chapter 48

Bertie was now Bert. He had dropped the childish version of his name. It had not suited the, scarred, man he was now and it also helped to hide his true identity. His first few weeks in town had been fraught with difficulties. He had the money which the sailors had given him and he eked that out as he found out more about his new environment.

He had no papers confirming his identity or his status. One glance at him and people would assume, rightly, that he was a member of the Labour class. This meant that finding legitimate employment was virtually impossible. Not that Bert wanted some low paid job. He didn't mind physical labour, but he needed money.

He had chosen to have a severe haircut back in England. He had got rid of his curls because they would have helped the authorities identify him as the wanted man Rebel A. How he wished he had his old hairstyle now. He looked like a thug and that was a problem. If you looked like a thug people treated you like a thug.

He appeared to be a hard man, but the reality was somewhat different. He had been a rebel who took part in daring raids and had even murdered. He had killed using a gun and poison gas. He had not, however got involved in a fist fight. He would have to learn fast how to defend himself because it seemed that everyone was intent on attacking him.

Out of necessity he became adept at fighting. He had a scrappy improvised style, but he was strong. He also entered the fray with a look of manic determination which unnerved his opponents. It was not long before he was building a reputation as a man to be reckoned with and respected.

Those first weeks had seen him constantly nursing a new injury. Black eyes, cuts and grazes and bruises were ever present on his face. No wonder people saw him in a bad light when he looked like that. As he had got better at fighting he had suffered less damage and at last he was beginning to heal.

Bert had a slight limp as a result of his broken leg, but it was working reasonably well. The scar on his cheek was not quite so prominent. His nose had been broken, too, but was only slightly crooked. He was beginning to blend into his surroundings rather than frighten the other residents of New Norfolk.

The clothes the ship's crew had given him were tatty to start with. Several fights later, they were barely holding together. He kept them as clean as he could. He still had some pride.

His recovery was both physical and mental. As he looked better, he regained his confidence and set about finding work. The port was a busy place and, although it was policed by the OWG, a fair amount of pilfering took place. There was a network of black marketers who stole goods and then sold them on.

He watched the comings and goings at the port and he noted the faces of the workers. A pattern was emerging of a number of men cropping up in various places. Their wary glances and swift movements showed they were up to no good. These were the people that he needed to get to know.

A nod at a person, a tip off about police movements and he was soon on first name terms with some of the gang. When he asked if there was anything he could do for them, the response had been guarded, but not negative. Before long he was taken to see the boss.

"Bert, what makes you think that you would fit into my business." the boss of the, black market, operation was eying the surly scarred man up and down.

"I'll do anything that you want me to do. Anything."

The look on Bert's face told the boss that he meant it.

"That leg, it's not going to be a problem is it? You might have to scarper sometimes."

"I can look after myself."

Bert was not feeding the man a line. He was not putting on a display of toughness. He was the real thing and his interviewer could see that.

"Okay, report here tomorrow at 8am."

The thieves were careful. They took the odd thing here and there which meant that they did not come to the attention of the police too often. Bert would see the occasional arrest or frantic chase as someone ran from the cops. He had to be extra careful because he was not as fast on his feet as he used to be.

Somehow, the main man in the criminal enterprise had got hold of an OWG lorry. All of the vans were black with the government logo the only adornment. No one looked twice as the vehicle parked on the dock to pick up various crates and boxes. Bert's job was to signal to the driver and then load up the swag.

He later learned how the lorry had been acquired.

"An old lorry was spotted in a scrapyard. It was pretty beat up. The boss, he's a crafty one, had an idea. He paid a driver to report that he had been in an accident. He told the authorities that his van had burst into flames. It was, of course, the one from the scrapyard which was torched. That left the working model to be used by us."

"That's why he's the boss."

"Exactly."

The boss was pretty good. He had ideas and made a fair bit of money. Bert could already see opportunities to make things better. There must be a way to skim off some of the profits for himself, too. He needed money to get some counterfeit papers and fund his voyage home. A lot of money.

It was an interesting business that Bert found himself in. He studied how it all worked as he laboured on the dockside. He didn't mind the manual work. It was helping to build his strength. He was ambitious though and he planned to rise up the ranks of the business.

The boss of the gang was aware of Bert. The young man's determination was backed up with brains. Having him lugging crates around on the dock was a waste of his talents. At some time, he would give the lad more responsibility.

When he looked in the mirror now, he saw a different man. Bert was not as handsome as he had been, but he still had a certain charm. His hair had grown and the soft curls tempered his scar and crooked nose, making him seem rakish rather than scary. He looked more mature, too and that made people listen to him.

The women of New Norfolk certainly liked his looks. Bert was never short of female company, much to the amusement and jealousy of his workmates. It had been necessary to spend most of his wages on accommodation and food at first, but now he had been able to buy better clothes. He looked good in the denim trousers that were favoured by the Americans.

Things were finally looking up for him. Bert was no longer sleeping in warehouses and eating tiny portions of bad food. He had money in his pocket and a new set of colleagues. He didn't think of them as friends because he knew that he would be leaving them all behind at some point.

As he sauntered along the dock like one of the genuine stevedores, Bert spotted a girl with red hair. She was pretty, but not a patch on Serena. He approached her anyway.

"Hello miss. I just had to come and introduce myself. You have the most beautiful hair. I'm Bert."

Within minutes he had arranged to meet her at one of the many bars in the area. The girl's name was Phoebe. Another conquest. The red hair was the thing. Maybe he would keep her around longer that the others. Mostly he found a girl he liked the look of, slept with her and then moved on.

Sometimes he picked girls up just so that he had a nicer place to sleep. He wasn't averse to stealing from them afterwards as well. His thoughts returned to Phoebe. He could pretend that he had Serena around again, when he was with her. Why would he think that? He had been pretty cavalier about Serena when they dated. It was only later, when her attentions turned to dan, that he had started feeling jealous.

There was no Dan here and this girl wasn't Serena. She was an inferior replacement, but that would do for now. He might even start to like her at some point. Before he met her, there was work to do. Dan focussed on his job again. He had to be reliable and hard working to gain the trust of the boss. All ground work for when he found himself in a position to make some extra money.