Prized Possessions (29 page)

‘She's
our
problem, for Chrissake,' said Dennis.

‘Aye, maybe Dennis is right,' said Tommy.

‘What's that supposed t' mean?' said Jackie.

‘She knows Dominic Manone, doesn't she, but,' Tommy stated.

‘Her mam does, aye,' Jackie admitted, grudgingly. ‘Everybody knows Lizzie's payin' off interest to Manone. She as good as told me that Dominic Manone was her protector the very first time we met.'

‘Who takes the dough to O'Hara every month?' Dennis said.

‘The kid sister,' said Tommy. ‘Rosie, the dummy.'

‘Jeeze!' said Jackie. ‘Don't tell me you think the girls would sell us out?'

‘How do I bloody know?' said Tommy, coughing again. ‘I ain't screwin' one o' them.'

‘Well, I ain't either.' Jackie grinned in spite of himself. ‘Not yet.'

‘Women!' Dennis snarled. ‘Soddin' bloody women!'

‘Patsy's the one,' said Jackie. ‘If it's Patsy they're on to then he's the one we gotta worry about. Where is the bugger anyhow?'

‘I wisht I knew,' said Tommy.

‘Maybe he's done a bunk,' said Jackie. ‘Gone off t' France or somewhere. I mean, you know what Patsy's like.'

‘He's broke,' said Tommy. ‘Broke an' in hock.'

‘You sure?'

‘I'm sure,' said Tommy. ‘Told me himself last week.'

‘Hey!' Jackie sat up straight. ‘You don't think he could be dead already?'

‘Naw,' said Dennis. ‘Patsy? Naw, not Patsy Walsh.'

‘Jeeze!' said Jackie. ‘I mean if they've already got to Patsy, what hope is there for the rest o' us?'

‘Bugger all,' said Tommy.

*   *   *

He drove out through Hutchesontown into Oatlands, swung down McNeil Street into Adelphi Street and brought the Alfa prowling to a halt on the river road.

Polly had never been inside a private motorcar before. Padded leather deadened the clatter of trams, the thunder of trains, the crying of the gulls that hovered above the brown waters of the Clyde. A few football supporters were already trickling towards the stadium via the bridges but the chalky outlines of the People's Palace across the river on Glasgow Green seemed misty and remote. She felt pleasantly cut off from the bustle of the city.

If anyone but Dominic Manone had been at the wheel she might have enjoyed the experience. As it was, she was reluctant to betray herself, to appear less than sophisticated. She had not asked where he was taking her or why they had stopped at this particular spot.

She looked from the side window, thinking how odd it was that the boundary line that separated the parliamentary divisions ran straight up the middle of the river. She wondered if the rowing teams that sculled their graceful shells above the tidal weir realised that they were dipping in and out of royal history. When she turned from the window she found that he was staring at her.

‘What?' she said. ‘What is it?'

‘You do not look at all like your mother,' Dominic said.

‘I should hope not,' said Polly.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Would
you
like to be told that you looked like your father?'

‘I can hardly remember what my father looks like.'

‘Your uncle then,' said Polly. ‘You know what I mean.'

‘Yes, I do know what you mean.'

Dominic conceded the point without relaxing his grave, unobtrusive scrutiny. She wondered if he hid his feelings deliberately or if this was how all Italian men behaved. She could not read him as easily as she read Patsy. There seemed to be nothing on the surface and, for all she knew, nothing much beneath as if he were too handsome to have any character at all.

He said, ‘I am trying to find out who robbed my warehouse.'

‘I have no idea what you're talking about,' Polly said.

‘I think that you do.'

‘Is that why you sent Alex O'Hara round to our house last night?'

‘To your house?' Dominic said. ‘I did not know of this.'

Polly wondered if his surprise could possibly be genuine.

She said, ‘Well, you'll know about it when my mammy comes to see you.'

‘Did he – did O'Hara hurt you?'

‘Hah!' said Polly. ‘What do you think?'

‘I really knew nothing of this,' Dominic said.

He adjusted his position, hand on the back of the seat an inch from her shoulder. If he touches me, if he brushes me with his fingertips or gives me a pat to reassure me then I'll know he's lying, Polly told herself.

