jack of diamonds

ii

The train out to Plymouth was s slow and plodding thing, and Reggie looked out at the passing countryside wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Guns; dope; Russians; the Solomon brothers? It was enough to make a man want to pull his hair out and scream at the top of his lungs. He’d have to be on top of his game, though; he’d have to be at his best. He’d been out of the game for so long now, that while Charlie may have felt confident having him back on board, Reggie didn’t feel the same way. He kept looking at his watch and looking up at the conductor, wanting time to press on. He wanted this over with; he wanted to get back to Chumley Grove, and Claire, settling back into the life he’d chosen, not this. He looked at his watch again. He had to get into the station and set up before six o’clock. The deal was set for eight o’clock tonight, so it’d be dark enough not to attract attention, Charlie said, and Reggie saw the sense in that. There were no electric lights along that side of the docks, and while an inconvenience, he thought it might work to his advantage by keeping the meeting area small. But he wanted to get there earlier because he didn’t trust the Solomons; he didn’t trust Charlie either, but then, he knew Charlie. Still, there was always going to be that nagging doubt in the back of his head, wasn’t there? An itch that just wouldn’t scratch; a pain that wouldn’t go away.

Plymouth Station was a mixture of both the old and the new. First built in 1877, it had been built of wood with the platforms fully covered by train sheds. It originally had just two through platforms, but additional platforms were added in 1908. The new train station was a more modern building, they’d said.

Reggie couldn’t say if he agreed.

Reggie collected his small bag and made his way through the station, finding a cab that would take him to the address Charlie had scribbled down earlier on a piece of paper. He gave it to the driver and sank back into the seat, trying to go over the details, thinking there had to be something he’d missed. It’s all in the details, he told himself. There’s always something you miss, and that something, well, it’s always enough to get you killed. He wondered if that was why he’d had such a bad feeling about it since Charlie brought it up to him yesterday?

The driver left Plymouth Station winding his way along North Road East; from there, to James Street, bypassing Portland Square. They turned onto Coburg, then Charles Street, and then passing Exeter Square and on to the Waterford Hotel. The Waterford was a small four storey building looking over Sutton Bay, Catterwater, and Clovely Bay, directly across from Smeaton Pass and the English Channel. He remembered how when he was a child, harbours like this still had three and four masters—the English fishing fleet he liked to call it—in those days when he dreamed of running away to sea.

Like that boy in Kipling’s story. Except he didn’t run away, did he?

The wind was brisk, coming in from the East, with a light chop on the water where boats rode on small waves slapping against wooden hulls. They still had masts out there, but they held huge nets now, seiners, and he tried imagining what they looked like out on the North Atlantic. That’s a frightening venture. He’d heard stories.

He turned away fro the window and his dreams when a knock at the door brought him back to reality. It was Shetty, and he opened the door, letting the man in.

“Good t’ see ye, Reg,” he said softly, sitting in the only chair in the room. He was wearing a trench coat, and his pants were over-large; Reggie supposed that was for whatever other weapons he had on him, aside from the hammer.

“Have you see any sign of the Solomon’s?”

“I saw Ronnie Loveless. Ya know ‘im?” Shetty grinned.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Ain’t no pleasure running into that geezer, any time,” Shetty grinned again. It was purposeful. “He’s a right fuckin’ piece of work, that boy is. Likes to hurt people, he does. Goes out of ‘is way to hurt ‘em most times. He doan care if they ain’t in the game, he’ll hurt ‘em anyway. Saw ‘im kick a pregnant woman once. He’s a real fuck.”

“I guess we’ll have to keep an eye out for ‘im then, won’t we? He’ll sorta be the bellwether of tonight’s festivities.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never seen a flock of sheep?” Reggie asked.

“Not really, but I know what it is, if that makes a difference.”

“The bellwether’s the lead ram. They put a bell on him, and the rest of the flock follows him wherever he goes. That’s your friend Ronnie.”

“The bellwether?” He sounded appreciative, something Reggie remembered about him. Shetty liked to talk.

“What about the Russians? You see any of them around?”

“Nah. I heard a rumour, though.”

“You know I don’t like rumours, Shetty.”

“You’ll wanna hear this one. Word is, Prince Igor won’t be comin’.”

“What do you mean, he won’t be coming?”

“Fell off a ledge, or something like that. Landed in the hospital. Might not walk again, from what I hear.”

“Jesus. How?”

“Don’t rightly know, Reg. I just heard it.”

“When did it happen?”


“Yesterday.”

