Free Rough Justice by Gilda O'Neill

all be down to the luck of the Irish.
    Nell felt as if she were walking along the street with a film star – a glamorous man just like the ones Sylvia had taken her to see on the newsreels. And, although she couldn’t understand why, that glamour was somehow rubbing off on her.
    Then, when they came to a greengrocer’s stall that was close to the corner of where Wentworth Street met Middlesex Street, Stephen suddenly stopped.
    ‘You wait here,’ he said to Nell, indicating that she should stand by the corner of the stall, then he went round the back where a stooped elderly man was serving alongside a young lad.
    ‘Solly, you look frozen, old mate,’ said Stephen, holding out his hand to the older man, whose gnarled arthritic fingers were sticking out from the fraying ends of knitted fingerless gloves.
    Stephen flexed his shoulders. ‘Got time to discuss that bit of business we talked about?’
    Solly nodded and indicated that Stephen should join him further back on the pavement.Nell, left to her own devices, could only stand there and stare at Solly’s miserable-looking young assistant as he selected, weighed and bagged customers’ orders from the mounds of fruit and vegetables.
    Solly beckoned for Stephen to come closer until they were standing almost nose to nose.
    ‘We discussed the price, but you do know you have to pay the premium to the – ’ He paused, looking about him. ‘
Special fund
when you take over the pitch, don’t you, Steve-o?’
    ‘Course I do.’
    ‘And you do know who the enforcer is, don’t you? The one who’ll be expecting the payment and who’ll turn very nasty if you ever forget?’
    ‘Would I be right in thinking that it might be a Mr Jack Spot?’
    ‘Keep your voice down, will you?’ Solly could only imagine that the man didn’t believe what everyone had heard about Jack Spot. ‘Listen Steve-o, that bloke’s used to dealing with us nice placid Jewish fellers and girls in the market. He won’t be very happy if some big-mouthed lump of an Irishman starts broadcasting his private arrangements out loud to any passing schmuck.’
    ‘I’m not a fool, Solly.’ Stephen winked and lifted his chin towards Nell. ‘I wouldn’t have that one in tow if I was, now would I?’
    ‘But you watch out all the same. Spot’s not the sort to give a person a second chance. And, youhave to believe me, the stories you’ve heard about him are all true.’ He held up a finger to Stephen’s face. ‘And this is our debt cancelled.’
    ‘It is.’
    ‘All of it? Every last penny?’
    ‘All of it.’
    Stephen spat on his palm and held out his hand to Solly, and that was it, it was over. Stephen was being patted on the back, and being shaken firmly by the hand by Solly. The assistant sniffed in bored response, apparently not realising or not caring that his job might soon be gone and he would be joining all the other unemployed cockneys who were pointlessly seeking work in what was supposed to be the greatest capital city in the whole world.
    Nell knew it was nothing to do with her, but Sylvia had put ideas into her head and she couldn’t help but wonder why this man would let Stephen buy his pitch. She knew from talk in the pub and from listening to the wireless how hard it was for people to get work.
    She watched as Stephen started talking again, but from where she was standing she wasn’t able to make out what he was saying. She would have been even more puzzled if she had heard his words.
    ‘Solly, you have my word on it, old son. And although you’re settling a debt here, I am still going to make sure you get a nice little drink out of this, cos you have no idea how much I appreciate it.’
    Nell saw Solly smiling, but he looked more cynical than amused.
    ‘Matter of fact, Steve-o, I think I have a very good idea. With nothing doing down the dock, I’ll bet you’ve been scratching your head wondering how to cover up where the money’s coming from.’
    Stephen’s grin looked far