CHAPTER - 2

2 

 

 

As we wandered along the alley there was no time to wonder about Take Six man. I noticed Monkie was limping. Not so much though, just a bit here and there, but enough for me to wonder.

 Then I decided he must be a mind reader because, the next moment, he said, “That was a tough one. The Jag was going the fastest I’ve ever had to handle but I don’t think I misjudged the speed, I think the guy might’ve slightly tweaked the throttle as he got close to me. He almost had me but… I got away with it... Anyway, thanks for the help. The name’s Monkie.” 

I grinned one of my specials at him, “That’s very appropriate, don't you think, considering. Anything to do with long tails and trees or were you named in anticipation?” 

Monkie shrugged, “Something like that, I suppose… Anyway, Tommy Monk. Hence the…” 

“Monkie. That’s a relief. I had visions of you unzipping your human suit when you arrived home from the fancy dress party… Rich. That’s me.” 

“What literally?” Monkie had a look of hope on his face, so I shot him down. 

“Depends on your definition, of course, but not generally. Consistently financially stable is a fine expression. Although there can be periods of unexpected austerity due to a downturn in expected revenue culminating in simply being broke.” 

“A fine line for sure. You sound like a city type pinstripe suit sitting behind a mahogany desk counting stacks of money but I suspect you’re not mostly because of the lack of the pinstripe… Like the boots… So, it’s Rich… Just Rich?” 

“That’s it… for now anyway. My name comes on a need-to-know basis.” 

“Interesting, it must be a real humdinger as they say in the good old US of A.” 

“Not so much, it just takes some explaining and just at this precise moment we lack time… I’m due at work.” 

“You work… How so?” Monkie actually sounded quite disgusted by the idea. 

“Money comes to those who strive and that’s what I do, strive to make the wherewithal by any means possible and hopefully with the least effort possible to produce maximum reward.” 

Monkie’s amused expression would cheer up any dark day, “Where?” he asked. 

We had come to the end of the alley and I stopped at the edge of the square, “There,” I pointed. 

Now he sounded astonished, “You’re not a shop worker, are you? A bit dull I’d think.” 

“Far from it. It fills all the criteria.” I had an inkling Monkie would know what I was referring to. 

“That’ll need some explaining,” he replied. 

“Later… Do you know the pub down by the river?” 

“Sure, The Crown.” 

“I'll meet you there at six… now, I really do have to go. Here.” I handed Monkie a ten note. 

He scowled and said, “Hang on… I seem to remember twenty being the appropriate amount.” 

“Sure, twenty was accepted but my interpretation was you were anticipating ten. The other ten was the direct result of my interrupting your imminent premature acceptance of the lesser amount…” 

“You do have a way of explaining things, don’t you. All those big words. Now you’re sounding like a lawyer but…” 

“No buts now we’re equal partners. We split everything fifty-fifty and I’m happy to extend that to include all income sources, present and future…” 

Monkie wore a frown of confusion, “I don’t remember any agreement. What makes you think we’re partners?” 

I shrugged and said, “The fact that we’ve decided…” 

Monkie’s look now suggested quite a considerable amount of confusion, “You’ve decided,” he replied. 

“Not so, it’s a joint decision…” 

Was there a slight enlightenment maybe, “Oh, I see, one of those one-sided joint decisions.” 

“Nope. I think you’ve agreed.” 

“Really?” I detected that was said with real astonishment, so I felt obliged to explain. 

I nodded and momentarily held Monkie’s eyes giving him a knowledgeable smile, “Yes, really. Sitting in your hand is a ten-pound note which you have clearly accepted. Acceptance suggests agreement to you receiving exactly fifty percent of the proceeds from the recent transaction with the owner of a racing green Jag. Fifty percent of the sum derived from our combined efforts. Your contribution being the instigation and mine the negotiation. Therefore, by definition, we’re partners in at least that endeavour. As I previously stated this partner is prepared to extend the contract to include all future influxes of cash up until the said contract is deemed, by mutual agreement, to be dissolved. The second part does require your agreement.” 

