第 8 页

From the specialist criminals through to the desperately poor families, everyone in the underworld feared Professor Moriarty and his ruthless criminal gang. He was a wealthy man who maintained a veneer of respectability while being at the head of a vast international criminal empire.

The professor’s men would torture and murder anyone who crossed them. Even I knew better than to interfere with anyone or anything involving Professor Moriarty.

Often the Dean Street Gang would be working towards a criminal enterprise only to be warned off because the professor’s men sought the same prize. I always heeded the warning and, for many years, had remained consistently intrigued by this enigmatic figure.

Now, as I stood smoking a roll-up with a sack full of firearms slung over my shoulder, I came face-to-face with the person who many believed was the professor’s right-hand man.

The reality was actually rather disappointing. Moran’s ruddy cheeks, large bulbous nose and swollen belly suggested a man riddled with addictions. This impression was further compounded by the stench of opium smoke emanating from his clothes.

He strode into the warehouse bow-legged, adjusting his broad moustache with a self-important air and began looking through our stock. Jude and I stood silently watching, transfixed by a man of such alleged importance. Then Moran let out a rasping, wheezing cough and the spell was broken.

This was still my territory and I was not going to be belittled by any man. I dropped the sack of weapons with a clatter, making the colonel look up and truly observe me for the first time. I threw my cigarette to the floor and ground it out with my foot, then pulled out my Snider-Enfield and pointed it at his head.

“You can keep those air guns of yours Moran, all that risk of valve leaks and bursting reservoirs. Me? Well, this little piece is my current favourite but I’ve got my eye on a lovely Dreyse needle gun. To be honest though, I don’t really rate the German gunsmiths as much as our own.”

I felt Jude take a sharp intake of breath as he placed a cautioning hand upon my arm. But, I continued regardless, because even though I felt a healthy degree of fear towards the professor’s number-one general I would never show him that.

“What do you want with us Moran? Don’t look surprised, I know who you are but please don’t expect me to be afraid of you.”

He was obviously taken aback by my response but continued to strut about the place as if it were his own.

“My associate wishes to purchase all these items and has instructed me to pay you a fair price,” he said in a military sounding upper-class accent. I was intrigued by this unexpected turn of events and my keen, scheming mind quickly began to see a profitable opportunity.

“And what does your associate consider to be a fair price?” I asked; walking towards the colonel still holding my rifle aimed at his face. He took out a very large pile of notes.

“Three hundred, I trust that will be acceptable?”

As always, I resolved to put profit before danger and was just about to agree when Jude grabbed my arm with uncharacteristic force and pulled me into an adjoining room.

“Please Red, for God’s sake what are you doing?” he cried.

“Making money Jude, seizing an opportunity!”

“Don’t you understand who he is? This is dangerous territory, please don’t get involved. You can’t take three hundred for fakes from the professor of all people. Besides, we’ve already sold all this, how will you explain to the professor where all his stock has gone when Moran comes back to find the place empty? It’ll be the end of us.”

“Jude, you worry far too much about trifles. One moment...”

I escaped his grasp and rejoined the colonel.

“If we agree to this, when will you be wishing to take the things you purchase?” I asked, a plan quickly forming in my ever-alert mind.

“I shall return with transportation tonight. My friend wishes to have possession of these items as soon as possible,” he replied.

Jude had by now returned to my side. I turned and smiled knowingly at his anxious face. The Greek would not be returning until the end of the month.

“Very well, but let’s make it two hundred with my regards to your friend, payable immediately and we will leave you to it.”

Moran gave me a pile of notes and I extended my hand for him to shake. He declined with a dismissive wave.

“Perhaps you are not aware of Von Herder, the very best gun mechanic of the age?” he said, then paused and raised a bushy eyebrow, “and German.”

With this parting comment, he turned on his heels in military fashion and strode from the warehouse.

We gathered up our things and left, three hundred pound richer and with our whole futures ahead of us.

“And when the Greek comes back and finds out we double-crossed him?” asked Jude linking his arm in mine as we walked out through the dock yard.

“He won’t have the brains to find us or the bravery to take us on. I don’t fear him, I don’t fear anyone!” I cried, shooting my rifle into the enveloping fog in celebration of our new found-wealth.

