Something in the Water(77)

I’m pretty sure he’s got an accountant. I’m pretty sure that accountant was at the trial.

It’s astonishing that he can stick his finger right up in everyone’s faces the way he has for the past few decades—bait the system and get away with it. But not only does he get away with it, I want him to get away with it. I’m rooting for him. Everyone is. For his brand of jaunty cockney psychopathy. It’s fun. It doesn’t seem like real modern, raw, bone-and-gristle crime; it seems like the Pearly Kings, and pie and mash, and I’ll-be-mother. Good old-fashioned British crime. Homegrown, Brexit crime. Bob Hoskins, Danny Dyer, Barbara Windsor, The Italian Job, hatchet-in-the-trunk-of-the-car crime.

“Okay.” I lean forward. I want him to know I’ll play his game. “You’re not going to tell me about the Richardsons or any of it, are you, Eddie?” I just need to know what game we’re playing.

“Erin, sweetheart, I will tell you anything you ask, my darling. I’m an open book. I might not know the answers to some of your questions, but I’ll certainly give it a go. So, how ’bout a smile?” He gives me a roguish tilt of the head.

I really can’t help myself; it’s ludicrous, but I’m enjoying this. I smile, with all my teeth.

“Thanks very much, Eddie. In that case, can you tell us about Charlie Richardson, head of the Richardson Gang, what was he like?” I think I understand the rules now. Ask around things, ask opinions, no facts.

“He was an awful fucking human being…but in the nicest possible way. Awful fucking human beings sometimes are.” He sighs. “It’s all been said about the Richardsons already. Everyone involved in all that old East End stuff is dead now anyway. You can’t rat on the dead and I certainly wouldn’t speak ill of the dead…but Charlie was a nasty fella. I never physically saw him do any torture. But he’d talk about it. He used the power generator from a dismantled WWII bomber to electrocute them. He’d torture ’em, slice ’em, scare ’em until they told him whatever he wanted. I asked him once, ‘How do you know they’re not lying to you if you torture ’em?’ He said, ‘They lie until they get to the point where they turn into little children and all they can do is tell the truth.’ But you see, that’s not what I was asking him. What I meant was: what if they’d told you the truth to begin with and you kept on torturing ’em until they made up some old shit? That never occurred to Charlie. I didn’t ask again. Different generation, Charlie was. Thought he knew what was what. But torture’s never worked. You’ve got to respect people, right, Erin? If you want respect, then you need to make sure you’re respectful. Let people die with a little dignity. It’s up to them if they lived with it. No one can say you did wrong in this life if you treated people with respect.”

I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but I push on.

“Did you treat people with respect, Eddie?” I ask. It seems important to ask.

He looks up at me, eyes hooded.

“Yeah. Always have, always will. But you don’t sign up for certain things without knowing the rules, Erin. And if you’ve signed up for the game, then you can’t complain when you lose. You got to lose with dignity is all; a good sportsman always lets people lose with dignity.” He pauses, studies me.

He’s weighing me up. He wants to say something. I give him a moment but he looks away, changes his mind.

There’s silence. He seems distracted, his mind elsewhere. We’re getting close to dangerous territory. I can feel it.

I change the subject to something lighter.

“What do you think you’ll do first? When they let you out. Do you have anything in particular you’d like to do?” I plow on. I need to keep the energy up.

“Turn it off.” He looks at me hard, unflinching. His charm has suddenly vanished. I instantly feel sweat prickling along the back of my neck.

The silence is thick between us. My heart is hammering. I can’t interpret this situation anymore. There are no social cues to read; I have no frame of reference.

“Turn the camera off. Now.” He is motionless. Solid, immovable. Dangerous.

I fumble to turn it off. I don’t know why, but I do as I’m told. It’s the worst possible idea in this situation but there is no other option. I could call out to the guards, but this isn’t like that. It’s not that sort of situation. Something else is going on here. I want to know what it is. I do what he says.

The red light fades out.

“Is everything all right, Eddie?” I don’t know why I ask him this. He’s clearly fine. I’m the one whose hands are shaking.

“You’re all right, sweetheart. Calm down.” His face has softened. His tone is gentle now. My shoulders slowly release. I hadn’t realized that they were clenched.

“Sorry if I scared you, love. But here it is…I, um? Right, well…” He seems engaged in an internal battle.

And then it comes. “I want to ask you something. I wanted to ask you before, over the phone, but it wasn’t possible to discuss at the time and I don’t want it on camera. I’m going to ask you for a favor. If I’m totally honest, sweetheart, it’s the only reason I’m doing this interview with you. You give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want. So there we are. Now listen up; I’m not going to say it twice.”