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Stick, Chapter 2 |
| Written by Philip Neale | |
| Saturday, 19 July 2008 | |
 Goldblum smiled a private smile of satisfaction as Marks turned and walked away. The detective simply had no idea who or what he was dealing with................
Satisfied that he had given the retreating figure of DS Marks only sufficient information to allow him to find Grainger's home and the rest of his family, Solomon Goldblum nodded his head in satisfaction. Knocking out the contents of the Meerschaum against the wall, he stood up stiffly, brushed the ash from the pipe off his coat and made his way to Aldgate tube station for the short journey to his bed-sit in Whitechapel. Once inside the door he detected a change in the atmosphere of the premises, and turning from the now closed front door he caught sight of the figure waiting for him in the kitchenette. The sudden cold made him shiver involuntarily, and moving into the small lounge he switched on the gas fire and rubbed his hands before its flames.
"The first part of our bargain has been completed Solomon Goldblum, and no-one suspects your involvement. Once our agreement has been concluded I will return for the payment which you promised. Do not try to avoid your responsibilities; that would be a foolish and futile thing to do."
Goldblum had remained facing the fire during this statement and turning slowly now, saw only the tails of a coat as the figure vanished silently beyond the lounge door frame and out of the place. He didn't even hear the front door close. He sat down and sighed. Michael Grainger, despite his frail and emaciated appearance, had been a difficult man to isolate and dispose of. With a close knit and self-preserving circle of friends, it had taken careful planning and not a little cunning to extract revenge upon the man who had got away with the most blatant case of murder which the East End had witnessed this century. Solomon stared into the fire as memories from sixty years ago resurfaced, and then leaned back in his chair as they played themselves out once more.
Grainger had been a product of the inter war years and in his early twenties was a classic trouble maker on the look out for an opportunity. That chance came along with Oswald Moseley and his Union of British Fascists, which fed all the man's neuroses and prejudices. He focussed on the Jews as the cause of all of Europe's ills and with Moseley's rhetoric ringing in his ears took an active part in the movement, becoming one of the notorious Black Shirts who formed its backbone. When his chance came to make an overt gesture at the Battle of Cable Street on the 4th of October 1936, he grabbed it with both hands. He was one of a small group of Moseley's parade which became isolated from the main phalanx in the confusion, and found themselves outnumbered by a large faction of counter protesters. Prompt police action had prevented any serious trouble, but Grainger became personally involved in a verbal exchange with one of the Jewish section of the crowd.
As the confrontation subsided and the Jew walked away, happy that his small part in frustrating the march was complete, Grainger was still fuming at the manner in which his contribution to the effort had been nullified. He watched the man and followed his every movement as the events of the day wound down. With order restored and the UBF marchers dispersed towards Hyde Park, he managed to slip away under the cover of a coat which he had stolen from a careless passer by. Following the young Jew away from the area and down one of the capital's side streets, he ambushed him and rained down a series of blows on to his head with a piece of wood. As the man lay dying he delivered a series of kicks to the recumbent figure and left for home.
That young Jew was Abel Goldblum, Solomon's father. A number of arrests were made following the discovery of the body and witness accounts taken of the confrontation between Goldblum and Grainger, but with the other member of the Black Shirt group providing the thug with an alibi, the police were unable to proceed and the case was dropped. Solomon was only eleven at the time of his father's death, and without the man's wages their family hit upon some hard times. Grainger, on the other hand, found an outlet for his political beliefs in the Spanish Civil war and fought on the side of the fascists who were the ultimate victors. He returned to Britain as something of a hero in the ranks of the UBF and paraded his collection of medals openly in and around the pubs of the East End.
Throughout all of this, Solomon Goldblum's sense of anger and frustration grew by the day, and he swore vengeance on the man who had murdered his father and emerged unscathed. As the years passed however, Grainger disappeared from the London area for a time and did not reappear until the late 1980's. The intervening period had done nothing to cool Solomon's almost pathological fervour, and the sight of the now ageing Fascist in the summer of 1995 stoked it up to fresh heights. Although now seventy himself and physically unable to extract his long-awaited revenge personally by reason of the injury to his leg, he was nevertheless determined in his quest.
Fresh enquiries with the police had elicited nothing more than initial mild curiosity which developed into irritation as Goldblum became more insistent. The case, they said, had been closed many years before as unsolvable and he should go away and forget all about it. A deeply religious man and orthodox in his beliefs, Solomon sought solace once more in the Talmud and the Hebrew Bible. He spent many hours at the synagogue on Heneage Lane in silent prayer as he asked for guidance and help from his God. That help, when it materialised, came from a very surprising quarter with a 100% guarantee of success; it did, however have a price.
Goldblum had never married and at the age of seventy had only a few distant relatives to call family. He lived alone in a small bed sit (you could not call it a flat) and eked out his pension on the meagre lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. The stranger who had appeared at his front door late one evening brought a message from a man whom he referred to only as ‘Nick'. Goldblum should make his way to a named location in Whitechapel in one hour and come alone. All would be revealed to him at that time and in that place; with that the individual turned and walked away. Goldblum never saw him again.
Solomon got off the tube at the Whitechapel station and made his slow but steady way to the corner of Court Street and Sheep Market. It was cold and dark, with a stiff wind blowing east along Durward Street. Pulling up his collar against the elements, the old Jew stepped into a doorway to await the arrival of ‘Nick'. The appearance of the tall, dark figure came suddenly and without a sound as the wind dropped; Goldblum jumped in surprise.
"No need to be startled Mr Goldblum, you are quite safe...............for the moment."
The voice was deep with an edge to it, and yet strangely soothing. Solomon felt all his initial fears evaporating as the man continued his opening statement.
"I understand there is a matter to which you require resolution, and which has been the cause of some personal unhappiness for quite some time."
"Yes" Goldblum tried to make out the man's features, but a combination of the darkness and the wide-brimmed hat pulled firmly down upon his head made the attempt impossible.
"In that case we could come to some mutually beneficial arrangement, and if you agree to my terms I guarantee that all of your wishes in the matter will be fulfilled. How does that sound to you?"
"Too good to be true. What's the catch?"
"No catch. We each provide the other with something of value and at the end of the deal accounts will be settled in full."
"So, do you know what I want?"
"That information has come to my attention, yes. Is there anything else that requires, shall we say, some resolution?"
Goldblum thought for a moment about this last statement. Until just now, he had never considered the full impact of the sins of the fathers being visited on the children, but the opportunity to extract vengeance on the whole Grainger clan was too great a chance to miss. He outlined a scheme for the removal of the entire immediate family of Michael Grainger, and the tall, dark figure nodded slowly in silent agreement. They shook hands on the deal, the only physical contact which was made, and the sensation sent a chill right through the old Jew's body. It was as if someone or something had touched his very soul and for a brief instant he wondered at the wisdom of his involvement with ‘Nick'. The figure strolled purposefully down Durward Street, and Solomon realised for the first time that his footsteps made not a single sound on the pavement.
Read More Dennis Marks at www.lulu.com/content/2712200
Copyright 2008 Philip Neale |
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