Unfortunately, the Greek wasn’t quite as stupid as I had presumed him to be. He decided that as he had already handed over money for the goods, he really should take possession as soon as possible. He quite rightly had no trust in me at all.

Therefore, unknown to myself and Jude, he returned to the warehouse at midday with his men to remove everything which was rightfully his.

So as we were meandering through the ale houses of the East End that night celebrating, secure in the assumption that the professor would by now be happily examining all his new treasures, Colonel Moran and his henchmen were standing in an empty warehouse baying for our blood.

We wandered along the narrow cobbled streets in the foggy shadows of the early evening ducking under billowing lines of washing. We passed grubby little children splashing in puddles as a light drizzle penetrated the fog.

“Depressing isn’t it?” sighed Jude.

“But it’s all we know. We were born poor and no matter how much money we have, we will never be people of class. We’re too raw, too alive. It’s the power we need, power and respect. Three hundred pounds is nothing really.”

“So what shall we do with it then?”

“Tonight, we drink, eat plenty and enjoy. Tomorrow, who knows?”

We turned a corner and walked past a notorious opium house which the Dean Street gang had once robbed in spectacular fashion. How sad it was to see Wiggins come stumbling out, clearly fogged by the cloud of serenity which engulfs those who have just indulged the poppy.

I pondered upon men’s fundamental weakness, addicted to the flesh, the cards, the alcohol and other such toxic pastimes. These traits transcended class, living and breathing like an ever-present virus from which no man was immune.

“We drink too much,” I mused, “and smoke too much. It’s a sign of weakness Jude, honestly, look at Wiggins. We must not turn out like that.”

At which point the fallen one-time leader of the Dean Street gang noticed us and shuffled in our direction. Clearly his humiliation at my hands had caused his descent into alcohol. This had fuelled the transition from cocky street-wise East End child to pathetic poverty-stricken man.

“You did this!” he screamed. “You destroyed me, took it all away. Look at you, you’re no better than me and I hope you land up back in the gutter you came from.”

“Not likely my friend, you should have stuck with us. You could be helping us spend our new found wealth,” I said sarcastically.

By now he had collapsed onto the cobbles, clawing the ground as he tried to get back onto his feet, made unsure by the power of the opium. The rain was falling heavily, the slippery cobblestones hindering his ascent.

“Here,” I said, standing over him, “why don’t you have this for old time’s sake?” I waved a few notes above his head, too high for him to reach.

As he struggled to grasp them he fell back to the ground landing face down on the glistening cobbles. I laughed cruelly and we walked away. Little did I realise my treatment of him that evening was to lead directly to the next phase in my criminal life. Wiggins had no idea of the chain of events he was about to set in motion.

The gin houses we favoured were rough back street-affairs, hidden away among the slum houses, opium dens and brothels. Regulars were rowdy boisterous men who sat around drinking and playing cards.

Prostitutes would weave their way through the clouds of smoke to single out potential customers and sit on their laps allowing an appetising taster of the pleasures to follow. Here we could hide. I could smoke, play cards and forget about the constraints of being a woman in a man’s world. It was clear to all those around that I was too hardened and too good at cards ever to be seen as feminine to these men.

Men such as Colonel Moran though, the criminals who still considered themselves to be gentlemen, did not frequent such places. Therefore, as he scoured the city trying to find me he simply didn’t know where to look.

The professor insisted that I was to be found and was livid at the colonel for his incompetence and for letting a woman outwit him in such a manner. Moran knew that if he did not find me and recover the money, the consequences for him would be serious and painful. Rarely had he seen the professor so intent upon having someone found.

He had no choice but to pound the streets in an area so unfamiliar to him whose warren of rookeries and lanes provided us ample protection. He may never have found us but for the intervention of Wiggins.

Wiggins tumbled into the gin house about midnight and walked straight out again as soon as he saw us drinking merrily and playing cards. As he shuffled along the streets looking for another venue he stumbled into the bulk of Moran. The colonel was alone having sent his henchmen off to widen the search.

Moran asked Wiggins if he had seen the red-headed woman. At first, Wiggins hesitated. He knew who the colonel was and more importantly knew who he worked for. Despite my treatment of him, shreds of loyalty still remained.

