“But then, so do socialism and paid hours,” Barker said.
“Touche, Mr. Barker,” the young man admitted. “You’ve got me there.”
“How do the Italians stand in this situation?”
“They’re getting fed up,” Tillett replied. “The English confuse them with the Sicilians, and the Sicilians consider them rubbish. They nudge them in passing while unloading, knocking them off balance. One even fell off the gangplank the other day, breaking his elbow. Frankly, we’ve never cared for the Italians, but we prefer them to the Sicilians by a long chalk.”
“Do you take this morning’s situation with the ice to be a continuation of the problem?”
“Definitely. Gigliotti’s the most successful Italian in London. Until now, even the Sicilians have bowed to his demands. I’m sure this will cause ripples from here to Clerkenwell.”
“Let me put two questions to you, if I may. Do you think a battle planned by the Sicilians would be straightforward and on the level?”
“No, I do not.”
“Nor do I. Do you think if the confrontation does not come to pass that the Sicilian element will settle in quietly and merge with the general population of London?”
“The only way they’ll merge with the population,” Tillett admitted, “is if they are at the head of it.”
“Aye,” Barker said. “I agree. So do you intend to sit on your hands and let the thing wash over you? There’s going to be a dock fight with belaying pins and marlin spikes and whatever comes to hand.”
“You sound as if you’ve been in this sort of scuffle before.”
“I was a ship’s captain before I was a private enquiry agent, and an able seaman before that.”
“What do you want of me, Mr. Barker?” Ben Tillett asked. He was an educated man of the middle class as far as I could tell, but one does not last among the Fabians without being able to ask a blunt question when necessary.
“If I were a Sicilian leader and I knew a dock fight were in the offing, I would start making alliances among my fellow Sicilians, as well as with anyone else I could coerce into joining. If I were working for the welfare of the docks, I would expect the English watermen to stand with the Italians, and I would want you to organize them.”
“Me?” Ben Tillett asked.
“Aye. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders and refuse to be intimidated the way Mr. Green is. If you agree, your dockworkers would follow.”
Tillett gently set his cup down in his saucer, but I noticed his cheeks suddenly flushed.
“Who are you, Mr. Barker?”
“As I said, I am a private enquiry agent. At present, I’m working for Her Majesty’s government. It might interest you to know that your late employer did not die of a heart attack. He was assassinated by a method perfected in Sicily.”
“I have only your word for that.”
“That is correct, Mr. Tillett. If I or anyone else handed you a letter claiming to prove themselves an agent working secretly for the government, that letter would be false. I could give you the names of five men who could provide references, but that would depend on whether you trusted those five men, and frankly, I don’t have the time. I have learned enough about you in the last half hour to trust you to gather a force to combat the threat of Sicilians taking over the docks. I ask you to trust me to lead it.”
“Based solely upon your word?” Tillett asked, a trifle desperately.
“No,” I put in. “Based upon mine, as well. I’ve seen three people killed by this Sicilian, whoever he is, and a fourth is in the hospital. I was present when Mr. Barker was hired, and there are very definite signs that Sicilian criminals are trying to take over the London underworld. The docks are the one place where there is open conflict, and he has chosen you because he believes you’re capable and honest. He makes snap judgments like that sometimes. Now you can have a controlled conflict organized by Mr. Barker, or you can have open warfare whenever it erupts, and people will probably be killed. That’s all I have to say.”
“I’ll be frank with you, gentlemen. I’ll have to think about it and talk with a few watermen I know and trust about whether it is in our best interests and also whether they trust me to lead them. There might be one among them more fit to lead than I.”
“Find out what information you can, then, Mr. Tillett,” he said, as if the young man were another assistant to be ordered about. “And speak to your men. Give me an idea of how many you can recruit. Here is my card.”
“Very well, Mr. Barker,” he said, taking the card and studying it. “I’ll do my best. Now I must get back to the dock and see what’s happened to Mr. Gigliotti’s ice.”
We watched him exit the tearoom. Barker pushed his cup away from him with one of his thick fingers.
“You really think we can do it, sir?” I asked.
“As you so ably put it, lad, the fight is inevitable. Our only hope is to turn it to our advantage.”
12
Coming out of the Brown Betty, Barker headed north into Poplar following the bend around Limehouse Reach. There was no need to wonder where we were going. He was headed for a tearoom of his own choosing, a clandestine one, run by his closest friend, Ho. Once we’d reached the establishment, we walked down the dark stairs that led along the tunnel under the river. After an inspector had been shot in the darkened tunnel, lamps were placed and lit permanently at either end, though Ho complained about the price of naphtha. There was to be no more walking in complete darkness, which had once been the sign that one was a regular. However, in my opinion, the gloom and odd shadows cast by the flickering lamps were more eerie than mere darkness.
Inside the restaurant, Barker skirted our usual table and made his way to a door on the other side of the room that led to a banquet hall. I followed him through it. Ho was already inside. He is a squat Chinaman with weighted ear-lobes, a braid of hair, and heavily tattooed arms. In his hands was a long length of rope with a metal spike on the end that he twirled about the room. He dropped it to his feet, kicked it across the empty space, and then snapped it back again. At the other side of the room lay a row of shattered clay vessels, and as I watched he shot the dart forward with a kick and broke the least damaged of the lot. Some might have called it a child’s game, but the pointed dart made it look far more dangerous to me.
“We’re going against the Sicilians,” Barker stated, crossing his arms. Ho continued spinning the rope, wrapping it and unwrapping it around his arms again and even whipping it around his head close enough to ricochet off one of the gold earrings he wears. He gave no sign of hearing what Barker had said.
“We’re gathering a ragtag army against them, since the government cannot supply us with any assistance. I was wondering if you might help us.”
“I can feed your troops if you wish it,” Ho said, launching the dart at the row of pots again.
“I don’t need cooks,” Barker said, clearly irritated. “I need soldiers.”
“I have no concern about the Sicilians,” the Chinaman finally remarked.
“You should. They will be taking over London before you know it.”
“Mr. K’ing has reached an agreement with a representative. He will not go against them. Bad for business.”
“What about you, then? You must have a dozen cooks here.”
“Cooks, not soldiers,” Ho continued, winding his rope dart back again. “Cannot run a restaurant with dead cooks and waiters.”
“Not if you’re there, too,” Barker pointed out.
Ho shook his head. “Mr. K’ing would be displeased.”
“Are you his lackey now?” my employer asked. “Is this the same man I fought alongside against the Heavenly Kingdom?”
Ho shrugged one of his brawny shoulders. “If I can help, I will help.”