JACK OF DIAMONDS

A Serial about a womanizing, lying, cheating thief, in 1923 London, dealing with gangsters, White Russian aristocrats, Irish gun-runners, and murder. Chapter 20

This IS behind the PAYWALL.

Photo by Asa Rodger on Unsplash

THREE HOURS LATER…

Artie stepped outside, the bracing chill of the night’s breeze wrapping around him like a cold grip. He was 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’d picked up off the counter on his way out the door. Offering it to the horse and stroking its neck gently, he thought about everything that happened tonight.

All in all, not a bad night, he told himself. I’ve got the Strad and that’s all that matters.

The big surprise, of course, had been how Jenny had proven herself so willing to be his partner. She was an asset he knew he’d be a fool to turn her away. He could see she understood her value to him. He needed someone like her on the inside; someone who knew the intimate workings of all the houses in the area. His first thought had been Claire, but he knew she didn’t have access to the other houses. And she was limited to the kitchens. But she’d been his only option. He knew all he’d be able to rely on from her would be gossip—and oh, he knew how that worked in a manor house.

He smiled again as he thought about her. Jenny proved herself to be a right capable cunny, he thought. He’d been more than surprised at her willingness to show him how far she was willing to go. He was looking forward to fucking her. He was a little surprised at how she’d turned on him when he thrashed her husband, though—and admittedly, he’d gotten a little carried away, but in all honesty, he had a lot on his mind and besides, the man deserved a beating. Even so, he knew he’d have her under his thumb no matter what she threatened to do in the future. 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 at the possibility of being called a horse thief when Artie came riding 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 placed the violin in the centre of the table.

“What’s that?” Claire asked.

“It’s a violin.”

“I know what it is, Mr. Spencer, I’ve seen them before. My question is, why did you take it?”

“And that’s the question, isn’t it?” 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.

“That, my dear miss Hanson, and I tell you this now, is the reason for the whole night. It’s the reason I came here,” he said, looking at Reggie. “There’s a man, in London—a powerful man—and he wanted me to steal this violin for him.”

“A man in London?” Claire said, sounding suspicious.

“Why this violin?” Reggie asked. “You can get a violin in London for ten pounds.”

“You can. But not this one.”

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

“This is a valuable piece,” he smiled. “Not just a valuable heirloom.”

“Who’s the man?” Claire asked.

“What?” She caught him off-guard with the question.

“The man in London who wants the violin? Who is he?”

“A yobbo. A plug-ugly. I guess the only way to describe him is with an Americanism,” Artie smiled. “He’s a right proper bastard is what he is. 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, 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 him is how he knows the man?”

“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, does it? How did you come to know this man?”

“When I came back from Over There, my sister met me in Plymouth. She said she wanted to take me to London—to the London she knew—before taking me home to see our parents in Kent. She was living the London life of a young flapper, and 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?” Reggie asked.

Artie nodded.

“Like I said, 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 a stroke in the first place. He had the stroke in 1917. Two years after I’d signed up. Two months after my last visit home.”

“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 all the gangsters there, does she?”

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,” he said slowly. “She did, however—at the time—know three men who knew other men of ill-repute.”

“Your sister did?” 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, or my 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.

“When she asked me what I planned to do now that the Army life was behind me, I told her I was going to be a thief.”

“You told her?” Claire said in disbelief. “Why, by Jesus, would you tell her something like that?”

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

“And she offered to help you?”

“No. Not at first,” he added. “She didn’t want anything to do with the idea, and forbid me to even think about it. 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, That’s when she asked me what I wanted to do instead?”

“And that’s when you said you wanted to be a thief?” Claire offered.

“Just not in so many words.”

“How many words, then?”

“My God, man, you didn’t?” Reggie said with a slow smile, sitting up straight in the chair. “You showed her, didn’t you? You climbed a fuckin’ buildin’, went through an open window, an’ took somethin’, didn’t you?”

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 sold stolen property. They set me up with a woman they knew—Angela. Angel they called her. She only dealt with high end goods. Paintings; jewelry; old coins, that sort of thing—the very stuff I was aiming to steal. 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 for it.”

“That’s ridiculous! For a bracelet?”

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

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

“How would he know that?”

“No,” Artie said. “He’s right. In fact, that’s the ridiculous irony of this whole, sad, story. The window I climbed through belonged to the mistress of an Italian gangster. Can you guess who?”

“I doan think I wanna know,” Reggie said with a slow shake of his head.

“Goes by the name of Sabatino—”

“Sabatino?”

“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.

“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 that bracelet, Sabatino found out. He paid her a little visit. He beat the living shit 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.

“I sent her to Kent to stay with my parents. I told her she had no choice and had to leave London. She didn’t believe me at first, but then I told her about Angel, and who Sabatino was, and she couldn’t get out of town fast enough. I don’t know how they found me, but they did. They told me they were going to kill her if I didn’t do what I was told.”

“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.

“Sabatino’s Hammer Boys.”

“And he wants this violin?” Reggie asked.

“This exact one. It’s for his son.”

“His son?” Reggie laughed.

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

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

“You know about it, then?”

“Everybody knows about that violin.”

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

“What? I came out to see you, Reg. Honest. I needed to get away from London for a while anyway. Things weren’t working out the way I thought they would. I didn’t know who Charlie Sabatino 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 t’ pal around with ‘em back in the day,” Reggie smiled.

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

“An’ why would you?” Reggie asked, his voice soft, almost menacing. “I tol’ you I’d take care of you. That’s all you need concern yourself with. You needn’t worry ‘bout what goes on out there, or what I did in the past. Artie doesn’t know ever’thin’ 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 Sabatino for me.”