He stood, as if about to give the most impeccable salute ever seen on Horse Guards Parade. Thank God he didn’t. “The thing is, sir, it would be too dull, striving to get on like all the happy savers worrying about their insurance. They’re ten a penny, and there’s something to be said for what feeling different does to your self-respect.”
I slapped my thigh with delight. “Quite right, Straw,” thinking it amazing how much a man of the lower orders could be in tune with someone of such breeding as myself. “Do go on.”
“The thing is, sir, I’m fundamentally untrustworthy. Oh, I don’t mean to people like your good self. To you I’ll be as reliable at the North Pole, and as straight as a die. I’m only untrustworthy to myself in never knowing what I’ll do next. That’s what makes life so exciting, and why I’ll never settle down. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“I do recall,” I said, hoping to take him down an inch or two, “that your adventures with that son of mine landed him in prison.”
“We all have to do our time in the glasshouse, sir. Wouldn’t be men if we didn’t.” He rubbed his palms, whether from regret, or because they itched, I knew not. “I agree it was regrettable what happened to Michael, but we were young — or younger, anyway. I won’t go into details — no name no pack drill — but it was because he got set up by Moggerhanger. It was also due to Michael’s bad luck, and a bit of his carelessness thrown in.”
What novelist wouldn’t be interested in such an exposition of low-life philosophy? From what other sort of person can we get ideas and material for stories? “Are you able to type, Sergeant?”
Having finished the dregs of coffee, and the last crumb of biscuit, he got to his feet as if the question offended him. “Of course I can, sir. I’m not illiterate. I once did a spell in the orderly room. Picked it in no time. Only two fingers, but I’m as fast as those who use all they’ve got.”
Such a promising response told me I could set him going on my old Remington. He would work, I knew, till Moggerhanger offered something more in line with his capabilities, though after a bout of such employment I would reap even greater benefit from the details of his further experience. “All you have to do is sit at the dining room table with a stack of A4 paper, and type everything from the tape recorder — to begin with. Just sit down and keep going.”
He upended the coffee pot, and when nothing came out, reached for the milk jug and drank from that. “That won’t be a problem, sir. You leave it to me. The only thing is that books must have titles.”
I waited for a moment of inspiration. “Call it ‘Blood’s Blood Money.’ As soon as you have it down I’ll knock it into shape.”
“No problem, sir. I did one for you about three years ago, and it was as easy as pie. I can’t wait to get going.”
“Splendid. You’re a good chap, Straw.”
His expression was modest. “I hate to have to ask you this, Major Blaskin.”
“Well, what is it now?” I demanded, a little tetchily.
“Will it be all right if I start after lunch?”
Chapter Fifteen
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment as I drove into Moggerhanger’s compound. On the other hand the clang of the shut gate made me think of the arena in Roman times, when the gladiator was barred from turning back on going in to fight for his life.
I decided there had to be two of me — where would I have been without them? — and wouldn’t have minded having three or even four, for at least one of us would then have had a chance of walking out to enjoy the future.
Still inside the Rolls, I lit a cigar, and thought that if there were four, what could their characteristics be? I would consider the first to be that still lurking latchkey single parent slum brat who, as an adult, rarely forgot such a beginning. Secondly would come the juvenile delinquent who had never been caught by the police because he was sly enough and smart enough to keep out of their way, too intent in any case on getting his hot fingers into the knickers of any available girl. The third personality would be the cocky young man who launched himself on London, reinforced by the jungle-like street credibility of the first two, up for every chance and thinking he could never come to harm, but landing in prison for a year. Lastly there was the me of now, who after some experience in the deviousness of the advertising trade, considered himself too second to none to be afraid of a jumped up hidebound hypocritic bastard like Moggerhanger.
King of the world then, at having come back safe from a forlorn hope, with neither a scratch on the Rolls Royce or myself, I was nevertheless still nagged by thoughts of at least getting a bollocking from Moggerhanger. I could see no reason for it, considering the success of my mission. But if he went into a fit of cigar stained finger jabbing, I hoped it wouldn’t get too close to my face. In no mood to put up with unjustified wrath, I would think nothing, should it come, of standing up, or reaching across if I hadn’t been invited to sit down, and smacking him across the mug.
Kenny Dukes, who saw me out of the car, wore a smart Bond Street cap, and a blue blazer with the garish badge of a non-existent yachting society stitched clumsily on the pocket. A pale blue bow tie was angled like the stopped propeller of an old aeroplane that had crash-landed, though his trousers had such a razor-like crease that only Mrs Blemish could have ironed. “You’re looking smart,” I said. “How’s that?”
“The boss got onto me. Said he was fed up having scruffs working for him.”
The flesh around his eyes was blue and black, mostly black. “You look as if you’ve been in the wars again. Did your mother lay into you?”
He stood aside, to rub his elbow. “I crossed the boss, didn’t I?”
“You did? What for?”
“I went AWOL.”
“Naughty boy. But why?”
I suppose he had courage of a sort, the way he let Moggerhanger knock him about, though I couldn’t help but despise the daft goon for putting on such a smile. I would only have recognised him on the street by his long arms. “I went to call on Sidney Blood,” he said. “You’ll never believe it. He read me a bit of his latest book, and gave me a signed copy. He’s a great man, Michael, and it’s all thanks to you, for telling me his name.”
“The boss knocked you about for that?”
“Well, he would, wouldn’t he? I wasn’t here when I was expected to be, was I? He was in a real fucking spin because he’d been waiting for me to drive to Spleen Manor and sort out Eric Alport who’d given him some lip on the blower. The boss had ordered him to be at a certain place with packets of you know what, at a special time, and he wasn’t there. He fucked up all the coordinations, and you know what Moggerhanger’s like when that happens. Cottapilly said afterwards how he’d heard the boss shouting on the blower that Eric had got delayed in a pansy knocking shop when he should have been attending to business. So Moggerhanger was in a right temper when I got back from Sidney Blood’s. Wanted me to tell him all I’d said while I was there as well, but I was still so chuffed I couldn’t remember a thing.”
Easy to understand how a lifetime’s battering had killed nine tenths of Kenny’s memory, as I began unloading the boot. “Didn’t you feel like landing him one back?”
“You can’t hit the boss, can you? And I had gone off without telling him, hadn’t I? Can’t think what came over me.”
“He shouldn’t knock one of his best lads about like that.”
“Well, all I knew was I’d been to see Sidney Blood.” He looked at the ground. “That was all I knew.”
“What did your mother say when she saw the bruises?”
“She was in a bad mood, and said he should have given me some more.”