Dodger of the Dials (9 page)

I lifted my head from the pillow, searched for where I had left my underclothes and – once I was halfway decent – crossed to the window. Just as I did so another pebble hit the pane, this one thrown with such force it almost cracked the glass.

‘Tell her careful,’ scowled Lily from the bed. ‘We’ve got neighbours.’

‘It ain’t Tom,’ I replied as I looked through the curtains and
down onto the goblin-faced pelter who was stood in the courtyard grinning up at me. He was wearing the same suit he had on at the fair two days before this and he had a newspaper under his arm. ‘It’s Morris Bolter.’

I heard Lily’s rustle as she sat up in bed behind me and I lifted up the window to ask this country cock why he was disturbing me at so unsociable an hour. Did he not know that most burglars was getting home from work around this time?

‘Bolter?’ Lily whispered as I popped my head out of the window. ‘Don’t invite him in.’

‘Morning, Morris,’ I greeted him with affected conviviality. ‘Good job you told me you was down there. I’ve a full bed pan up here and was just about to empty it out onto that very spot. Would’ve made a right mess of your nice suit.’ Bolter’s laugh was short and weak.

‘Yer a funny one, Dodger. That’s what I likes about yer. Always funny.’

‘What can I do you for?’

‘It’s what I can do
you
for, eh, young squire?’ he chuckled and winked, his country accent still rough as ever. ‘A friendly call, you might say, but with some business attached. Gonna let me up?’

‘No!’ Lily hissed from behind.

‘What sort of business?’ I asked. Bolter squirmed.

‘Not the sort I’d like to declare for the whole vicinity to hear,’ he said. ‘But profitable. Very profitable. I also got some information what I know would be of interest to yer. Something I discovered while flicking through this.’ He held up his copy of the
Morning Chronicle
.

‘Yeah?’ I squinted hard but could not make out the headline from where I was. ‘I’m impressed that a rube like you can even read such a fancy paper. They teach letters in the provinces, do they?’

Bolter’s smile dropped and he tucked the paper under his arm again. ‘I’s a charity boy,’ he said in a hiss. ‘So I’d wager this gives me more education than most around here. And I knows enough to know the name of an old enemy when I chances upon it in print.’

‘You’ll have to narrow that down,’ I said thinking on some of the many rumours I had heard about his work as an informer. ‘I hear you’ve got countless.’

‘Not just an enemy of mine,’ he smiled again, enjoying knowing something what I did not. ‘An enemy of yourn an’ all.’

‘I’m a well-loved member of the community,’ I replied and looked around the courtyard to make sure he was alone. ‘I ain’t got no enemies. Who you on about?’

‘The name I found in this morning’s paper,’ he said tapping it with his long fingernails, ‘is one I hear tell that you have very little love for.’ And then he said two words what never failed to capture my attention.

‘Come in for some tea, Morris,’ I told him before shutting the window. ‘I’ll be down in one second.’ Then I turned around to get dressed and saw Lily’s hot stare burning into me. ‘Sorry, Lil, but it sounds like he’s got some news,’ I explained as I hopped into some trousers.

‘News about what?’ she huffed.

‘About Oliver Twist,’ I replied as I made for the door.

*

‘Oliver Brownlow,’ said Bolter as he handed me the paper, ‘is what he goes by nowadays. Take a look for yerself. Front page.’

The kettle was already on the bubble and we was both sat around our small kitchen table as he rubbed his hands with undisguised glee. I had forgotten how big his head was and yet how small his face. I folded out the sheet and read.

The
Morning Chronicle
was a dull paper and the article could not
have been drier. It was all about changes what was occurring within the Metropolitan Police Service and my first thought was that Oliver must have become a peeler or something. I did not bother to read the story in detail and only scanned the text searching for his name but could not find it anywhere. I did however come across another familiar name what I did not much care for either. An Inspector Wilfred Bracken of E Division. He was the same officer what I had first encountered on my very first night back in England and who had been making a nuisance of himself ever since with his special brand of civic interference.

‘This here Bracken is a holy terror,’ I said as I read some lines about he and another high ranking officer called Mills was being tipped for promotion. ‘He’s forever crashing around the Seven Dials vicinity and harassing my gang as if we was the only villains in London.’ I was vexed to be reading about his career achievements in a respectable news organ as, on top of everything else, he was also the very peeler what had arrested my mother some years before. He had told me this himself on our first meeting and boasted that this action had resulted in her death by hanging. ‘Why are you showing me this, Morris?’ I asked after I had poured us both another cup of coffee. What’s it got to do with Oliver? Just point to the important bit so I can get on with my day.’