To her relief he sat back, leaned his arms on top of the steering wheel and stared through the windshield at the empty street and the traffic that flowed, foreshortened, over the Albert Bridge.

‘Did he hurt you or frighten you?' Dominic said.

‘Both,' said Polly. ‘He frightened all of us, especially my sister Rosie. And he cut the hand of a – a friend of ours who happened to be visiting at the time.'

‘A female friend?'

‘No, a man,' said Polly.

‘Did your friend report the assault to the police?'

‘My mother persuaded him not to.'

‘Am I to take it,' Dominic said, ‘that you told O'Hara nothing?'

‘What was there to tell?' Polly allowed exasperation to show. ‘We know nothing about what happened at the warehouse, nothing except what my sister Babs told us. How could we? I can't imagine what O'Hara thought a bunch of women might be able to tell him.'

‘Something that your friend Walsh might have let slip.'

Polly had expected to be challenged about her friendship with Patsy. O'Hara had caught her out in a lie and, being as shrewd about some things as he was ignorant of others, had come rushing in like a blind bull. The fact that she
was
protecting someone made it difficult to feign innocence. If Mr Manone had picked on Babs for this little ‘chat' Babs would immediately have negotiated terms – which, perhaps, was what Dominic Manone expected her to do.

‘I was with him that evening,' Polly said. ‘With Patsy Walsh, I mean.' She hesitated, calculating how much of the truth would seem like the whole truth. ‘I wasn't – I wasn't in bed with him, if that's what you might be thinking.'

‘You did not spend the night?'

‘No, I left quite early.'

‘How early?'

‘Nine or half past.'

She waited for his next question, sure that it would concern Patsy.

He glanced at her, arms still folded on top of the wheel. She could smell a spicy sort of odour, very faint and pleasant. She was dying for a cigarette but did not have the gall to ask for one or take one out and light it.

‘Is your sister okay?' Dominic said.

‘O'Hara shouldn't have scared Rosie, particularly as she doesn't hear very well.'

‘No,' Dominic agreed.

‘My mother is furious.'

‘I will talk with her,' Dominic said.

Polly said, ‘I thought you protected people.' He glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. This time she was sure that his surprise was genuine. She went on, ‘Isn't that how you make your money? Don't people pay you to protect them from the likes of O'Hara? Don't we pay you enough?'

‘You pay me all I ask for,' Dominic said. ‘But that is a debt – the interest on a debt, I should say. I have done things for your mama…'

‘Now you want us to do something for you,' Polly said.

Her hands were cold. With the engine not running the interior of the car had rapidly become chilly. She kept still, though. An instinct told her that she had nothing to fear from this man.

‘You want us to tell you who broke into your warehouse in Jackson Street and stole your money,' Polly said. ‘That's a bit ironic, don't you think?'

‘Ironic?'

‘Implausible.'

‘What is implausible?' Dominic said.

He no longer pretended to stare down the empty street. He stared at her instead. A speculative little glint in his dark eyes added dimension to his character. Polly found it difficult to despise him. He was as unlike Patsy Walsh as it was possible to be and yet behind his smoothness he too seemed self-contained and just a little desolate.

‘That you should have to come to folk like us to get what you want.'

‘You know nothing about me, Polly.'

‘No,' Polly agreed. ‘But you think you've been betrayed.'

Again the glint in the eye, the compression of the dark brows. She had surprised him again, by her perspicacity this time rather than her boldness.

‘It's
that
you can't put up with, Mr Manone, isn't it?'

He paused, considering. ‘I am not so sure I have been betrayed.'

‘What will you do if it turns out you have been?' Polly said. ‘Assert your authority. Take revenge?'

‘Perhaps.'

‘What if you make a mistake?'

‘Pardon?'

‘What if it was all a mistake?'

‘Was it?' he said. ‘If you tell me it was a mistake I will believe you.'

She smiled, not smugly. ‘I don't know whether it was a mistake or not. I don't know who betrayed you, if anyone did. But if I did…'

‘You would not tell me?'

‘Why should I?' Polly said. ‘Out of gratitude for what you've done for my mother and my sisters?'

