Take It Or Leave It

Disley

© Copyright 2020 Jason Disley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission from

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ISBN 978 – 1 – 716 – 9864 – 0

Cover design by Mr. H

Going To A Go Go

Manchester, March 17, 1966

The winter was receding and spring was beckoning.  The frosted glass on the door still bore the legend Jake Brody Private Investigator  The interior was still the same as it had been since I had been there the previous day. A paraffin heater was just stood inside the office to the right.  In the corner was a filing cabinet.

Dominating the room was a wooden desk. In front of it were the two chairs for clients, and behind the desk the chair I habitually sat on. On the desk, was a telephone, a blotter and a couple of notebooks. Behind the door on the floor was that morning’s post.

I stooped down to pick it up and carry it to my desk. I removed my mac and hung it on the coat and hat stand just inside the office door. I was tired, and slightly hungover again.  But coming into the office got me out of my two up two down terrace that somehow felt lonelier than where I conducted my daily business.

I looked at the stack of four letters I had picked up. Three were bills. I tossed them into the wastepaper basket by my chair. Knowing full well I would be fishing them out later. But, I just couldn't be bothered to deal with them  right now. The fourth had the look of something official. It wasn't a bill and was postmarked London and had been posted two days previously according to the franking mark. I noted it was a government letter from the Home Office.

I used a letter opener that was quite possibly ivory or bone, that had come from Egypt and had been given too me by my older sister. It had sat on the desk ever since I had received it. The blade was like a knife but the top edge was a caravan of carved camels. It's handle was short and ornate with a red stone in the pommel. It's decorative presence was at odds with the plain functionality of the office. I pulled out the piece of paper within the envelope. As I unfolded it, something fell onto the blotter. I didn't look at what had dropped, as my eyes were drawn to the piece of high quality paper that I held in my hands. I was surprised to see it was an invitation to London.

The Prime Minister wished to thank me personally for my involvement in the Polish affair. The case where I had managed to prevent a political scandal at the Manchester Town hall while endeavouring to find a missing girl last year.

It had only been a few months, but, time had gone by quickly enough. Harold Wilson, the current PM had been busy dealing with all sorts of things - the invitation was a surprise and naturally I felt suitably honoured to be so invited.  The letter indicated I had a couple of days to make arrangements.  There was also a train ticket in with the letter. That, was what had fallen out onto the blotter. I was to catch the train to Waterloo train station, where I would be met and taken by car to see the Prime  Minister at an undisclosed destination. The letter was signed by the Home Secretary Mr Roy Jenkins.  I sat there in my seat looking at the letter and the train ticket which I had placed back down  on the blotter before me. It was one of those sort of invitations I just could not ignore. Of course I had to go. But what a pain having to go to London! All that way down south. Still what was it they say? Yes, that was it: A change is as good as a rest. Well there was only one way to find out.

I got up from my chair. Tucked the letter and ticket away in my desk drawer. Then running a hand through my slightly wavy mousey hair and  quickly repositioning my tortoise shell glasses I made the decision that I needed to pop down to Bill’s for a trim.

My barber friend, was almost, a father like figure, and discussing things with him was always easy. Yes a trip to the barbershop was definitely a good idea. I put my mac back on over the brown three button Donegal blazer I had on. With it fastened, the only thing poking out of my collar, was the maroon turtleneck I had on. But, as the warmer spring air was yet to reach the city I didn't feel overdressed.

The rain had stopped, I was wearing a pair of Loake shoes that I had bought off Lou the young man who worked in Kendal’s department store, and had helped me find Kinga’s boyfriend when I had been investigating what I now referred to as the Polish affair.

The shoes were every bit as comfortable as Lou had said they would be. They were also much more suitable to Manchester's inclement climate. They were a treat that previous Christmas. I had felt I deserved them after what I had seen and been through during the last six months or so.