Monkie shrugged and frowned, “I’m not so sure I follow much of that. I know lawyers are fickle fellas but… Where the f…” 

“Stop. One more thing. No expletives and certainly not the real nasty one beginning with the third letter of the alphabet. There are far better ways to make your point with the use of suitable words and a way of saying said words.” 

“Which you have clearly mastered… I was going to say where on earth did you get all that crap…  That’s okay, isn’t it? Crap.” 

“Sure, it falls outside the parameters of a full on swear word. All the crap, as you put it, I learn from books. I read a lot and it also helps immensely that my uncle, who lives out of town, is a barrister who generally talks to me in riddles... So, what do you say?” 

“You obviously take after your uncle is the first thing that comes to mind. The second might be to wonder why you aren’t pursuing a career in something you seem to excel at.” 

“I was intending to but circumstances revolving around a rubbish home life intervened but I might get around to it in time. For now, though…” I left that drifting on the breeze making Monkie decide. 

 Monkie stared at me for a moment while he shuffled a few thoughts then grinned as he said, “Okay, I agree. All present and future proceeds fifty-fifty. One thing though, on the agenda of our first get-together will be my proposal that words be spoken in simple English with no attempt to bamboozle. That said, I’d spit on my hand first but actually I find that a bit disgusting so…”  

Monkie offered his hand. I kept the extra tenner and strolled off to work after confirming our first board meeting be convened at around six in the Crown and thinking there was nothing like a bit of mental exercise to blow away last night's blues. Monkie wandered off muttering something about cats which I must admit did sound intriguing after he assured me it did not involve the making of cheap, naturally warm coats. I suspected the explanation would be extremely interesting. Watching him wander across the Square I had the feeling things were taking an upturn and about time. Up until six months ago my life had been one pile of misery after another. Although my mum was weak and somewhat negligent as far as I was concerned, I loved her more than anything. Maybe even more than Marge but that was doubtful considering how my mum was. One certain thing: it was definitely a close-run thing with my uncle. My dad though, certainly not him, I had dark thoughts about him. 

I took a moment to ponder. I’d only had a partner one time before and that had worked out well. At school, a couple of years before I’d gone to live with Marge. A spot of gambling had been involved. Like then, this time I was sure the benefits of such a clearly like-minded fella would outweigh possible downsides assuming, of course, there were some which somehow, I doubted. I was smiling as I pushed the shop door. Then I saw the normally lively manager, Julie, leaning on the counter. Glum perfectly described her appearance. She looked my way and gave her watch a severe visual beating. 

 

I think I mentioned my uncle. Every year, after I was eight, I’d go and stay with him and Aunt Viv in the summer holidays. South and east of us, just outside of Horsham where my uncle could get the train into London. 1960 it was when I stayed for four weeks instead of the usual two. I would have been ten. My mother had packed me off as usual but didn’t say why the visit was extended but we both knew although I was sure she didn’t know that I knew. I could see it in her face as she waved goodbye on the platform. A mixture of dread and relief. One hand up to her mouth, in a loose fist, with her thumb nail resting on her lips. A look I was so familiar with. The other raised as the carriage rattled away. Hanging out of the window I watched her waving become more frantic as the train rounded the bend a short way after the platform. 

Although I was only ten, I knew the whole story. That was one of my best attributes, I quickly understood stuff and I mean really understood and very quickly. Some might say I was a fast learner which was true, but it was more than that and that part was mostly gained purely by careful observation.  

How she managed to hang on every day until after my father had gone to work, I do not know. But she did and then she was sick. Not the violently I’m really ill sort of sick though. More an ending of an uncomfortable bout of nausea. Every day, almost exactly at eight, just before I went to school. I knew what the extra two weeks were for and I hoped the old man would never find out. He beat her enough as it was. The telltale signs hidden under heavy makeup that she thought a young kid would not notice and if they did would not know why. But I did know. It was just so obvious. 

