Lucius the Club | Page 8

of sending a message. And the
message is, Don't fuck around with us, because we won't stand for it.

So people have to know that it's you.'
The logic of this escaped me. 'But then the police will know.'
Mama gave a great peal of laughter. 'No they won't!' she said. 'You
silly.'
'Why not?'
'Because the witnesses are all criminals, that's why. They're small-time
crooks, Lucius. Fences, thieves, drug dealers, pornshop owners.
They've all been inside. They know the ropes. And they're not
informers. One they've seen you shoot a man, they'll know what to
expect if they tell the police. But they will tell everyone else - all their
underworld friends. That's the whole point.'
I really had to think about that for some time. And it wasn't easy for me
to accept.
Mama gave me a hug, and kissed me. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'It will all
work the way I tell you. And besides,' she added, almost as an
afterthought, 'I shall get you an alibi.'
'How will you do that?'
'Never you mind,' she said. 'But just leave it to me. It's already
arranged.'
*
Sunday night was two days away, and it's a good job it wasn't longer,
otherwise I would have probably lost my nerve. But two days was
sufficient for me to be occupied.
I went and had a few drinks at the Girliebar Club, where I knew a lot of
the staff anyway. And I made a point of chatting to them, so that they
would remember that I'd been there. And next Monday morning they
would realise why I'd been there.

I also got Mama to explain her famous alibi. It was to be provided by a
Judge, no less. The Judge, who had letched after Mama for years, and
was a fairly regular visitor to our house, was coming to dinner on
Sunday night. At a certain point in the evening, I would discreetly retire,
as I always did on those occasions, and leave him and Mama alone. I
would go and 'watch television'. But in fact, I would go down the road
and kill a man.
*
Sunday night came.
The Judge arrived, and we all chatted over the meal - as if nothing
unusual was afoot. It struck me at the time how ridiculously easy that
was to do. And I realised that the idea of killing a man had a
remarkably calming effect. Chilling, in fact. I wasn't remotely nervous -
I had gone well past that, and I was in total control of myself.
Then, at about half-past nine, I went into the livingroom, where the
television set was, and the Judge and Mama were left alone. In due
course, once I was comfortably out of the way, Mama would take the
Judge upstairs.
This was an arrangement which had been in force for some time. The
Judge was an elderly man, not remotely attractive, but Mama provided
him with certain services. As she often remarked, you never know
when a High Court Judge is going to come in useful.
By ten o'clock Mama and the Judge had disappeared, so I put on my
scarf and coat, picked up the loaded gun, and let myself out of the
house.
I was wearing a mackintosh, one of those 1950s versions which had
slits beside the diagonal pockets, so that a gentleman could put his hand
through and extract a handkerchief, or some money, from his jacket
pocket, without troubling to unbutton the coat. The shotgun was held
against my right leg. My famous silver stick I left at home.

It was quite dark, of course, and Soho was deadly quiet. Sundays in
Soho were quite different then from what they are today. In those days
very few places opened on Sunday nights - the law didn't allow it - so
the streets were silent and empty.
It wasn't far to the Girliebar Club. Three hundred yards, if that. And I
don't remember seeing anyone. No one I knew, certainly.
When I reached the club entrance I paused. But the street was empty. I
was wearing gloves, by the way. At that stage. And I tried the door.
I suppose I had kind of half hoped that it might be locked, in spite of
what Mama had told me. But it wasn't. So I let myself in and closed it
quietly behind me. Then I took off the gloves.
The stairs were dimly lit with bare 60-watt light bulbs on each landing.
Stone stairs. So I had to be quiet.
I made my way up slowly, and as I went I began to feel as if I were in
some kind of dream. I remember touching the stone wall to reassure
myself of its solidity.
On the top floor there