***

Bill was brushing fallen hair into a small heap when I walked in. I smiled broadly at my friend,

Hi Bill - any chance of a tidy up?

What do you think I’m doing? replied Bill looking up from the floor as he swept the small heap into a dustpan.

I mean my hair. I said finding it amusing.

Ahh got you. Thought you were trying to be funny.

Well you know me Bill.

Bill snorted and smiled. Ok Jake. What are you having - same as last time?

Yes please. I said having hung my Mac and my jacket up and sitting in the empty Barber’s chair.

So what's happening Jake - got a new case?  Bill asked as he began to comb through my hair.

Well no - but I have got something happening.

Bill looked at me through the mirror before us.  His hands hovered above my head as he waited for me to go on. Yes something important. and not being able to contain myself I told Bill about the letter I had received, summoning me to London.

Well Jake - you deserve to be thanked. Maybe you’ll find yourself on next years New Years Honours list. He said

I don't think so - but still to receive an invitation from the Prime Minister is pretty special.

Have you visited London before? asked Bill.

I visited a couple of times when I was a child - but not for at least ten years.

So it will be an interesting trip - treat it as a bit of a holiday.

Yeah, I might just do that.

Bill carried on snipping away. After a few more minutes he picked up a small mirror and showed me where he had taken the hair in close at the nape of the neck.

There you go. Nice and neat. Perfect for your little trip down south.

I was happy as usual. I paid Bill and pulled my jacket back on. It looked like it was still dry outside and placed my raincoat over my arm and headed out into Deansgate, where I took a leisurely stroll up the road passing the people who were rushing about on whatever business they were on. All seemingly in a hurry.

***

London, early March 1966

Pawel Godlewski was a bit annoyed - but being the business man he was, and understanding how things sometimes had to operate - so as to achieve ones goal, he ate the proverbial humble pie and had acquiesced to what was expected of him - so he could continue his next phase of operations. After all in the big scheme of things - it wasn't a big ask. But for Ronnie and Reggie Kray  to trust him and agree to his proposal he needed to arrange this one little thing.  He’d been introduced to Freddie Foreman one of the Krays men. Pawel didn't like him. He was obviously an enforcer for the London twins. He would rather deal with more intelligent people than the obvious hired help.

He’d ended up in a pub called The Bell. A big boozer in Walthamstow. It was a nice enough place -a place with history. It wasn't too busy and he’d found a corner near a window. He had an untouched Scotch on the table before him, and a smouldering cigar resting on the edge of the large ashtray that sat beside it.  As he waited for Freddie to arrive he thought about what had happened in the last few months.

The whole affair in Manchester had almost ruined him. If it wasn't for his status in Poland -  he would still be rotting in a cell. Diplomatic immunity hadn't worked. But his now dead daughter Martina’s foiled plot,  had given him a lifeline. The authorities couldn't charge him as all evidence was circumstantial. Plus the Polish government still found him useful. This made him smile grimly. There was no cheer in his eyes. He was taking a risk being in London. A risk worth taking. But if the authorities knew he was in the country - he would have a hard time explaining why. No doubt threats of espionage or racketeering would be levied at him.

Still since his Liverpool connection was spending time at Her Majesty's leisure- other arrangements needed to be made and he also had another possible business venture that could be as equally lucrative thanks to someone he’d met by chance when he had got back to his home country. He was now here to meet an associate of the Kray’s. He knew that he was going to be tested. Back home in Warsaw he would test those who would come to see him to do business. This was no different. It just felt a little strange being on the other side of the negotiations for a change.

The man that Pawel was waiting for entered the large pub with two other men. All three were wearing dark suits that were quite sombre and conservative looking.

The slightly shorter and stockier of the three was the only one that had a flash of colour in the form of a regimental striped tie, that was green, silver and navy blue. He had  dark hair  that was receding,  he was wearing glasses, which didn’t quite conceal his prominent dark eyebrows and the very dark piercing, deep set eyes, that almost looked black. His nose was thin and pointed above smallish, but bloated lips. It was narrow features in a round face. It was a serious face, that bore a confidence on the verge of arrogance.