“Fuck me! Why didn’t Charlie tell me?”

“He didn’t know, did he? Christ, I just found out an hour ago.”

“Did you talk to Charlie? Did you ring him up? He might want to change plans.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“No shit, Shetty! Did you try? What about the Solomons? Do they know? Or did they do it? Do you think they did it?”

“Naw. There’s no way they coulda been the ones what did it. Besides, they want this shipment. It serves them no purpose taking out the top Russian. They need this just to keep afloat.”

“No, really? Do the Sicilians know the Russians are selling the dope to the Solomons?”

“The Sicilians? I din’t even know that, Reg! Fuck! Dope? Heroin, or morphine?”

“Opium.”

“Jesus Christ! What? Why would they make that kind of a deal? The Sicilians, I mean?”

“It’s political.”

“Political? What the fuck do we know about that shit?”

“Calm down. People might hear you.”

“I don’t give a fuck if people hear me, or not. They can go FUCK RIGHT OFF!” he yelled at the wall, punching it for added effect. “What I’m sayin’ is, I doan like where this is going.”

“Niether do I, Shetty,” Reggie said. “But it gets worse.”

“Worse? It gets worse? Fuck me like a two year old, Reg! What do you mean, it gets worse? Why din’t Charlie tell us, eh? Why din’t Charlie tell us?”

“He didn’t see it coming.”

“No? Is that what he says? He din’t see it coming because he’s too busy fuckin’ that mistress. Have ye seen her?”

“No Shetty, I haven’t seen her. I’m just here for this one job, remember, and then I’m out. I don’t need to see his mistress,” Reggie smiled.

“She’s a looker, that’s for certain. Greedy little cunt, though,” Shetty said after a moment, almost as if he regretted saying it. “He’s always buying her things.”

“Things?”

“She lives here, you know? He doesn’t want her in London, or anywhere near him, for what that’s worth.”

“She lives here in Plymouth?”

“He bought her an apartment.”

“Never mind. I don’t wanna hear about it,” Reggie said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Just tell me everything’s set.”

“Right as rain. But tell me, what did you mean when you said it gets worse?”

“The fuckin’ Irish are lurking about.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Seems there’s been some guns gone missing. Me an’ Charlie figure the Russians nabbed 'em.”

Shetty put his hands up to his face, shaking his head slowly. “The Russians hit the fuckin’ Micks?” he asked. It was impossible for him to hide the shock.

“That’s what me an’ Charlie think,” Reggie nodded, watching him. He went on. “He heard this Prince Igor fellow sayin’ somethin’ when he shoulda been quiet, you know? It’s more coincidence—circumstance—than anything else, but people have died for less.”

“An’ you think the Micks are goinna show up?”

“I hope the fuck not! I’m just sayin’, keep your eyes peeled. The Solomons are bad enough. We know nothin’ about these Russians—except that maybe they’re patriots—an’ then you throw in the Irish just to make it all fine an’ fuckin’ dandy, well, things have a way of gettin’ out of control now then, don’t they?”

“Out of control? That could well be an understatement?” Shetty sighed.

Reggie turned and looked out of the window. He could see his reflection, but more than that, he could see Shetty’s. It was always good to make sure that when you turned your back on someone, you saw his reflection somewhere. Charlie taught him that one. But he knew he could trust Shetty. He’d known him since before the war. It was good when you went that far back with someone.

“You serve in the war, Shetty?”

“Air Corps.”

“How’d you swing that?”

“I weren’t no pilot if that’s what you’re thinkin’. I was part of the ground crew. I must admit, we had it pretty good. Never once saw a German—except when they tried bombing the airfield. We heard the guns, though. Every night. We’d sit out an’ watch ‘em light up the night sky. We were everyone of us thankful we weren’t under them. You?”

“I was under them,” Reggie smiled.”Then I got wounded and sent to recover in Paris. I was lucky, though; the war ended before I had to go back. It was the best eight months of convalescence a man could hope for. Sure, I was bed-ridden for three or four months, and it took me a while to get back on my feet again, but Jesus, Shetty, you ever spend any time in Paris?”

“Three days once.”

“What a fuckin’ town!” Reggie laughed. “Especially that first Christmas after the War.”

“I didn’t see much of it. Spent most of my time in the brothels.”

“Right you are—and I don’t blame you—but I was never one for the whores myself. But the best goddamned looking whores I ever saw were in Paris. Don’t get me wrong, I like my English lasses, but there’s somethin’ about them Frenchies. My God! They remind me of a bird singing at your window.”