Page 75 of Copper Script
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JOEL HAD TO RETURNhome eventually, much against his will.He wanted to be with Aaron, together, touching, giving each other strength; he also really didn’t fancy the walk.That was his hard luck, because the Tube and buses had long finished running, so he trudged along two and a half miles of dark, cold, empty streets, jumping at every shadow.He got stopped twice on the Euston Road by uniformed policemen commenting meaningfully that he was out late, and although he knew that Colthorne was CID, and was fairly sure he was outside G Division, it brought his heart into his mouth both times.
He replied pleasantly anyway, and had a bit of a chat with both constables.He might want witnesses that he was going home to spend the night in his own bed.
The cigarette-smoking watcher was outside his house again when he got back.Joel considered a smart remark, and decided against it.He just let himself inside, went to bed, and lay awake in the cold, trying to smell Aaron on himself and sweating ice about the next morning.
He’d been told to present himself at the Griffin public house in Clerkenwell at noon.He got there at ten to, and was conducted in by a couple of men who looked like boxers, to the saloon bar and a table where a broad-shouldered man sat.
You couldn’t call him pretentious.Darby Sabini, king of the racecourse gangs, wore a flat cap, a collarless shirt, a high-buttoned waistcoat, and a dark suit that had seem better days.He had a broken nose, and looked like a bricklayer in his Sunday best.
“Well, now, Mr.Wildsmith,” he said.“Sit down.You’re very prompt, I like that.Will you take a drink?”
He had a pint of stout in front of him.Joel wondered if this was some sort of trap.“If you think I’ll be staying that long, Mr.Sabini.I honestly don’t know why I’m here or what I can do for you.”
“We’ll find out.Pint, is it?”
“Just the half, please.I had a couple last night,” Joel tried, and saw no recognition in the shrewd eyes.Maybe Aaron’s place hadn’t been watched.That would be good.
Darby waved.A pint of bitter arrived.“Thank you,” Joel said, and took a polite sip, which unfortunately revealed that his hand was shaking.A dribble of beer ran down the tankard, and pooled on the sticky table.
“Right,” Darby said.“So, Mr.Wildsmith, what is it you do?”
“I’m a graphologist.I analyse handwriting.Tell you people’s characters.”
“You any good at it?”
“It’s a living.You know how it is, Mr.Sabini.”He lifted his truncated left arm.He’d decided against the prosthetic in case the hook was taken as an offensive weapon.
Darby nodded slowly.“I do know.And you didn’t answer me.You any good at it?”
Joel took a split second to weigh up the alternatives.“Pretty good, yes.”
“Let’s see, then.”He waved again, and a lean youth brought over a letter.“Why don’t you tell me about this?”
Joel took the paper with trepidation.He couldn’t get anything off the barely literate since the hand had to be second nature for the personality to express itself, and he feared that wouldn’t be the case given his surroundings.He also had panic lapping at his ankles, fogging his brain.He took a couple of deep breaths before he dared look.
It wasn’t wonderful.The hand wasn’t fluent, but maybe practised enough to let character come through.Hopefully.If Joel could just relax and let it happen.He was very aware of his thundering heartbeat, and the numerous eyes on him.
If you fuck this up, he won’t believe anything you say.Get it right.Get it right.
He wasn’t helping himself.He tried to think of Aaron saying something calm and soothing in his deep voice.Aaron probably faced down characters like Darby Sabini all the time.Imagine going back to him and saying,Sorry, but after all that big talk I broke down and couldn’t get a word out.
He’d been in a fucking war; he was not going to collapse in a Clerkenwell pub.He inhaled so hard his nostrils stung a little, and looked at the paper, taking his time, turning it over and back, thinking.
“Determination,” he said after a moment.“That’s the strongest thing I get: this is a very determined person.I think it would be pretty hard to make him do anything he didn’t want to do, there’s alotof willpower here.That’s impressive, but maybe, sometimes, a bit too much of a good thing?I wonder if he might stand in his own way now and again, by digging his heels in when he could afford to give a little.”There was a rustle from the silent watchers; Darby gestured and they shut up.Joel tensed his toes in his shoes, steeling himself.“That’s the main thing, but there’s also...there’s a real expansiveness here, you can see it in the broadening of the vowels.I think he’s likely to be a very generous man, there’s nothing small about him.A man you could turn to.Or at least, if he decides to help, he’ll do it properly.That’s part and parcel of the determination, of course: he decides what he thinks is best, or right, and he does it.He’ll make a judgement and then carry it out, whether that’s to help people or, you know, the opposite.That’s really what I’d say here: this is a good friend and a bad enemy.I wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with him, myself.”
He held the paper out.Darby didn’t take it.“You got that off the handwriting.”
