-=₪ July 1908 ₪=-
Warehouse / Poplar Docks / 7.08pm
As dusk settled and the day's loot transitioned from pickpocket to the warehouse table, Malka and Alf immersed themselves in inventory management.
A hefty ledger lay open before Malka, capturing the figures Alf dictated. This nightly ritual had become an unexpected pleasure for Malka, offering her an intimate glimpse into the financials of Alf's enterprise and a more profound understanding than he probably intended, given his lack of accounting acumen. To him, the ledger was just a register of incomprehensible numbers, devoid of actionable insights, serving only to tally up the earnings.
Alf saw this shared task as a means to build trust with Malka, especially now that she had her income and worked with a more impressive man - who challenged, Alf felt, his dominance in her life. To keep her close, he conceded the accounts to her, a smart move given that pay disputes among the lads had virtually disappeared since she took over the books.
"Takings look good today, Alf," Malka announced, jotting down the day's gross total.
"Yeah, we've been having a lucky spell with the coppers. Despite the tourists in London for the Olympics and rumours of more coppers on the streets than usual, we've barely seen one."
"Lucky indeed," Malka murmured, still engrossed in the ledger.
Alf noticed her focus had shifted from pickpocket revenue to long-term inventory, a topic he seldom discussed with her. "What?" he asked.
"The client stock," she replied.
"Sage's?" Alf said with apprehension.
"Yes," she affirmed, glaring at him. "It appears you signed for fewer master cases than we received."
"How can you tell?" Alf frowned.
"Because I can count."
"But that is just a number in a column."
"They are not," she stated, pointing to the nearby boxes.
Alf glanced over to the boxes and then back to Malka. She sighed.
"There are twenty cigarettes per pack, ten packs per carton, which is two hundred cigarettes. There are fifty cartons per master case, equalling ten thousand cigarettes per box. You signed for fifty-two boxes, that is five hundred and twenty thousand cigarettes. I know there are five hundred thousand over there," she said, pointing to the boxes stacked against the wall, "Do you not think he would notice a discrepancy of twenty thousand cigarettes from an already small amount of stock?"
"Well, I dunno, do I? I just hold what Sage sends me. I don't ask questions."
"Perhaps you should start, and if you cannot, I will. What happened to the missing cases, Alf?"
"Nothing!"
"If he finds you guilty of stealing from him, he will kill you."
"I know that Malka, believe me, but I ain't taken any fucking boxes."
"Then how can they be short? Did you count what was delivered before you signed?"
"I dunno. That's what came!"
Malka sat back, exasperated and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"If you skim--"
"I'm not! That is what came. I ain't got no plans to cross him. I ain't that stupid."
"'Ain't got no' is a double negative," she stated.
"So?"
"So, it means you do have plans."
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The Camden Tales
أدب الهواةAlfie Solomons, the crime boss of Camden Town and King of the Jews: estranged from his wife, his empire crumbling and ravaged by war, he makes a deal with the devil, and nothing is the same again. Covering his years of involvement with the Birmingha...
