Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  A strong gust of freezing air suddenly blew across the kitchen to them. She shivered and watched as Jonathan and Isabel entered the house quickly. Walking the length of the kitchen Isabel was careful not to show him any interest. Hoping not to anger Mary.

  Only the residents of the house, or their friends used the back door. The main entrance was specifically for customers. When the girls were out on the street it was now Jonathan's duty to ensure their safety.

  He strode to Mary and kissed her lightly on the lips. She held a hand out to him and turned to Matthew. “This is Jonathan.”

  He gripped his hand forcefully and shook hard.

  The door which led up the stairs unexpectedly clattered aside. Christina, another of her girls, tumbled down the steps to land in a heap on the kitchen floor. Her face was badly beaten, her nose gushing blood. She sobbed a terrible moan. Wiping tears from her eyes she tried to stand but a large boot forcefully pushed her back. A brutish and unsightly man stood over her, gripped by his own amusement.

  All heads turned to Roger Johnson. A notorious highwayman he was well known for beating the girls he lay with and all knew never to interfere. All except Jonathan. Roger's temper was a matter of legend.

  As he stood over the girl laughing, Jonathan felt a great swell of anger. He launched himself at him, swinging wildly. Roger was easily twice his size and bore a face of pure terror and dislike for life. He hardly flinched as a fist impacted with his face. He instinctively drew back his own, punching the scrawny upstart across the jaw and forcing him to crumple to the floor.

  Isabel helped Christina to her feet and rushed up the stairs with her in a hurry. Jonathan managed to recover and rise, preparing his fist for another assault. Roger easily caught the outstretched arm, his hand retreating to his belt. Jonathan soon felt the cold metal of a sharpened blade pressed against the flesh of his throat.

  “Attack me will 'ya?” Roger growled deeply. “You sorry little shit.”

  As Roger prepared to cut his throat another hand took hold of his own. He was an exceptionally large man, but Matthew was younger, more able and bigger still. He gripped his hand and held his own, intricate, dagger to Roger's crotch.

  “Stop messing about,” he threatened. The hand which held the knife twitched, inching closer to Jonathan’s gullet. Matthew’s blade pressed deeper into Roger's crotch in return. “Drop yours and I’ll drop mine,” he laughed. “Might even leave both bollocks intact.”

  Slowly his grip on the blade released, allowing it to fall idly to the floor. Matthew withdrew his, sheathing the blade at his belt. His hand immediately thrust out to grip Rogers’s throat, squeezing forcefully. “Don't cause trouble in this house,” he threatened quietly. “Leave before I'm forced to do something I probably won't regret.”

  Roger backed away, carefully picking his blade off the floor and moving around Matthew to the back door. “A pleasure, as always, Mary,” she offered him no apologies, simply looked at Jonathan wearily.

  She held a hand out to him, guiding him to a seat. “Jesus,” she swore. “Roger is my best customer, Jonathan.”

  “He's also not someone you should piss off,” advised Matthew, as he inspected the large bruise which was forming around his jaw. “Ah, you'll live.” He turned to Mary, chuckling under his breath. “I thought you said he wasn't a problem.” She smiled sweetly at him and blew a kiss.

  “He'll learn.”

  They told Jonathan how Roger was the only man who had ever humiliated Charles Hitchin. More physically powerful and threatening than the older city marshal Roger was a stark reminder there was a man who was competition.

  Jonathan had much to learn of her world. Hitchin's tutoring helped but there was much more to be learned. Jonathan needed to find his place, to provide himself, and the woman he cared for, with employment of purpose. He'd never make it as a thief, of this he was sure, but he was adamant he still had skills of importance to offer.

  21

  Mary poured Jonathan a large whisky with which to sooth his painful jaw. He sat, mainly in silence as she and Matthew continued their discussion of the despicable Charlie Hitchin.

  Matthew still wasn't sure what to make of this sometimes bold, yet quiet, young man. Any person who held allegiance with Hitchin was trouble. In his opinion, at least. He found it hilarious how Jonathan hardly knew Hitchin, or his methods, at all. They tried to explain it, all in the hope he wouldn't corrupt another innocent soul. All so he wouldn't die before his time.

  Shifting in his chair, Jonathan leaned forward, resting his rapidly depleting glass on the table. “What I don't understand” he said with confusion, “is why you all hate him so much. He's never been anything but..., perfectly..., business-like with me.” He knew Hitchin could be dangerous, violent and greedy, but Jonathan had never been on the receiving end of his homicidal notions.

  “That's because he needs you,” explained Matthew. “Without you his business would suffer,” he looked at Mary who was pained by the details of Hitchin's life. “People don't like him due to the fact he's a maniac. A killer of the highest degree.” Again Jonathan was unwilling to trust in their deconstruction of the man.

  “Aren't you such a killer?” he asked innocently. He had heard from Mary how he was a tough leader of his own gang. How he had taken life in the past for great misdeeds or acts of deceit.

  Laughing so hard he was forced to grip the table for stability Matthew shook his head with steadfast refusal. “No,” he said plainly. “Sure, I've taken life to protect my own. I've killed for revenge and great wrongdoings. Charlie kills for pleasure. He relishes in the stench of death. It pleases him.”

  “Charlie's a liar, a bastard and a poor thief,” Mary added. “He's betrayed virtually every man in this damned city.” Without prompting she filled each of the glasses with more whisky.

  Matthew balled his fist and slammed it on the table, emotion and resentment washing through him. “And the worst thing is none of us knows how he gets away with it.” Charles Hitchin was many things, a thief, a betrayer, a homosexual and a manic killer. Yet no one could do anything about it. No one could stop his reign of terror.

  “Oh,” chuckled Jonathan. “I think I can answer that question.” They both drew closer with interest. He laughed at their childish curiosity. “He has a magistrate on his books.” Matthew sighed loudly as Mary laughed once out loud. “He pays him a large sum each month for his favour.”

  “Who is it?” enquired Mary.

  “A magistrate called Lawson,” he replied.

  “Cheeky bastard!” swore Matthew. Magistrate Lawson had sent numerous thieves to the gallows or Newgate Prison. Many of them his own, or close friends. The sad fact was he knew Hitchin was no better. Both were upstanding men of the law.

  With a Magistrate under his thumb Mary knew there was very little which could be done. