Page 44 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
The Roseand Thorn pub was located in a grimy East End slum that time seemed to have forgotten. There were no motorcars in the narrow backstreet, nor electricity wires feeding into the crumbling and rotting tenements. It was quiet considering it was mid-morning. Small children played in the gutter, their parents nowhere to be seen. There weren’t even any housewives on their way to or from the shops. The only adult we saw was a drunkard, sleeping in a recessed doorway.
“The women around here are mostly whores,” Willie told me. “The men are mostly involved in some sort of criminal activity.”
Alex indicated the Rose and Thorn with its faded sign hanging above the door, and peeling paintwork. “The pub is the hub for that activity. The publican spent some time in prison before the war and has been holding underground fights here for years.” He advanced toward the pub, only to stop. “Don’t tell anyone I was once a constable, or that we’re working with Scotland Yard.”
Willie grunted. “’Course we won’t. We ain’t stupid. Mention the pigs around here and they’ll close up tighter than an old spinster’s quim.”
The pub was closed, but we could see someone behind the bar, pouring liquid from one bottle into another through a funnel. When Alex knocked on the window, the man returned the bottle to a shelf under the bar before opening the door to us.
He was entirely bald, with deep folds in his leathery skin and a crooked nose. He was a large man who may have once been capable of beating another man in a fight, but nowadays he looked like he’d be breathless after a few minutes. He shook a bent finger at Alex. “I remember you. Haven’t seen you here for a while.” His tone was friendly enough.
“The fights don’t have the same appeal for me as they used to,” Alex said. “Can we come in?”
“Pub’s closed, but I ain’t going to turn away paying customers.” He stepped aside.”
“These are my friends, Willie and Sylvia. We want to speak to Mad Dog Mitchell.”
The publican had been eyeing Willie and me, getting our measure, but turned sharply to Alex at the mention of the boxer. He indicated the empty taproom. “Well, he ain’t here. You’re welcome to go through to the snug, but he ain’t in there neither.”
“When did you last see him?”
The publican became more guarded. “Couldn’t say. Why do you want to talk to him?”
“Our friend is missing. An eyewitness saw Mad Dog Mitchell and someone else capture him. Mad Dog hires himself out from time to time, doesn’t he? Does he conduct his business in here? Have you seen him with anyone lately?”
The publican sucked air through the space in his top row of teeth where one at the front had been knocked out. The one beside the gap was broken in half. His answer was a shrug of heavy shoulders.
Alex offered him some banknotes. “Will this jog your memory?”
The publican snorted. “Keep your money. I’m no squealer.” He headed to the bar, his rolling gait making him slow.
“Stay here where I can see you,” Alex growled.
“No one tells me what to do in my pub.”
Willie withdrew her gun. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”
The publican halted and whipped around, surprisingly fast for a large man. As he did, he picked up a tankard off the bar and threw it at Willie. It missed her but the gun went off.
The bullet hit the bottles lined up on the shelf behind the bar, shattering them. I wasn’t sure if Willie had missed him on purpose or not.
Before I could register the damage, the publican withdrew his own gun from his inside jacket pocket. He aimed it at Willie. She aimed hers at him.
“Get out of my pub,” the publican snarled.
“Nope.” I always knew Willie was brave, or a little mad, but she didn’t show an iota of fear that the publican would shoot her before she could pull the trigger. In fact, her lips curved with a smile. She seemed to be enjoying herself. Definitely mad.
I began to shake uncontrollably.
“We ain’t leaving until you give us answers,” she went on. “What do you reckon, Alex? You reckon Mad Dog Mitchell did meet someone in here and this moron knows who?”
Alex withdrew a gun too. I hadn’t known he’d brought one. I didn’t even know he owned one.
With both guns pointing at him, the publican gave in, swearing under his breath. He put his gun down and put his hands up. “Don’t shoot any more of my supplies. That stuff’s top shelf.” He indicated the smashed bottles and the liquid dripping onto the floor. “Costs me an arm and a leg, it does.” He perched himself on a stool by the bar. “Mad Dog comes in most nights. Folk know to find him here if they need him. He does hire himself out, mostly for jobs that need someone with muscle and experience with his fists. Someone who doesn’t ask questions.”
Alex returned his gun to the waistband at his back. “Did he meet anyone in here last night?”
“Last night, and the night before that, he met the same fellow.”