 Anyway, most times by nine in the evening my father was with the fairies so I thought maybe he wouldn’t notice. The empty bottles of bottom shelf whisky lining the route to the bin told that story well enough. That was a thing I still think about. The way he managed to get stuff almost there but never quite completed a task. That was except when he was having words with me. Drunk and extracting revenge, as he called it, for something that happened a long time ago that he had convinced himself was my fault but wasn't. He snuck in so my mother didn't know how he treated me. Why didn’t I tell her? Simple, she had enough worries and besides, I was independently minded and could look after myself. It was just a case of biding my time.  

The prime time for his conversations, late at night. My bedroom dark until the light flicked on. Me curled up under the covers in a tight ball hoping it would not be tonight. Whisky breath making me gag as he whispered close. Nasty mean words said without thought and full of spite. The wide leather always made a snapping sound as he whipped it from his trouser loops. I didn’t cry. I never cried. Never even muttered a sound. It didn’t last long. Just a couple of swift swipes to ram home his point. I just locked my teeth and scrunched up my eyes then… all that happened was my resolution, determination and hate slowly dug a deeper and deeper hole until it was firmly embedded in my soul. 

What my mother experienced at the end of the day after I left, when my father arrived home from work, I do not know. A temper that snapped in an instant was certainly not a thing to mess with. This time though she must have been desperate and prepared to endure to get me away so she would have one less concern. But in some way, it was almost counterproductive. After four weeks I had to go home and my father’s fragile disposition would be there just waiting to explode. 

People might be tempted to say why stay. Why did she put up with my father’s violence. Why did my mother not just grab me and up and go? Those people all said the same uneducated thing from the viewpoint of someone who didn’t understand. They all said they would leave and without any hesitation. But it was not that simple. There’s a whole range of reasons. The main one being it’s hard to break a tyrant's hold. They can be devious. My father was. He was a salesman and a good one by all accounts. The word was his charm was irresistible. I’d guess that’s how he snagged my mother. He exuded an air of niceness that masked a smouldering furnace. Things did not happen all the time, though. There were certainly long periods when everything seemed… normal. He would beguile, buy her gifts and then with no warning something happened and then… But afterwards there was always remorse. Then the charm offensive resumed and my mother smiled and things settled again. Maybe that was enough to convince her leaving was the wrong choice, but I don’t know. I’ve never asked her. Anyway, there’s a whole heap of other reasons that could be reeled off all ending with the same conclusion: it was not so easy. It wouldn't surprise me if she felt some guilt for what had happened to my brother and it was simply that that made her stay.  

My grandparents had all passed close together in their sixties. That was not so unusual then. I think the war had some effect. Maybe diet but I’m not sure. Then what about her brother? The one thing he was desperate to do was help. He had the means and that was the ironic thing. His field of expertise was in social responsibility. But to become involved in a serious way he needed her permission and after the tears she always relented and said it was not as bad as it seemed and begged him not to do anything. But what about me you might ask? Now, that was one thing I can categorically give a firm answer to. There was no need to worry there. I was tough enough and sharp enough. I would survive just fine. Besides, my time would come. In these circumstances it always did. I was convinced it was just a case of how and when. 

Anyway, my uncle. A man anyone would love until death overtook them and I was no exception. Uncle Ralph Lamont, barrister of law representing the weak and needy with a tendency to use way too many words in extraordinarily convoluted explanations of all things to do with life. As Monkie had quite rightly said, a habit it did not take too many years for me to emulate. 

It was that year he gave me his very own, use-worn, copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. He told me how it was new to the shelves and how he’d already read it and reread it two times almost without a break. He said it was the most extraordinary tale of injustice and hatred. A fine example of the subjugation of one race of people by another who consider themselves superior and free to abuse and distort the truth. You must read it, he told me, it’ll make you think. Then said how coincidentally one of the main protagonists was a lawyer.” 

And you know what, after he finished explaining, at quite some length, the meaning of the long words he used, I did read it. Two times while I was there and we talked about it. My uncle explained some bits to me. Parts I was unsure of. It made me understand why he defended people who struggled to pay. From that moment on I resolved to work hard at school. I had decided I wanted to be a lawyer. That was until almost six months ago when everything quite abruptly changed.