JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chap 7 - Pt 2 (AND THEN TWO HOURS THERE BEFORE...)

Artie stepped outside, walking to the small pen on the other side of the house where he’d tied the horse up for the night. He reached into his pocket and took out the apple he picked up off the counter in the cluttered kitchen on his way out. Offering it to the horse and stroking its neck gently, he thought about what happened earlier.

All in all, not a bad night, he told himself.

The big suprise was how Jenny had proven herself a more than willing partner-to-be. He needed someone like her on the inside; someone who knew all the houses, and while he’d first thought that person would be Claire, he was more than satisfied with Jenny’s willing show of participation. He was looking forward to bedding her, and while he was surprised at how she’d turned on him while he beat her husband—and admittedly he’d gotten a little carried away with it, but he had a lot on his mind—he knew he had her under his thumb no matter what she did. She’d have to do as he said, and eventually, what he wanted, he reminded himself.

Secrets and lies, he told himself. That's what it's all about.

All the same Reggie hadn’t been too excited with the prospect of being called a horse thief when Artie rode up to the house; Claire even less. They both changed their tunes when he took out the bag of jewels and coins, spilling them across the table.

Then he dropped the violin on the table as well.

“What’s that for?” Claire asked.

“It’s a violin.”

“I know what it is, Mr. Spencer, my question is, why would you take it?”

“And it’s a good question,” Artie smiled. He was silent for a moment, as if he was thinking it over, and then looked at Reggie, who seemed to be waiting for the answer with a lot more ease than Claire.

“And wait until I tell you it’s the solution to the whole night. There’s a man I know, in London, and he wanted me to find him a violin—just like this one.”

“A man in London?” Reggie said.

“Why this violin?” Claire asked. “He could get himself a violin anywhere in London for ten pounds.”

“He could. But not like this one.”

“What’s so special about it?” Reggie asked.

“This is a valuable piece.”

“Who’s the man?” Claire asked.

“What man?”


“The man in London who wants the violin?”

“I guess the only way to describe him is with an Americanism,” Artie smiled. “He’s a gangster. Do you know what that is, or what it means?”

“He’s a thug,” she said, sorting through the jewels on the table. Artie picked a necklace up and told her to turn around; putting it around her neck, he could feel the softness of her skin under his rough, calloused hands. He could smell the freshness on her, of talc and lavender, and took a deep breath before he looked back at Reggie.

“He’s more than just a thug,” Artie smiled, and stepping back he looked at Claire who was all ready looking at herself in the mirror, her hand adjusting the necklace.

“How’s that?” Reggie asked. “How’s he more than just a thug?”

“No,” Claire said, letting go of the necklace and reaching her hand out, grabbing Reggie’s arm. “I think the question we should be asking, is how do you know him?”

“How do you think I know him? I’m a thief,” Artie explained.

“No, I mean, yes, and I make pies, but that doesn’t mean I know all the pastry chefs in London. How do you know this man?”

“When I came back from Over There, my sister met me at the docks in Plymouth. She said she wanted to take me to London—to the London she knew. She was living the social life there as a young flapper, working in my uncle’s firm. Still, she made the trip all the way out to Plymouth just to pick me up, because no one else in the family seemed willing to give up their time for me.”

“Your own parents refused to go?” Reggie asked.

Artie nodded.

“The family home’s in Kent,” he said, “and my parents are getting too old to travel. My father had a stroke some years ago, for which my mother blames me. She said if I hadn’t signed up and left for the war, he would’ve never had the stroke in the first place.”

“So your sister takes you to London?” Claire said, trying not to let Artie get distracted. “Then what?”

“She does,” he conceded. “She takes me to London."

“And she knows gangsters?”

Artie smiled, and sat down. He found a pearl necklace that somehow got caught up in the bag when he’d emptied it. He looked at it, rubbing it against his teeth and nodding to himself.

“My sister doesn’t know gangsters. She did, however—at the time—know three men who knew other men of ill-repute.”

“Your sister?” Claire asked, clearly not believing a word of it.

“I don’t know how she came to know these men. I was a little busy—what, with the War at the time—but my brothers should’ve been watching over her. At the very least, my Uncle and cousins. All I know is that when I came back, she introduced me to these men. Friends of hers, she claimed.”

“Why did she introduce you?”


“I asked her if she knew anyone who could help me.”

“Help you what?” Reggie asked.

“I told her I was going to be a thief.”

“You told her?” Claire said in disbelief. “Why would you tell her?”

“Who better to trust if not my own sister?”

“And she offered to help you?”

“No. Not at first. She didn’t want anything to do with the idea. At first, she wanted me to join the family firm with her.”

“The family firm?” Reggie said.

“Insurance, litigation, that sort of thing. I told her that life wasn’t for me. She finally agreed, then asked me what I wanted to do instead?”

“And you said you wanted to be a thief?” Claire offered.

“Not in so many words.”

“How many words, then?”

“You didn’t have to,” Reggie said with a slow smile. “You showed her! Didn’t you? You climbed up a building, went in through a window, and when you came back out, you had something you took.”

Artie nodded.

“I gave her a bracelet I found on the dresser.”

“So, just like that, your sister says she’ll help you…what?” Claire asked. “Steal?”

“Those three friends of hers I told you about? They knew men who resold stolen property. They set me up with a woman they knew—Angela; Angel they called her—who only dealt with high end goods. Paintings; jewelry; old coins, that sort of thing. My sister asked Angel how much she was willing to give her for the bracelet. We never told Angel I stole it; she thought it was my sister’s. She offered her three hundred pounds.”