‘You ain’t reading it proper,’ Bolter grinned and tapped the bottom of the page. ‘Look again.’

And then I saw the words, right underneath the main story and printed in little italics.

Reported by Oliver Brownlow
.

‘Seems that our old friend Oliver has got hisself a profession,’ Bolter sneered as he blowed the steam away from his mug. ‘Journ’list.’

I said nothing for a short while as I drunk this information in
and let it stir about inside. Bolter had been right to assume that this name would prick my interest. Oliver Twist – the sniveling workhouse boy what I had discovered all those years ago starving to death on the streets of London and who I had rescued out of pity – had indeed done well for himself if he was now writing for a reputable paper like the
Chronicle
. I recalled him being about a year younger than myself, making him now only twenty years of age, and I marvelled at what social elevation was possible for young orphans who peach upon their own class and get themselves adopted into a new one.

‘Seems he’s received a decent education an’ all,’ I sniffed as I searched the rest of the paper in vain for more information. Then I laughed at the strangeness of the discovery. ‘The things that this city can sick up will always be a wonder to me.’

Ever since I had learnt that it was Oliver Twist what had been responsible for the destruction of Fagin, Nancy, Bill and the rest of the Saffron Hill collective I had been making a big noise about how I should like to settle him for their sakes. I had heard that he had been adopted by some rich old cove and that these two had been callous enough to visit Fagin in his Newgate cell on the night before his execution for no other imaginable reason than to gloat. But now that Morris Bolter had brought his name up again I realised that it had been over a year since I had made any concerted effort to track him down and make him sorry him for his crimes. I had been so busy and ambitious in recent times that I was ashamed by this reminder of my negligence upon the matter. I crumpled the paper up in frustration and tossed it back into Bolter’s lap.

‘Well, I recall why I hate the treacherous snake, Morris,’ I said as I got up to search the cupboard to see if we still had any of those fancy biscuits left what I had stolen from that tea-shop. ‘But what’s your connection with him again?’ Bolter sat up straight and smiled
that sickening smile of his as I offered him a biscuit to dip in his drink. He had told me of his bad blood with Oliver before and seemed pleased to be given the chance to do so again.

‘Why, I knew and hated the boy before any of yers,’ he boasted. ‘Back in Mudfog, the town where we both come from, we worked as apprentices in the same funeral home for a spell. He was under me and would not do as bid and so I said some nasty stuff about his whore mother – every word of it the truth – and he took it ill.’ Bolter bared his yellow teeth and wheezed out laughter. ‘Lashes out at me, would you warrant it? Well, I respond in kind and gave him the best thrashing of his young life. Ha Ha, Dodger, I wish yer’d a seen it. Yer’d a been cheering me on as I pounded him. Yer’d a been proud a’ me!’ He lifted up his free fist in triumph as if he wanted me to admire those spindly-looking arms. Why he thought I would be impressed to hear about him beating up a kinchin at least five years younger than himself was a mystery but I said nothing and let him continue. ‘If only I’d a known that fine old Jew what I knows yer were so fond of earlier in life,’ he then said in a more solemn manner. ‘I’d a told him to tie young Oliver in a sack and chuck him into the Thames before all the trouble had begun. Mark it, Dodger, I hate that lad every bit as much as yer do, maybe more I reckon.’ He gave me a long wink as the soggy half of his biscuit dropped into the mug. ‘It’s what we have in common.’

‘Well, as ever, it’s a delight seeing you again, Morris,’ I said in an effort to hurry him along. I knew that Lily would still be hiding in the bedroom, her ear no doubt pressed against the wall and just willing me to show him the door. I had no desire myself to keep company with this writhing eel for any longer than need be and so I moved the conversation along. ‘But, outside, you made some mention of business. You want to work for the Diallers, is that what this is about?’

‘No, I do not,’ he said as he tried to fish out the dropped biscuit from his cup. ‘But I know a man who likes the Diallers to work for him.’ It was painful watching him make a mess everywhere so I handed him a teaspoon to make the task simpler. ‘D’yer recall seeing me at the fair this Saturday gone, Dodge?’ he asked once his task was complete and he had deposited the wet biscuit remains onto the front page of the paper.