He denied all knowledge and began to walk away but then stopped, paused, and spun back round to face Moran.

“What’s she worth?” he asked. Moran offered a handful of shillings. Wiggins walked back towards him. “I’ll take you to her,” he said, greedily grabbing at the coins.

He led Moran through the rookeries as incessant rain lashed the city and drenched the streets. He made his way to our gin house and ran off into the night as Moran peered in through the grimy window and saw me.

I found out years later that he used the colonel’s money in a card game and won enough to buy a steerage ticket for a boat to New York. I have always hoped that he finally exorcised all his demons and started a new life in the land of opportunity.

Moran strode into the gin house looking very much the fish out of water. The rough drinkers were shouting obscenities and singing along to a tuneless piano. I was smoking and playing cards in the corner with Jude and a forger from Bethnal Green.

I looked up from the perfect hand I was just about to play and noticed him walking towards me. It didn’t occur to me that I was the cause of his visible anger. Jude jumped up from his seat sensing the danger and brandished his revolver. I held up my hand to restrain him as Moran came to our table. Now I realised that I was the object of his fury.

“Are you looking for me?” I asked. “Have you had your men breaking down doors all over London in my honour? Well, I’m flattered but now isn’t a convenient time so...” The words stuck in my throat as he lunged across the table and thrust a pistol into my neck.

“You double-crossed me, you witch, and now you will have to explain yourself to the professor!”

Jude felt helpless as one wrong move would mean a bullet through my neck. I started to feel afraid. I knew that this was a situation for compliance and did not fight or struggle as he dragged me out into the street. My mind was desperately trying to understand why this could be happening, how I could possibly get away as the cold, hard metal of the pistol barrel ground into my throat.

He threw me against a wall, screaming obscenities. Jude was shouting at him to let me go as Moran raised his hand to strike me. A shrill police whistle then sounded and a group of peelers ran from round a corner shouting at us. Moran panicked and let me go. Two more peelers ran from the other direction blocking both ends of the road.

They advanced towards us and Moran tried to escape but simply twisted one way then another like a snared rabbit.

“Help me, please,” he whispered to me, “he’ll finish me if I’m taken in. If they find out who I am, who I work for, it will all be over for me.”

As the police grabbed hold of Moran and me, Jude managed to make his escape.

As I watched Moran flailing, I made a decision to try to protect his identity. This was in the hope that whatever I had done to anger the professor might be forgiven if I protected his right-hand man and all the secrets he must carry.

“Take your ’ands off of ’im! ’e was all for paying me well tonight. You can’t stop a girl from makin’ a livin’. What will all this fuss do for my trade eh?” I bawled in my best Cockney, as ripe as a Mile End costermonger.

I turned to Moran and flashed him a look which implored him to play along.

“Don’t worry Billy love,” I continued, pinching his ruddy cheeks, “they’ll keep you in a cell and let you out tomorra.”

The peeler holding Moran looked rather taken aback by this unexpected turn of events and tried to reason with me.

“About to beat you with a gun, he was. If not for us you’d be black and blue by now.”

“What d’you know? Was just all part the game, loves a bit of rough does Billy-boy. Never does no harm and always makes it worth my while,” I replied, adding a cheeky wink.

Moran just listened and gradually began to get the message. I wanted to distract them from searching too deeply and it worked perfectly. He played along and we were arrested for breach of the peace and taken to the nearest police station. But no further questions were asked about our fight and Moran’s false name of Billy Porterhouse was accepted without question. I was determined to stay calm and try to think of a way to get us both out before daybreak brought more questions.

We were both taken along an underground corridor with cells on each side. I had often wondered if I would ever see the inside of a cell and the reality was worse than I ever imagined.

The smell hit me first, a nauseating mix of damp, sweat and excrement. Then my skin began to creep as the chilly atmosphere touched me all over. Soon the sounds began to penetrate my senses, shouting and hollering from each cell at the prospect of new blood. The cell doors were solid wood three quarters of the way up with heavy bars to the top.

All the prisoners were on their toes trying to get a look at the new arrivals. As soon as they saw me, the shouting and hollering reached a crescendo.