‘Well, of course a business like ours—’
‘A protection racket,’ said Miriam.
‘We wouldn’t call it that, miss.’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ said Miriam, taking a sip of her tea and wincing slightly. ‘But I would. Go on.’
‘A … service such as ours costs money, miss, as you can imagine.’
‘I can imagine, yes,’ said Miriam, who was looking around the café. ‘How much, exactly?’
‘Well, it depends, but let’s say as little as a shilling a week for your safety.’
‘A shilling.’
‘Very reasonable, don’t you think, miss?’
‘I certainly do not think,’ said Miriam. ‘There are by my count almost forty people currently in this establishment. If each of them paid you just a shilling each you’d have two pounds; is that correct?’
‘Your maths is impeccable,’ said Willy.
‘So that’s two pounds per week, making eight pounds per month from the patrons of this café alone.’
‘But not everyone in this café would be paying us a shilling a week.’
‘I’m sure they wouldn’t. They’d be far too sensible. And if they don’t?’
‘If they don’t what?’ said Willy.
‘If they don’t pay you their shilling. I presume there’s the implied threat of violence.’
‘We offer protection,’ said Willy.
‘Which of course implies a threat,’ said Miriam.
‘Not from us,’ said Willy.
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So all your clients have willingly entered into a voluntary contract with you?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘A contract that essentially consists of you granting them protection in return for the payment of a small cash sum.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So in effect your clients stand in relation to you and your associates as, say, children, or women – or indeed property – who are in some way incapable of protecting themselves and who therefore need protecting?’
‘You could put it like that,’ agreed Willy.
‘Which makes them effectively chattels or slaves,’ said Miriam.
Willy was about to speak but Miriam held up her arm, commanding silence, and then turned to me. ‘I had thought, Sefton, that you might have kept rather better company.’
Willy did not look amused. He looked – well, he looked – emasculated.
‘Anyway,’ said Miriam, ignoring Willy’s obvious irritation. ‘I really shouldn’t be barging in on you boys. I’m sure you have lots to discuss. Racketeering. Extortion. Fraud. White slavery, also?’
Willy got up from the table.
‘You’ll excuse me, but I have other more serious business I need to attend to,’ he said.
‘Oh, really?’ said Miriam. ‘What a shame.’
‘It’s been a pleasure, Miss Morley.’ He didn’t offer his hand.
‘Hasn’t it just?’ said Miriam.
‘Sefton, you know where to find me,’ he said.
‘I do, thanks, Willy.’
‘Byesie bye!’ said Miriam. ‘Mahlzeit!’
And with that, he was gone.
I noticed then that the hubbub in the restaurant had died down. We were drawing attention to ourselves. Or, rather, Miriam was drawing attention to us.
‘Miriam,’ I said quietly, ‘you were really terribly rude to the poor chap.’
‘Oh, come on, Sefton. He’s big enough and ugly enough to take it,’ said Miriam, not at all quietly. ‘Well, maybe not ugly enough. But you know, you really have the most appalling taste in friends and acquaintances.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I said.
‘And so you should,’ she said. ‘It’s a mark of your character. Anyway, enough about him. I’m so glad you called.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? What is it you wanted, Miriam?’
‘Father’s in terrible danger.’
I HAD HEARD THIS LINE BEFORE. Miriam’s idea of her father being in terrible danger included his being overworked, underworked, unduly praised, under-appreciated, slighted, patronised, put-upon or indeed treated in any way other than the way in which Miriam treated him, which is to say with absolute, unquestioning devotion and utter dis-dain.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what sort of danger, Sefton?’
‘What sort of danger, Miriam?’
‘He is being hunted.’
‘Hunted?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Hunted by?’
‘An American, of course.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘An American adventuress.’ If Miriam had had pearls to clutch, she’d have been clutching them.
‘I see.’
‘Americans being undoubtedly the most dangerous among all the world’s adventuresses.’
‘Undoubtedly,’ I said.
Morley