“That’s ridiculous! For a bracelet?”

“Is it? It was all diamonds and rubies. It probably cost ten thousand pounds, and not a farthing less.”

“Who’s was it?” Reggie asked, suddenly serious. Claire looked at him, taken off guard with the question.

“How would he know that?”

“No, that’s the ridiculous irony of the whole story. The fact is--the window I climbed through--it belonged to the mistress of an Italian gangster. Can you guess who?”

“I’m afraid to,” Reggie said with a slow shake of his head.

“That’s right. The very person I believe you used to run the streets with; goes by the name of Sabini—”

“Sabini?”

“You know him, don’t you?” Artie said, smacking his hands in a loud clap. He turned to look at him closely “That’s the guy you were talking about that night, isn’t it?”

Reggie nodded.

“And he knows who you are?”

Now it was Artie's turn to nod.

“How does he know who you are?” Reggie asked.

“Remember Angel? As soon as she tried to resell the bracelet, Sabini found out about it. He paid her shop a little visit. He beat the living daylights out of her with a hammer, and wouldn’t stop until she was only too happy to tell him about my sister and me.”

“Your sister?” Claire asked. She all but whispered the words.

“Don’t worry. She’s back in Kent with my parents. I told her she had no choice other than to leave London. She didn’t want to believe me at first, but then I told her about Angel, and who Sabini was, and she couldn’t get out of town fast enough. I don’t know how they found me, but they’d already contacted me, and then they told me they were going to kill her if I didn’t do what they told me.”

“What did you say?”

“I told them to fuck off, of course, what do you think I said? I didn’t know who they were. But I wasn’t some fresh wog off the boat they could threaten with—”

“Who were they, Artie?” Reggie asked.

“Sabini’s Hammer Boys.”

“And he wants this violin?” Reggie asked.

“Not this exact one, but one like it. It’s for his son.”

“His son?” Reggie laughed.

“He’s a good father, I suppose. How would I know? What father wouldn’t get their child a Stradivarius if they had the opportunity?”

“And you took this Stradivarius out of Bedloe Manor?” Claire asked. She was stunned by the revelation.

“You know about it, then?”

“Everybody knows that violin.”

“Tell me the truth. Did you come out here to steal the violin for Sabini? Or to see me, Artie?” Reg asked.

“I came out to see you, Reg. Honest. I needed to get away from London for a while. Things weren’t working out the way I thought they would. I didn’t know who Charlie Sabini was; I didn’t know the Hammer Boys—”

“Who are the Hammer Boys?” Claire asked.

Reggie looked at her and smiled.

“A London Street Gang.”

“And you know them?”

“I used to pal around with them back in the day,” Reggie smiled.

“And he knows that?” she asked, looking at Artie. “I don’t even know that! Why does he?”

“And why would you?” Reggie asked, his voice soft, almost menacing. “I told you I’d take care of you. That’s all you need concern yourself with. You needn’t worry about what goes on out there, or what I did in the past. Artie doesn’t know everything what I did.”

“But I got a pretty good idea, Reg, and you know that,” Artie smiled.

“I do. Now, what is it you want me to do? I know you want something, or you’d’ve never brought the fiddle out.”

“I want you to give it to Sabini for me.”

“Me?”

“Are you insane!” Claire asked, taking the necklace off and throwing it down on the table.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Artie said slowly.

“Everything to do with him, has to do with me,” she said with a note of defiance.

“No. It doesn’t,” Reggie said slowly.

“What are you saying?”

“There are some things a man owes another, and there can’t be no denying it when the favour’s called in.”

“And you owe him a favour?” Claire asked.

“I owe him my life.”

“Of course you do,” she sneered. "How fuckin' cliché."

“I wouldn’t ask you Reg, but you know him.”

“I fought him and his brothers; that doesn’t mean I know him, Artie. I fought a lot of geeks back then. Jews, Wogs, whatever. It’s what we did.”

“He’s not going to do anything if you send him a note telling him you’ve got his fiddle. You’ll just be acting as the middle man.”

“And if I do this, what’s in it for me?”

He looked at Claire and nodded slowly.

“I’ll help you get your pie business off the ground. I’ll help you find a place in the village, and help you get set up.”

“You’ll give me the money?’

“I’ll give you the money.”

“All right. I’ll do it.”

“No! I won’t let you!” Claire said.

“Him helping us, doesn’t mean we’re in his debt, dear. But we’re never going to afford a place in town if we’re driving around the countryside with a horse and wagon, selling one pie at a time when your competition is driving from town to town This way, we’ll get a shop with a right proper kitchen, and you'll be able to bake your pies, and sell them, right there in town. That’s how it’s got to be, Artie. Right?”

“Right as rain, Reg. You help me with this, I help you. It’s win/win, for both of us.”

*

Artie stood under the fading light of the moon, relieving himself. He’d return the horse and ingratiate himself with Jenny’s father, hopefully convincing the man that he deserved an invitation to the evening’s Costume Ball. Then when he could, he’d trap Jenny somewhere and get her to tell him who was who.

Maybe I’ll make her fellate me again? After all, I have to know if she’s still loyal.

And it being a Costume Ball, he could dress up as Zorro and know one would look at him twice. It was an open invitation to help himself to whatever he wanted, he thought, stuffing himself back into his pants. He turned to look at the horse again, admiring its sleek coat in the soft light of the coming dawn. Running a hand around the withers and patting it gently, he thought she was a fine specimen of a horse.

I should've never taken the Strad.

(**Author's note: Remeber, if you want to be part of the story, send me a tip; the bigger the tip, the bigger the role...)