The Thousand Faces of Night. Jack Higgins
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to anybody to kick his bloody teeth in,’ Marlowe said.
Papa Magellan smiled softly. ‘Oh, yes, my friend. Even that has passed through my mind, but O’Connor’s business has many ramifications these days. He has imported some peculiar individuals to work for him. Anything but countrybred.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ Marlowe said, ‘but even that kind can be handled.’ He stood up and stretched, and walked a few paces across the room. ‘How are you going to fight him?’
Magellan smiled. ‘I’ve already started. My other driver is a young fellow called Bill Johnson, who lives in the village. O’Connor offered him a good job at better money. Bill told him to go to hell. I’ve sent him into Barford today with a truck-load of fruit and vegetables. He’s making the rounds of all the retail shops, offering to sell to them direct.’
‘And you think that will work?’
Magellan shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not. Even O’Connor can’t control everybody. He certainly can’t intimidate every shopkeeper in Barford and district.’
Marlowe shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know, Papa. It’s a little too simple.’
The old man jumped up impatiently. ‘It’s got to work. He isn’t God. He can’t control everybody.’
‘He can have a damn good try,’ Marlowe said.
For a moment it seemed as if Magellan was going to explode with anger. He glared, eyes flashing, and then turned abruptly and went over to the fireplace. He stood looking down into the flames, shoulders heaving with suppressed passion, and Marlowe helped himself to another brandy.
After a while the old man spoke without turning round. ‘It’s a funny world. After the Spanish war when I returned home to Portugal, I found I was an embarrassment to the government. Franco was able to touch me even there. So I came to England. Now, after all these years, I find he can still touch me. Franco – O’Connor. There isn’t any difference. It’s the same pattern.’
‘You’re learning, Papa,’ Marlowe said. ‘It’s the same problem, and the solution is always the same. You’ve got to fight. If he uses force, use more force. If he starts playing it dirty, then you’ve got to play it dirtier.’
‘But that’s horrible. We aren’t living in a jungle.’ Maria had come quietly back into the room and spoke from just inside the door.
Marlowe raised his glass to her and grinned cynically. ‘It’s life. You either survive or go under.’
Papa Magellan had turned to face them. For a moment he looked searchingly at Marlowe, and then he said, ‘That job you’re looking for. Why go to Birmingham? You can have one right here working in Kennedy’s place.’
Marlowe swallowed the rest of his brandy and considered the idea. It was just what he was looking for. A job in a quiet country town where nobody knew him. He could lie low for a few weeks, and then return to London to pick up the money when all the fuss had died down. After that, Ireland. There were ways and means if you knew the right people.
The whole idea sounded very attractive, but there was the added complication of the trouble with O’Connor. If that got too messy the police would step in. Contact with the police was the last thing he wanted at the moment.
He put down his glass carefully. ‘I don’t know, Papa. I’d have to think it over.’
‘What’s the matter? Are you afraid?’ Maria said bitingly.
Her father waved a hand at her impatiently. ‘You could stay here, son. You could have Pedro’s old room.’
For several moments there was a silence while they waited for him to answer. The old man was trembling with eagerness, but the girl seemed quiet and withdrawn. Marlowe looked at her steadily for several moments, but she gave no sign of what she hoped his decision would be. As he looked at her she blushed and frowned slightly, and he knew that she didn’t like him.
He half smiled and turned back to the old man. ‘Sorry, Papa. I’m all for a quiet life, and it sounds to me as if you’re in for quite a party in the near future.’
Magellan’s face crumpled in disappointment and his shoulders sagged. All at once he was an old man again. A very old man. ‘Sure, I understand, son,’ he said. ‘It’s a lot to ask a man.’
Maria moved over beside him quickly and slipped a hand round his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, Papa. We’ll manage.’ She smiled proudly at Marlowe. ‘My father had no right to ask you, Mr Marlowe. This is our quarrel. We can look after ourselves.’
Marlowe forced a smile to hide the quick fury that moved inside him. He was seething with anger, and mostly it was against himself. For the first time in years he felt ashamed. ‘We can look after ourselves,’ she said. An old man, a young girl. He wondered just how long they would last when O’Connor’s tough boys moved in and really cracked down on them.
He reached for his coat and kept his face steady. Whatever happened he wasn’t going to get involved. All he had to do was keep his nose clean and lie low for a couple of weeks and there was a fortune waiting for him. A man would be a fool to risk everything after five years of blood and sweat. And for what? For an old man and a girl he’d known for precisely an hour.
He buttoned his coat and said, ‘Maybe I’d better be leaving after all.’
Before Magellan could reply there was the sound of a truck turning into the yard outside. It halted at the door and the engine died. ‘It must be Bill,’ Maria said, and there was excitement in her voice. ‘I wonder if he’s had any luck?’
The outside door rattled and steps dragged along the corridor. A figure appeared in the doorway and stood there, swaying slightly. He was a young man of medium size wearing a leather jacket and corduroy cap. His fleshy, good-natured face was drawn and white with pain. One of his eyes was disfigured by a livid bruise, and his mouth was badly swollen, with blood caking a nasty gash in one cheek.
‘Bill!’ Maria said in a horrified voice. ‘What is it? What have they done to you?’
Johnson moved forward unsteadily and sank down into a chair while Papa Magellan quickly poured brandy into a glass and handed it to him. Marlowe stood in the background quietly watching.
‘Who beat you up, boy?’ Magellan demanded grimly. ‘O’Connor’s men?’
Johnson swallowed his brandy and gulped. He appeared to find difficulty in speaking. Finally he said, ‘Yes, it was that big chap, Blackie Monaghan. I went round the shops like you told me, and it worked fine. I got rid of all the stuff for cash.’ He pulled a bundle of banknotes out of his jacket pocket and tossed them on to the table. ‘One or two people told me they weren’t interested. I think someone must have tipped O’Connor off.’
He paused again and closed his eyes as if he was on the point of passing out. Marlowe had been watching him closely. A cynical grin curled the corners of his mouth. Johnson had been slapped around a little, but nothing like as badly as he was trying to make out. He was over-dramatizing the whole thing, and there had to be a reason.
‘Go on, son,’ Magellan said sympathetically. ‘Tell us what happened then.’
‘I was having a cup of tea in the transport café just this side of Barford on the Birmingham road. Monaghan came in with a couple of young toughs that hang around with him. They always turn up at the Plaza on Saturday nights after the pubs close, causing trouble. Monaghan followed me outside and picked a fight. Said I’d been messing around with his girl at the dance last Saturday night.’
‘Is that true?’ Magellan asked.
Johnson shook his head. ‘I didn’t even know what he was talking about. I tried to argue with him, but he knocked me down. One of his friends kicked me in the face, but Monagan stopped him and said I’d had enough. He told me I’d stay out of Barford if I knew what was good for me.’
Magellan shook his