To Godlewski he was the obvious leader of the three men, and the sort of man he had dealt with many times over the years. He stood up and gave a curt nod to Freddie and smiled. The smile was cold as his equally dark eyes and stopped short of showing pleasure. He could see Freddie was doing as he was, and was sizing him up. Godlewski was older than Freddie by perhaps a decade. But he was a man who was still very fit and strong and carried himself in an almost feline predatory manner. His movements were fluid and calculated. Almost Panther like. Like Freddie, he had two men with him. They were stood at the bar observing the meeting from a safe distance. Ready however, to step in if the need arose.

Pawel indicated to Freddie to sit down. His first word to him was

Drink?

Yes but I will get my own. Jack get me a pint and get one for yourself and Ritchie. he said to one of his men. So Mister - I’ve been told by Ronnie that if you want to do business you need to do something for him. Just to prove you’re kosher.

Pawel Godlewski who was a Polish Jew didn't like Freddie’s tone. But, at this time he let it slide.

Tak he said in Polish before continuing in English, I understand. Does his brother agree with what Ronnie is proposing?

I don't know. Look, Ronnie told me to meet you and let you know what he wants you to do. He doesn't let me know everything that he and Reggie have discussed.

Godlewski nodded.

Freddie's man, Jack, handed Freddie his pint. He took a sip looking at Pawel the whole time. Pawel reciprocated the stare and took a sip of his Scotch.

The silence between the men belied the fact that the moment had come where the next step in the meeting was the actual proposition.  When Freddie told him what Ronnie had told him. He immediately felt he was dealing with dangerous men who where not only testing him but were being obviously disrespectful.

This was the true test. Could he work with people who were so obviously mentally disturbed? Why should he agree to such risk?

You say he wants me to steal the World Cup?  he whispered across the table.

Yeah. That's right - you got to nick it. No trophy, no deal.

Skurwysyn! Godlewski muttered under his breath in Polish, the curse meaning ‘Son of a Bitch!’

He then continued I will do this but after this deal is made  - if things do not work out how I want - then I will make life very difficult for you and your bosses. I come to you with a proposal of business that will be lucrative for all of us - and you ask me to carry out a petty theft! This is disrespectful where I come from.

The tension in the pub had risen. Pawel’s men had their hands inside their jackets. They were both armed with revolvers. Freddie and his men were only armed with knuckle dusters.

Freddie wasn't surprised at the Pole’s reaction. Not me mate, it's Ronnie. No one argues with Ronnie, you hear about Cornell? It was just  the other week, that he lost it. So, best do as Ronnie says, don’t yer think? Now, c’mon let's calm this fucking shit down. They do some nice Jellied Eels behind this bar. A local delicacy. Fancy having something to eat?

Godlewski nodded. The sound of eating Eels sounded disgusting too him. " You have some. I will pass. I am not hungry. Whilst you eat you can tell me what you know about where this trophy is, and what you know about the area so I can start thinking about how to carry out Mr Kray’s request.

I Met A Girl

I got myself comfortable in my seat on the train. Still unsure of what to expect upon arriving in London.

I had a small suitcase on the luggage rack, and a battered briefcase with a couple of novel’s in it. One was an Agatha Christie novel, titled  Cards On The Table, the other was a James Bond novel written by Ian Fleming called For Your Eyes Only. Alongside these were a couple of ham sandwiches and an apple. At the moment I couldn't be bothered to read either book, nor eat. Instead I removed my letter inviting me to attend a meeting with the Prime Minister. It was still something I was trying to get my head round. To be formally thanked by him in person was almost beyond words. I had been lucky to have realised what was going on. But none of it would've happened if Martina Godlewski hadn't entered my office last September.

It still hurt a little that I’d been set up by the beautiful Polish woman whose own agenda