‘The world just ain’t what it used to be no more, lad,’ he said, smiling sadly and raising his cup again.
‘We can agree on that,’ I said, and we clinked cups and drank. After all, I was sitting in the back room of a disreputable pub in the East End, getting thoroughly and royally drunk. If somebody had told me a few months ago I would be doing this, I’d have suggested they see a doctor.
‘No honesty, you know,’ he added dejectedly. ‘Nowhere.’
‘Quite right.’
We clinked cups again. We drank.
I wondered what would happen if I told him that he was having this conversation with a girl in disguise. Maybe he would be angry about my dishonesty? Though something about the glassy look in his eyes made me think that maybe he’d laugh at the good joke, or maybe just not understand what I was saying.
‘Makes me really want to get drunk,’ the gnarled old sailor said.
I nodded.
We clinked cups. We drank.
‘So… why do you want to get drunk?’ He asked.
I scowled.
‘Because somebody I despise told me not to.’
He laughed. ‘Is that so? You don't despise him, little fellow!’
‘And how would you know? You don't even know who I’m talking about!’
‘Because if ye despised him, ye wouldn’t care what he told you to do. Ye'd just ignore him for the puddle of piss he is. Ye respect him. And ye want him to respect ye. That’s why ye ain’t doing what he’s told ye. So ye can show him ye've got your own 'ead on your shoulders!’
‘What are you? A doctor or gipsy fortune-teller or what?’
The sailor’s shoulders slumped. ‘Nay, lad, just an old man who’s seen too damn much of the world.’
‘So what about you?’ I asked, eager to change the subject. ‘Why are you getting drunk?’
The shoulders slumped even farther.
‘I told ye. Dishonesty.’
‘Yes, but what kind of dishonesty? Were you tricked?’
‘Aye, tricked, lad. Tricked as surely as ever a fellow was.’
He gave a deep sigh.
‘So you really want to ‘ear my sad story, lad, do you? I warn ye, it’s as sad a story as ever you ’eard.’
‘As I said,’ gesturing to the chair I was sitting on, ‘Bottoms down. I’m not going anywhere for a while. You might as well unburden your heart while we get drunk.’
‘You’re a good lad.’
The old sailor sighed again. ‘Oh, well… I’ve got this partner, you know? ’ad him ever since I came to London. When times are tough, we… do jobs together, ye know? The world ain’t what it used to be. Surviving can be 'ard, sometimes.’
I had the feeling that the 'jobs' he alluded to weren’t exactly legal. But I wasn’t feeling particularly judgemental tonight. He seemed like a nice old fellow, for a man, and besides, the yellow piggies were still performing so delightfully at the back of the room - I just couldn’t be in a bad mood…
‘We were real pals, this fellow and me,’ the old man continued sadly. ‘Did everything together, shared everything together. If one of us found a job, we always got the other, and we split the cash. But then, the other night, he came in 'ere, drunk like the dickens, and started playing at cards, ye know. And he starts wearing fancy stuff he ain’t got the money for. So I go and asks him where the money’s coming from, and he tells me he’s got luck at the tables. But ye see, I know he’s not telling the truth. I know he’s found a good job and don’t want to share. So I follow him, and what do I see? Him going off to meet some posh geezer. Gives him something, and gets a bag full of cash in return, the little weasel!’
He took another large swallow from his cup, and gave a big, big sigh.
‘The world really ain’t what it used to be. I wouldn’t never have expected that of 'im. Not of old Tom Gurney.’
I nodded philosophically. Only a few seconds later did the name register in my befuddled brain.
I choked on my next mouthful of the burning drink.
‘W-what did you say his name was?’ I gasped, coughing.
‘Tom. Thomas Gurney, the little weasel. Can’t imagine he did that, and to me, who looked after him ever since his mum died. Aye, the world ain’t what it used to be no longer…’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure it aintn't… um… isn’t. Tell me… where exactly was this house where your partner met this “posh geezer”?’
~~*~~*
I had a nice, long talk with my friend, the old sailor, and afterwards sat and watched the amazing visions produced by the burning drink. The dancing piggies at the back of the room had performed about half of a Russian ballet when I heard a familiar arctic voice from the main room.
‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton!’
‘Ah.’ I sighed and nodded to my drinking companion. ‘Duty calls.’
He grinned at me.
‘Don’t be too hard on him, lad.’
‘I?’ I demanded, outraged. ‘Hard on him? He’s my superior, not the other way around.’
‘Exactly.’
Shaking my head, I stumbled towards the door. The old fellow was nice enough, but strange.
Out in the main room, Mr Ambrose awaited me, displeasure evident in every unmoving line of his face.
‘We’re getting out of here,’ he stated. ‘The lips of that man Gurney are sown shut! I cannot get a single word out of him. This was a waste of time. We'll have to try something else.’
I raised an eyebrow. Or maybe both. Control over my facial muscles was rather difficult to maintain at the moment.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, of course!’
‘You got nothing at all, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Not the tiniest-winiest tiddly bittly bit of information?’
‘I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Mr Linton. No, I got nothing. Now let’s go.’
‘Tut-tut…’ I smirked at him. Or maybe I drooled at him a little. What did it matter? This was great! The little yellow piggies were doing pirouettes, just for the special occasion of my triumph. ‘N-not so fast, Sir. I think I have some interesting news for you…’
~~*~~*
‘…there was this drunk old fellow, you know, really drunk, you could really, really tell from the way he spockle-spak- spoke…’
Mr Ambrose listened to my account with his usual facial expression - or lack thereof. In fact, both Mr Ambroses did. There seemed to be two of him at the moment. Sometimes there were even three, but most of the time there were only two. They were swaying slightly and going in and out of focus.
‘…and I totally conned him! Just like that! And he started bubbleabable…babbling…and… what was I talking about again? Barman? Another round of pig’s snouts… no… eyes…? Oh, to hell with it! So I got him talking and…’
The blurry, stony-looking Ambrose in front of me morphed into two again, neither looking very pleased. Under normal circumstances, I might have been terrified - I mean, two Mr Ambroses to hound me all day, trying to drive me insane? Please! Every girl has her limits! But right now, there was this warm, fuzzy-glowy-gargantuan-greatly-gubbledly-wobbledy-wonderful feeling inside, and not even the thought of two Mr Ambroses to deal with at once could faze me.
Why should it? I was a strong woman! Strong and brilliant and all-powerful! Ha! Let all men cower before me! Right now, I knew I could squish them all like bugs and conquer the world - even if it did seem slightly blurred.
‘…and he said he followed him there,’ I finished my account, ‘and saw him there, because he went there, and he followed him. And he told me, and now we know. Isn’t that just peachy, slug? Um, I mean… Sir? We know what we wanted to know. Although I can’t for the life of me remember why exactly we wanted to know. Bugger! Well, I’m sure it'll come back to me once I’ve conquered the world. Do you think I should start with Spain, or rather France?’
His facial expression didn’t change. Somehow, he still managed to suddenly radiate twice as much cold disapproval. ‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yessir!’
‘You neglected to mention where this man you were conversing with actually went.’
‘Oh. Really? How strange. Um… well…’
‘Yes?’
I tried to sort through my foggy mind to find the answer to this conundrum. It wasn’t easy. Finally, the answer popped out of the mist.
‘Duck Road!’ I exclaimed. ‘He went to Duck Road, number 97!’