed when he looked through the window and saw her packing enormous cardboard boxes with rolls, sandwiches and baked goods. Moving on swiftly, lest Jamie or one of Judy’s aunts recognise him and force him to make small talk, he went into the first I he came to and sat at a table out of sight of the window. His appetite had returned with a vengeance, so he ordered pie, chips, bread, butter and coffee. And while he waited for his food, he thought about Gertie.