CHAPTER 19

 Dexter took pretty much the same route as Tolly. Rocked and rolled on the London train reading the broadsheet of the fella next to him as the guy spread the pages wide. Watched the scenery flash by. Trees and green fields turned to the drab greyness of the suburbs as they approached London. Rows of brick-built terraces and the long low spreading expanse of warehouses with the bombed-out gaps waiting for rebuilding to commence.  

The train rattled into Clapham Junction and jerked to a halt. The same crowds waited to get on. The same squeeze through to the platform. Needing to dodge through the incoming people to the street. Then he reached the bus stop. Like Tolly, Dexter was tempted. Maybe it would save a bit of time. Then lengthening his stride, he strode purposefully towards Wandsworth. His first priority: find somewhere to stay.  

There were places to ask questions if you wanted to locate someone and there were better places. Without any doubt the best happened to be a pub. And coincidentally the best place to stay if you wanted to ask questions: A pub. And as it happened quite a few sat neatly on the streets of Wandsworth. After all, one of the main London breweries was there. Central would be best, he thought. Why not on the hill heading towards the common? Nice place to live in that area. Near the common being one of the best. Would Tolly live there? Maybe, but Dexter suspected perhaps he would stay where the action happened. It struck him that Tolly Parkin was not the sort of person to live somewhere quiet. He was probably partial to a good bit of activity.  

One thing Dexter was certain of: Tolly would not do business in the area he lived. Dexter sensed he was too sharp for that. Obviously army. Not such a difficult deduction just after a major war. But what part of the army? There was an air of confidence surrounding Tolly. He was good at what he did. Like me, learnt his skills the hard way. That was why he didn't get flustered. He exuded that calm that was only learnt from eliminating stress over an extended period. Develop the calm and clear thinking that was essential to survive. In combat there was no room for panic. Yeah, central was best. 

Thirty minutes later he stood on the street corner looking at the long brick walls of the brewery with traffic rushing by. A few people nudged as they swerved past in a hurry, maybe to get somewhere special. He took a long deep breath. Smelt the hops. Smelt the mix of traffic, people and coal burnt fires. And the smell of horses as the oak of the wooden dray creaked under the strain of barrels stacked high as the two massive shire horses with their heads high, fluttering white feather headdresses and metal clad shoes clattering and sliding on the cobbles as they hauled the cart through the gates to begin the daily circuit to replenish the stocks of most of the pubs within the immediate area. Yeah, I’m home. Maybe that’ll give me an advantage. 

He wandered towards old Wandsworth Town not caring if a bit of nostalgia sucked a couple of hours out of the day. Strolled along his old street. Stopped to feel the atmosphere of the last place he could call a permanent home. Lingering outside number forty-three in the middle of a long row of terraced houses. The smell of soot hit him. The jackdaw falling down the chimney with a black cloud that covered the small range where his mother was cooking. Her face with the smudged outlines. Coughing. Waving at the air. The jackdaw dead on the fire. The laughter of three boys staring and pointing. The feigned swipe of her hand deliberately missed his head and she was laughing. All those good time memories blown to hell and back. They all went to war, the three brothers. One fell in the desert outside a place called Tobruk. One was lost in France three weeks after D-day and one came home. His mum? She struggled to bring them up. Pay the rent. Saddled with an absently drunk husband and a gammy leg that required a stick to fight a limp. Died young in a fire of incendiary bombs on a night out that she had not wanted to go on. After the war he did not return to his home.  

Dexter stared at the front door. For a good-looking tough guy his face looked sad. Was there just the faintest touch of moisture in his eyes? A long sigh released some unexpected pent-up tension. Running a hand across his face and ruffling his hair he nodded. Times gone by. Now he had been forced to move on. Subdued but smiling he slowly headed back towards the brewery. As his composure returned he increased pace until he was back in the centre standing outside one of the brewery's own pubs. This would do. Pushed the door and walked through the gloom to the long bar and a cheerful soul cleaning the brass on a line of beer engines.  

What could you say about a London pub? Definitely clean. Certainly full of atmosphere. An abundance of soul. The expectation of busy drawn-out nights of drunken mayhem. A piano, the upright sort, an empty ashtray on the polished top waited for the smoke to swirl and curled over stubs to sit above the ash flicked as the player tapped out an old-time ditty. The lights needed to be brighter but that was not unusual. Maybe it was intentional. Keep it dim and create a mystery. The walls had that yellowing old paint look from years of almost static cigarette smoke. The furniture wood all stained dark brown. A long bar top of light oak with the patination of many years of elbows and beer slops. 

