Many Worlds Theory

MANY WORLDS

Sam was unhappy. Life had no zip to it. Twenty four years old and in a dead-end job in Doncaster.

“The fact is there are many worlds which do not meet." Sam reckoned "Other people, other worlds."

His work in a jeweller's shop taught him a lot about diamonds and gold but this was a humdrum world. It would be different in London. So he applied to Hatton Garden firms and eventually found a place with Simmons and Co in "The Garden" itself.

He took a room Finsbury Park and the local pub became his social life. The George suited him well. It was just round the corner and he could get a pie and a beer.
One night, a man sat down at a table opposite. Sam glanced at him and took in his unusual appearance. His eyes were blue and piercing but the special feature of his face was the thin scar that ran from his left eye down his cheek like a slash from a sword... After a few minutes the man came over and leant on the table in front of him. "You're Sam ain't you?" he said "I seen you down the Garden. I'm from across the road in Siegel's -you know the ringmakers."
He sat down uninvited. Sam recalled the jewel makers mentioned but he had never seen the man before.
"How do you know my name?"
"You pass my window every day and I asked Bukowski who you were?"
Bukowski worked at Simmons making rings and brooches.
"Small world" said Sam and he wondered if his world was going to collide with this other world. He noticed the strange accent, a mix of cockney with a foreign trace.
"Have a drink on me." Said the man and he went to the bar.
"Call me Jay -short for Judas, I was going to meet a chum up here who might put a bit of business our way--know what I mean?"
Sam noted the "our way" and the lowered voice as the man smiled and drew a little bit closer.
"Supposing I could help you to a nice little earner for a simple favour?”
Sam sensed worlds were colliding. It was exciting and scary at the same time. What harm could it do to find out what the man meant?

"I don't mind doing a favour but what's it about?"

The scarred man looked him straight in the eye and said: "You don't have to do anything, my son. Just come over in your lunchtime to Siegel's and I'll introduce you to one of my pals."

"Sounds O.K. but I'm off tomorrow -some Jewish holiday, so I'll be back in on Monday."

The man winked and left to pay his tab at the bar, he never mentioned the "chum" again. He waved and was gone.
*

Sam pondered what to do. He needed his job, so he turned up on Monday as usual. He considered speaking to Mr Simmons- but what could he tell him? He walked into work, taking his time, as if prolonging the journey might help.
Bukowski had already got there. He was a small hunched old man with big ears that reminded Sam of a hamster he had when a boy. He wore a leather apron and sat at his bench most of the day without saying a word.
Mid-day came and Sam left the shop for his lunchbreak. He crossed the road and peered in Siegel's window. No sign of the man Jay. Relieved, he walked on, but as he turned the corner into St Cross Street, Jay stepped out in front of him and barred his way.

"Hello Sam" he said "been waiting for you. Come and have a bite to eat, my treat."
He showed the way to a small cafe and gestured to a table at the back of the shop. A large black man sat there. His skull was shaven and his thick brow shaded his dark eyes. His stare reminded Sam of a wild animal fixed on its prey. Jay spoke to the black man.
"This is the boy I told you about. He's ok and knows what we need."
. He continued to stare at him in a frightening way. Sam turned away and looked at Jay.

"What do I know that's useful to you?” Jay smiled and called the girl over to take their order. As soon as she went away he said:
"You have a lot of useful info but maybe don't realise it! For example, when Simmons is a way from the shop and when the raw bullion is delivered. That sort of stuff.”
Sam’s mind began to whirl. Now worlds were colliding with a big bang. He tried to play dumb;

"Simmons never tells me when a delivery is coming and he is always on hand himself when it arrives."

"There you go! That's something we didn't figure. See? You can help us."

"But I don't want to help you" he blurted out "I mind my own business and like a quiet life."

The black man laughed. It was not a happy sound. It rumbled like thunder and sent tremors into Sam's soul. He grabbed Sam's hand and crushed his fingers in a powerful grip.

"Listen; if I want some answers you're gonna give them."

Tears of pain began to fill Sam's eyes as the grip tightened.

"Leave off Waco" Jay pulled his fist away "He's going to play ball, aren't you?
He faced Sam with a cold smile-- Sam was caught in a world far beyond his experience.

"Let me go and think about it" he pleaded "I need to think about it."
"Sure" said Jay "go ahead and take a day. We'll meet tomorrow and discuss things then."

Sam got up from the table without looking at the man Waco again.
As he passed, Jay grabbed his arm and said:

"Listen, we have the full monty on you. Where you live-where your family live and more besides. Be a good boy and all will turn out fine. Understood?"

Sam went cold as he felt the force of this threat. He left and walked away in a trance unable to think straight.
When he got back to the workshop, Bukowski was at his bench eating a sandwich. Normally Sam ate his lunch outside the shop to get some fresh air. Bukowski looked at him.
"What's wrong? What did you do to your hand?"

Sam's injured hand hung down by his side.
. The old man came across and examined it... He looked into Sam's face.

"Who did this to you?"
Sam tried to deflect the scrutiny but Bukowski persisted.

"Look boy, I seen injuries like that before. Tell me what happened."

It was too much for Sam. He began to tell the old man what had happened and how he had been threatened.

"I'm caught either way" he said "if I tell Simmons he will sack me or call the police and then the men will get me."

Bukowski pondered for a moment.

"Is this the man you talked about this morning?"
Sam nodded, and he repeated the man's name

"Jay but that's short for Judas."

“A man with a scar?"

"Yes, so you do know him!"

“I know Judas" Bukowski said grimly "His name is

Reicher, he did work across the road but not for long."

"What can I do?"

The old man said nothing but went across the

workroom and picked up the phone. He spoke for a few

minutes in a foreign language, and then he came back

to him.

“You must keep the meeting tomorrow. You will be

protected, I promise. Leave the rest to me."

Sam was staggered by the firm way the old man spoke.

The contrast with the hunched old workman he knew

was bewildering. Could he trust him?

Next morning he went down to the workshop in the

basement to speak to the old man. He wanted to tell

him he was going to the police, whatever the

consequences. There were three men down there.

Bukowski and two thickset men he did not recognize.

"Sit down" said Bukowski "these are friends who will

help you."

Sam peered at the strangers. Dark expressions and

frowns were set on their faces. They wore black clothes

with no insignia or other markings upon them.

He realised this world he had fallen into was filled with violence whichever side you were on.

"What am I to do? I mean to go to the police."

One of the men shook his head.

"No! That will not work." He said emphatically, "Police

cannot guard you. The only certainty is to eliminate

the problem."

Eliminate? The word struck Sam and he stepped back

in surprise.

Bukowski came to his rescue: "What he means is we

have got to intercept their plans and protect you."

He went on "These men are part of a security system

we use .They are religious people who act on our

behalf." He did not say who "we" were but Sam knew

the Garden had many Jewish traders.

Sam felt powerless. He was like a ship spinning in a

whirlpool, The two men told him to go to the meeting

with Jay and they would "take over" at that point.

Dumbly, he did as they said.

Judas and the black man were at the cafe as before.

He went in. He sat down with them and said nothing.

"Well?" The man Waco scowled at him. "Well?"

His brow creased in an irritated frown and he shifted

in his seat impatiently. The door burst open and the

two men pushed in between the customers waiting at

the counter. They had balaclava masks on their faces

and baseball bats in their hands. Waco sprang up

holding his arms above his head as blows thudded

down from above. He was trying to drag something

out of his pocket but a blow from one of the masked

men smashed into his fist just as he managed to pull a

knife out. It skidded across the cafe under a table on

the far side.

The man Jay dived sideways as the attack began. He

drew a small pistol from his pocket and pointed it at

the nearest man. A kick from the second man sent the

gun off to the right just as a shot was fired. It shattered

one of the front windows. Sam dived to the floor as did

the other customers. Strangely, there were no screams

or shouts and the fighting was over in a minute.

Both Waco and Jay lay on the floor with their hands

clasped over their heads.

Outside in the road was a large Ford van double

parked. Two more men rushed in and the four masked

men dragged the two injured man into the van and

drove away.


Sam ran back to the shop to find Bukowski. The whole

street was in confusion, people crowding the roadway,

cars and vans marooned in a sea of excited onlookers.

He managed to slip through and ran down to the

workshop.

The old man was at his bench tapping away at some

piece.

"What shall I do?"

Bukowski turned and looked at him: "Have they gone?"

is all he said.

Sam knew at that moment his little world was better

than the big world which he had collided with.

He said "I'm going back--I don't belong here."

Bukowski smiled and shrugged.

"Other people-other worlds."