‘I do,’ I replied as I sipped my own coffee.

‘Well then, I was most sorry to see yer take off so quick,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to make an introduction. Recall that man I was stood next to?’ I nodded. ‘Know who he is?’

‘William Slade.’

‘S’right,’ he grinned. ‘Weeping Billy Slade he goes by. I reckon your current fancy-woman woulda told yer all about him. I hear she and he was awful close once upon a time.’ He whispered this, no doubt aware that Lily would be eavesdropping. In turn I raised my own voice so she could hear my reply.

‘She’s mentioned him, yeah,’ I said, a picture of unconcern. ‘Said she didn’t much care for life in his bawdy house. She lives here now and if your Weeping Willy has an objection to it then tell him he can take it up with me. It can be pistols at dawn if fancies it.’

Bolter burst into laughter and told me how funny I was. ‘An objection? Course he don’t!’ He wiped his eyes in mirth and hooted again. ‘Billy Slade don’t mean yer good lady no harm, Dodge,’ he then declared as he slapped me on the knee. ‘He’s happy for the girl!’ He was again speaking loud enough for Lily to hear and proceeded to explain how pleased his friend had been to see her again at the rope-dance. ‘I’s told him all about who yer are, Dodger, don’t fret none. He knows yer a man to be respected, a man what’d make his old favourite good n’ happy. Slade’s all business and if he had time to go chasing after every harlot what walks out on him then he
would not be as rich as he is. And is he rich?’ Another wink. ‘Oh, yessir! Yes indeed!’

I glanced over to the kitchen door and out in the hallway I was sure I saw the shadow of Lily listening in. I knew what a great relief all this would be to her and – I confess – I was glad to hear it myself.

‘It ain’t her he’s interested in,’ Bolter pointed his chewed fingernail at me, ‘it’s yer. He’s heard all about yer activities as a cracksman, Dodge. Yer’ve a reputation, yer know yer have. And he likes what he’s heard so much he’s asked me to make yer an offer. An alliance,’ Bolter smiled as he put his empty mug down, ‘with Weeping Billy Slade. Just think on it, Dodger, yer’ll be rich.’ He began clapping his hands together like a maniac. ‘It’s yer lucky day all right!’

‘You mean, he wants me to run his gang for him?’ I asked uncertain of what was being offered. ‘As top sawyer?’

Bolter stopped smiling and shook his head. ‘Course not!’ he snapped. ‘He’d be top sawyer. Yer’d just be working for him, doing what yer do now and paying him half.’ It was my turn to laugh.

‘Tempting,’ I said. ‘But I’d much rather keep all my winnings for me. Thank Mr Slade for his interest though.’

‘Yer don’t unnerstand, Dodge,’ Bolter persisted. ‘There are benefits to being under his wing. But don’t listen to me, come and hear Billy out. He explain things so much better.’

‘Jack’s got a gang of his own,’ came Lily’s voice from the doorway. ‘He don’t work for no others. Be a good dog and tell your master that.’ She was standing in the room now in her greenest dress and with a fierce eye trained upon Bolter. He seemed to be most rattled by her aggressive manner and stood up from his stool.

‘Oh, and this one speaks for yer, does she?’ he asked me while keeping his eye fixed on her. ‘Why, if my Charlotte thought to
interfere in my business so I’d give her another black eye for her trouble.’

‘And if I was your Charlotte, I’d give you two back,’ Lily answered. ‘Jack, show him downstairs.’ Bolter turned to me, dumbfounded.

‘Yer ain’t gonna let a woman tell yer what to do, are yer?’ he said. ‘Yer yer own master, Dodge, say it’s so.’ I drained my mug, placed it on the table and smiled at him.

‘Thanks for visiting, Morris,’ I said all cheerful as I got up to see him out. ‘I appreciate what you’ve told me about Oliver Twist. I always enjoy hearing about what my childhood chums are getting up to. Now fuck off before I open a window and throw you out. Head first.’

*

Tom Skinner had never heard of either Oliver Twist or Oliver Brownlow before and she seemed most uninterested in his journalistic career when I mentioned it in the drinking den several hours later. The offer from Billy Slade had made more of an impression upon her however and, like me, she did not trust it much.

‘What benefits?’ she asked after knocking back her third glass of White Fire gin. ‘We ain’t making enough as it is without giving half to some chancer from West London. Cheek of him!’ She slammed the glass down onto the table and burped.