Looking at the barman Dexter thought this was a fella he could relate to. The man in his thirties with the barman smile that said in this place he was the centre of attention. Longish dark hair that he flicked back in an almost absentmindedly casual manner. Tall. Fit looking and strong. Gave the impression that at kick-out time most went without a fuss and those that didn’t came to regret it. 

“Can I help you,” he said looking at Dexter’s beezer and smart appearance. 

“Have you got a room for a couple of nights?” replied Dexter thinking maybe the man would know a lot of people. 

“Sure. Bed and breakfast. Ten bob a night. We do meals but they’re extra. Any good?” 

“Perfect, thanks. Can I book for two nights?” 

“Yup, no problem. You have to pay up front.” 

Dexter handed him a pound note and said, “Can you do anything to eat now and maybe coffee?” 

“Coffee’s no problem. The best I can do to eat would be a bacon sandwich.” 

“That’ll do just fine, thanks,” said Dexter. 

“Hang on, I’ll be back,” said the barman and he headed through a swing door beside the bar. Dexter heard a short, muffled conversation. 

“Yeah, no problem,” the man said as he returned. Grabbing a book from behind the bar, he continued, “Can you fill in your name and address please… Thanks for that… Okay, take a seat and I’ll bring the sandwich over to you,” and he disappeared through the swing door again. 

Dexter glanced around the bar. Coming up to eleven and the only two customers were sitting at the end on the tall stools huddled over pints. Had the look of regulars. All bars had them stewing over a pint for a couple of hours of having nothing else to do and never saying all that much. Their time consumed by mostly gazing at nothing in particular. Dexter sat on a stool in the middle of the bar and nodded as one looked towards him.  

There was a way to ask questions, especially about local people in what might be their local pub. The trick: take your time. Kind of ease into it. Wait for someone else to start doing the asking. Create some good will. Draw them into a conversation. The barman brought the sandwich and coffee and continued with the beer engine handles. An occasional low buzz drifted from the two down the end. 

“Want any ketchup with that?” asked the barman. 

“Sure, why not,” replied Dexter. That was all. He waited for the man to say something more but there was a crash from the kitchen and he shot through the swing door again. Dexter could hear his deep voice almost shouting and a slightly higher pitched voice reply. Then the crash of something being thrown. The barman returned and put a bottle of ketchup in front of Dexter. 

“Dumb bastard. Beef stew all over the floor. He’s got a temper has that cook. Chucked it in the sink. He’s gone out the back for a fag.” 

“Dinner tonight?” 

“Should have been. He’ll get over it. Don’t worry there’ll be something else if you're hungry later. There’s a few things on the menu.” He went back to the beer engines. 

As he rubbed the man glanced at Dexter then carried on rubbing the brass. Glanced again and said, “So, what’s a smart looking fella like you doing in a dump like this?” 

“Not so much. Just come up from the coast.” 

“Yeah, I saw on the register. Eastbourne, wasn’t it?” 

“That’s it.” 

“Nice down there. So, what do you do to pay the bills?” 

“I’m into cars.” 

“When you first walked in I thought you had a sort of salesman look. The clack of those smart shoes on the boards. Leather soles. Expensive you must work the higher end.” 

“That’s it. You know how it is. Got to look in line with the customers. My boss buys the clobber. Calls them my work outfit… I’m here a couple of days so I should know your name, shouldn’t I?” said Dexter. 

“Bill. Barman Bill. Nice ring to it, eh?” 

“Not bad. Better than some for sure.” 

“Here for the motors are you then?” 

“Not really. I thought I’d try and catch up with a fella I was in the army with.” 

“Oh yeah, who’s that?” 

“His name’s Tolly. Tolly Parkin. We were sergeants together. In France mostly.” 

“Strange name. I’ve never heard of him. Where’s he living?” 

“Now that’s my main problem. I’m not sure. I know he lives in Wandsworth but I don’t know his address. It’s been a while and, you know, people move about, don’t they. I was hoping I could just track him down.” 

“Can’t help you there but quite a few locals come in here as you would expect. Would you like me to ask?” 

“Would you? That would be a great help. Keep it quiet if you can though. I want to surprise him. The shock’ll kill him for sure.” Yeah, when he sees me Tolly Parkin will jump clear out of his shoes. 

They chatted some more until Dexter had finished the sandwich and coffee. A few more people had come in and Bill was starting to get the run around so Dexter stood and said, “See you later, Bill. I’m off. I’ve a mate to find.” Walking out into what was becoming a nice day he was thinking about Tolly and the places he might frequent. The man did not work so if he was not out of town on some opportunist mission where would he be? Cafes at lunchtime. As good a place to start as any. Then I’ll start trawling through the lodgings.