‘O'Hara should not have threatened you.'

‘It makes no difference,' Polly said.

‘To me it does.'

‘Really? Why's that?' said Polly.

‘Because I have respect for you, for your mama.'

‘Because she pays you…' Polly began.

‘For other reasons too.'

‘To do with my father?'

‘I did not know your father, not well at any rate.'

‘You were only a boy when he went away, weren't you?'

‘Not much more than a boy,' Dominic agreed. ‘Not quite old enough to fight in the war.'

‘Do you regret that?'

‘Do I regret what?'

‘Not having had a real war to fight in?' Polly said.

‘Of course not. I am glad of it.'

‘So, instead, you've got this war of your own going on.'

‘No,' he said. ‘No, you do not understand how it is with us.'

‘Business?' Polly said. ‘Business and respect and honour? Right?'

He seemed about to answer her, to put something into words that might excuse or at least reveal what he wanted with her, why he had brought her here and what the conversation signified. He said nothing, though. He lifted a leather-gloved hand and tapped it on the top of the steering wheel, then reached for the ignition key and started the engine.

‘Where are you taking me now?' Polly said.

‘Home. To your home.'

‘I thought you didn't want us to be seen together?'

‘If you know nothing and have nothing to hide what does it matter?'

‘I didn't say I'd nothing to hide. I've plenty to hide,' Polly said.

‘Not concerning who robbed my warehouse, however,' Dominic said.

‘Not about that, no.'

‘In that case you can have no objections if I drop you at your close.'

‘None at all,' said Polly.

‘And if I wait for you outside?'

‘Wait for me? For what?'

‘Does your mother not have a payment to make this afternoon?'

‘Dear God!' Polly exclaimed. ‘Is that what all this is about? Are you fretting in case my mother won't shell out your miserable fiver?'

‘I take it you will not be sending the girl, the little one?'

‘Rosie? Sending her where?' Polly said. ‘To meet with O'Hara? Don't be ridiculous. Of course we won't.'

‘So you will be the one to make the payment?' Dominic said.

‘I suppose I will be, yes.'

‘I will drive you,' Dominic said. ‘I'll wait in the motorcar while you tell your mother where you are going and until you pick up the money then I will personally drive you to the Rowing Club.'

‘To meet with Alex O'Hara?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why don't I just give you the fiver?' Polly said. ‘I assume it finds its way into your pocket eventually.'

‘The money is not the point,' Dominic said.

Polly frowned. ‘You want O'Hara to see us together, is that it?'

‘Yes.'

‘What a jolly good idea,' said Polly.

*   *   *

He had been drinking by fits and starts since the pubs opened at eleven. Only habit had steered him towards Molliston Street about half past two o'clock. He was sufficiently sober to realise that the odds against Rosie showing up were impossibly long but just sufficiently tipsy to imagine that she might actually have enjoyed the rough stuff and come looking for a bit more of the same.

He had done nothing about Walsh and Bonnar. Serious thinking would be necessary before he made his next move. He had a hunch that Bonnar and Walsh might be waiting for him. After what had happened last night he didn't want to charge into anything. Anyhow, he'd still had his regular collections to make and more than a few fivers were tucked into his pocket before he succumbed to the temptation to nip into Brady's for a quick one.

Brady's wasn't his only stop as he meandered across Bridge Street, down Nelson Street into the Paisley Road, and after the pubs closed down to the Rowing Club where the bar remained open all afternoon. There he handed his collections to Tony Lombard who counted the cash and put it into an envelope marked with his name. Then he ate a couple of mutton pies and a pickled egg, washed down with a pint of heavy.

By that time it was almost half past three and dusk was settling in, streetlamps were being lighted and an inexplicable melancholy entered O'Hara's soul. He wandered into the billiard room in search of Tommy Bonnar before he remembered that Tommy was high on his list of suspects and, being a wise wee man, wouldn't be hanging around looking for trouble. Then he tried to talk to Tony, but Tony would have none of his blathers. Eventually, more sober now than not, he wandered out into the street and, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped, peered towards the corner in the hope that he would see Rosie skipping towards him just as if nothing had happened.