Cook moved his legs. They were tied at the ankles, but he could use them to push himself up into a sitting position. He was on the floor, in an inch of water, rainbow patterns from oil or petrol on top.
They were passing the island. Cook could see the spire of the church behind the river frontage of warehouses. The damage from the bombs didn’t look as bad from this side.
‘What if we get bombed?’ the giant, at the tiller, asked.
‘Why would they bomb us?’ his brother replied, looking up.
Cook looked up and saw the source of the buzzing noise. Apparently it wasn’t just in his head. The sky was full of planes. Hundreds of silvery fish, up in the clouds.
The giant reached his foot out and wiped it on Cook’s leg.
‘See if you can keep the rest inside you,’ he said.
Cook glared at him. He didn’t engage. Not much point, hands tied behind his back, feet tied. Outnumbered, on a one-way trip to a point where presumably they’d put a bullet in his head then tip him over the edge.
Why hadn’t they killed him already? They seemed to know what they were doing. From the sound of it, he assumed this was something they’d done before. They didn’t seem overawed by the task. Their banter and their relaxed attitude spoke of men doing something regularly. Another day on the job. Maybe they’d tried it both ways round. Kill the man early on, you have to carry him, move his corpse. Hard to get him overboard. Keep him alive, you can point a gun at him and get him to do the work for you. Maybe get him to jump out of the boat at the final moment – let the river do the rest. Preferable in case the body washed ashore. More believable as a suicide without a bullet wound.
‘Don’t you want to beg?’ the giant asked. He seemed genuinely curious, like Cook was disrupting a pattern.
Cook ignored him. He’d never been this far down the river. It was curving to the right, massive docks ahead. The royals, Reynolds had called them.
‘We’re open to offers in terms of letting you go,’ the brother said. ‘Just putting it out there. Course, we haven’t had an offer yet that was attractive enough to overcome our fear of what the old man would do to us if he found out. But we’re open to discussion.’
‘Helps pass the time, if nothing else,’ the giant said.
‘What happened to Ruby?’ Cook asked.
‘He don’t fucking give up,’ the giant said.
‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ the brother said. ‘Since we’re about to tip you into the river. None of us have got the faintest idea who you’re talking about.’
‘There isn’t a Ruby,’ the giant said. ‘God’s honest truth. We’ve got a Petal, a Jewel, a Flossie, a ... who’s that one never smiles?’
‘Missie,’ the brother said.
‘Missie?’ the giant said. ‘Haven’t heard about fucking Missie for ages. She’s been out of the game for years. Who’s the new one? Sour face?’ He answered himself. Clicked his fingers and pointed at his brother. ‘Suzie.’
‘She has got a sour fucking face,’ the giant continued. ‘Mind you, I’d have a sour fucking face if I had to do what they do for a living.’
Cook was going to die. But all men die. If he’d wanted a long life he wouldn’t have signed on for more years in the army after the armistice. Wouldn’t have raised his hand when volunteers were needed to scout enemy positions above the Khyber Pass. Wouldn’t have walked alone, unarmed, into a jazz bar in Soho on the off-chance of learning about the last movements of a girl he didn’t really know.
But if he was going to die, the least he could do was rid the world of the two men who were accompanying him.
One would be easy. He could do it right now. Launch himself, head first, crack his head into theirs, pushing him and the other man out of the boat. They’d both hit the water unconscious. The brown waters of the Thames would welcome them.
So, one was a given. Easy. Not worth giving extra thought. But two. Two was the challenge. Particularly with them separated, one at the front and one at the back. Perhaps that was why they sat like that. Some kind of low cunning. Criminal intuition.
He could try to tip the boat over. Take his chances the men couldn’t swim. But the boat felt stable.
Better to bide his time. If he saw an opportunity, he’d take it. His life, for these two. A worthy trade. One last job.
‘You know what really done you in,’ the giant said, giving Cook a wink. ‘Wasn’t coming round asking after no Ruby, who, like we said, nobody’s ever heard of or likely ever gave a fuck about.’
Cook stared back at the man. He’d decided. If he was only going to be able to take one with him, it would be this one. He improved his plan. His hands were tied but he’d still be able to get his arms over the other man’s head. Then it would simply be a matter of holding on tight, while they both sank to the bottom.
‘You was making a nuisance of yourself at the hotel. That was what done you in. Can’t have the likes of you or me upsetting the clientele. No, what we gets up to has to stay hidden, in the alleys, and the clubs.’
‘Was this girl hanging about the hotel too?’ the brother asked. Cook didn’t respond. ‘Stands to reason if that’s why you were there.’
