The Camden Tales

58 - The Hat

-=₪ October 1904 ₪=-

Cooper Lane / St Pancras / 9.21pm

"I hear you're Alf," declared an Italian as Alf neared his home.

Sweeping his gaze over the quartet of impeccably attired Italians, Alf's attention then shifted to the snivelling mess of Roger. They had given him a solid thrashing, resulting in a bloodied nose and a rapidly swelling eye.

"Let him go," Alf commanded nonchalantly.

"Not until you give me what I want," retorted the same Italian.

"And who exactly might you be?"

"I'm Darby Sibini, and this runt keeps nicking shit from my lads and now we are claiming what's ours."

"Well, Darby, I don't have anything, and what shit he gets up to has nothing to do with me."

Intriguingly, Sibini began inhaling deeply as though picking up a foul stench.

"Do ya smell that? Nasty ain't it? Lies ya see, they smell like shit. Yer boy here says ya do and it has," Sibini retorted, maintaining his strong hold on Roger.

Alf shot a stern glance at Roger, who silently pleaded for mercy through his sorrowful eyes.

"A gold chain - big, weighty," Sibini elaborated.

"Not seen it," Alf rebutted without missing a beat.

Another burly Italian lad seized Alf and yanked his hand from his pocket. The sudden jolt dislodged the note from Malka, which fluttered to the ground.

"There!" exclaimed Darby, pointing at Alf's wrist.

Sure enough, encircling his wrist was the massive gold chain they were after. Alf made no attempt to resist, his attitude and demeanour unfazed as the Italian thugs forcibly removed the chain from his wrist. Aware of what was coming next, he made no effort to prevent his fate, certain he merited it. After securing the chain, the Italian landed a knee in Alf's stomach so hard and sharp that it winded him.

Alf doubled over, clutching his abdomen, only to take another sharp knee to his face. Collapsing to the ground, he spat out blood which had pooled in his mouth. He felt a tooth missing with his tongue and spotted it on the curb, smeared with his blood.

With a smirk, Sibini squatted beside him. "I don't want ya filthy operation encroaching on my territory again, capisci?"

Alf continued to silently stare at his bloodied tooth.

"Eh? I'm fucking talking to ya, Paddy," Sibini snapped, forcefully turning Alf's face towards his Italian sneer and the wispy hair above his lip which threatened a moustache. "Stay away from Camden and especially Clerkenwell, capisci?"

"Yeah," Alf replied.

After letting go, Sibini stood up, kicked some horse manure from the road at Alf, causing him to squint and tightly close his mouth. As they left and Alf spat more blood, Roger launched into an earnest apology.

"Don't matter," Alf retorted, getting up from the pavement and retrieving the note.

Perplexed by the absence of further punishment, Roger watched as Alf dusted himself off and retreated indoors without further word.

It was quickly evident upon entering the White residence, that both of Alf's parents had retired to bed - a fact he was thankful for. He rinsed his face and mouth with water and inspected the gap in his teeth in a smeared, low-grade mirror. The missing tooth left a prominent gap, tarnishing his smile. He then removed his blood-stained shirt and went to the fireplace. Resting his arm on the mantel and leaning his head against it, his gaze was fixed on the dancing flames as he recounted the day, the promise he'd made to Malka, and his betrayal of her trust. He withdrew the girl's note of love from his pocket and held it by his side. Silent and motionless, he watched the flames crackle and considered his options and their possible consequences.