He didn’t even wait until Gran was asleep. He rose, exited quietly out the window, and skittered down the alley. He needed to get some money and do so quickly. His plan was to go to Molly’s house and see if she could give him the half crown. That was bound to help Gran. He hoped it wasn’t too late for him to visit her.
When he turned the corner, he stopped when he saw Lonzo and Eddie standing there. Lonzo had the butt of a cigarette in his mouth; thin wisps of smoke rose off it to join the fog that clustered around them, blurring their images.
A few moments later Lonzo ground the finished cigarette into the pavement with the heel of his thirdhand boot. His hands in his pockets, he stared at Charlie.
“We ’eard ’bout yer gran. Got her wages cut. What you gonna do?”
“I’m goin’ to get some money.”
“How?” This came from Eddie.
“Dunno yet,” Charlie lied. He didn’t want Lonzo anywhere near Molly Wakefield.
Lonzo stepped forward. “Thin’ is, we seen you go to that bookshop ’cause we followed you to the school.” He poked a finger into Charlie’s slender chest. “We tried tellin’ you that the other day, but you run off, didn’t you? And then we followed you the next mornin’ and seen you give back the quid to that bloke. Are you barmy or what?”
A thin line of sweat broke over Charlie’s forehead despite the chill.
“It was a lot ’a money, Charlie,” added Eddie. “Nuff to help yer gran.”
“And help us, mate,” said Lonzo with a malicious grin.
Charlie backed away and shook his head.
Lonzo took out something from his pocket. Charlie saw that it was Lonzo’s flick-knife. He opened it to reveal, a small, lethal blade. “Now, your gran’s a nice old biddy, ain’t she, Charlie? Shame if somethin’ happened to her.”
A furious Charlie leapt forward to attack Lonzo. But Eddie grabbed him and held him tightly while Lonzo edged the blade against Charlie’s quivering neck.
“So we’re all goin’ to get the money you took back to that bloke. Then we splits it, three ways, all fair, like we always done. ’Cause you ain’t one to let the side down, are you, Charlie?”
Charlie struggled against Eddie’s grip, but the older boy’s strength was greater than Charlie’s.
“Don’t be daft, Charlie,” urged Eddie breathlessly. “He won’t even miss it.”
“He will,” exclaimed Charlie. “He don’t got much.”
Lonzo said, “Well, he’s got mor’n we got. So let’s go.”
Charlie finally burst free from Eddie’s grasp. “I won’t help you do it.”
“Okay,” said Lonzo, folding up his blade. “We’ll go and you get nothin’. But if the bloke tries and stops us...? Well, he’s goin’ to get cut, ain’t he?”
Thinking quickly, a desperate Charlie said, “Okay, I’ll go with you. We can get in and out without him even knowin’.”
Lonzo grabbed Charlie’s arm. “Let’s go.”
The Parting of Death
After hitching a ride on a lorry making deliveries and helping the driver unload boxes of produce at a warehouse near Covent Garden, they reached the alley and Charlie saw the green awning. He prayed that the door would be locked. When they got there, the light was off, and the door was indeed secured, and the blackout curtains drawn.
However, Eddie pulled his lockpick from his pocket and began to work away on this problem, while Lonzo kept a tight grip on Charlie’s arm. He bent low and whispered, “When Eddie gets that door open, you go in, all quiet-like, get the quid and brin’ it ’ere, you got that? No tricks.” Lonzo held up his knife.
Charlie nodded.
However, when the door would not yield, Lonzo barked, “Oi, what gives?”
Eddie said, “Dunno. Got the lock open, but ’e must ’ave it latched on the inside.”
“Well, I ain’t goin’ off empty-’anded after we come all this way!”
Lonzo shoved Eddie aside and put his shoulder against the door, once and then twice and then a third time. The wood cracked and the door popped free.
“Oi,” the voice called out as the beam from the torch fell upon them.
The copper was at the mouth of the alley. “You lads hold up right there.”
He started to run toward them.
The trio of boys did not hold up right there. They sprinted in the other direction, just as they had done in all encounters with the police.
When the constable passed by The Book Keep’s window the light inside came on, and Oliver appeared in his robe and pajamas from behind the curtain. He spotted the damaged and partially opened door, flipped up the hinged countertop, and ran to the entrance. He looked down the darkened alley in time to see the backs of the constable and the three boys in full flight.
“Stop!” called out the officer. “You boys stop. Or it’ll go hard with you.”
They burst from the alley with the swift-footed Charlie in the lead, Lonzo right behind, and the shorter-legged Eddie bringing up the rear.
When they reached the street, Charlie shot across it, and Lonzo did so a moment later. They both looked back when they heard the squeal of wheels, the gnashing of brakes, the blaring of a horn, and, more distressing, the impact of flesh against metal. And, most horrifying of all, the screams.
The lorry had slammed into the constable right as he reached Eddie, hurling his body a good ten feet in the air. He landed with a sickening thud. Eddie had seen the truck coming and had ducked down; the lorry’s wheel rolled over his head.
Charlie had stopped so fast that Lonzo ran into him. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Charlie saw that the constable and Eddie were lying in the street a good many feet apart; both were motionless, their blood staining the road. The driver of the lorry climbed out and looked at the bodies with a dazed expression.
Charlie got to his feet and cried out, “Eddie!”
He was about to go back when Lonzo violently grabbed his arm. “No, Charlie. We got to run for it.”
“We got to go back,” protested Charlie.
“We go back there they’ll put us in prison for sure.”
“But—”
Lonzo pulled his knife. “I’ll gut you right ’ere. And then I’ll do your gran. Now move!”
“Hey, you there, you come back here,” the lorry driver, a bearded, beefy man, called out when he spotted them.
Charlie turned and sprinted away with Lonzo right behind. They ran for what seemed miles through much of sleeping London. Finally, they stopped, bent low, and gasped for breath. When Lonzo straightened he said haltingly, “You... you reckon Eddie...?”
Charlie said breathlessly, “I... I don’t think it’s good. I... I think he’s...”
“Shit.” Tough Lonzo looked to Charlie like he might start to weep.
Charlie understood this. Eddie was all Lonzo had.
Lonzo looked angrily at Charlie. “This is your damn fault.”
“It was your idea to go there, Lonzo.”
“But if you ’adn’t been so stupid as to brin’ the quid back,” he snarled in his misery. “And a copper done for on top’it. That’s... that’s a bloody ’angin’ job.”
Charlie had not considered this. “They won’t hang us, Lonzo. We ain’t old enough.”
“You stupid git! We’re just a pair of East End blokes, not worth nothin’.” He grabbed Charlie’s arm. “You keep your mouth shut, you ’ear me? You say one bleedin’ word ’a this, I’ll cut you up and your gran, too. I swear it on me mum’s grave.”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’, Lonzo. I don’t want to hang.”
“You better not.” He let go, turned, and disappeared into the night.
Charlie, his limbs all still quivering, swiftly made his way back to Bethnal Green.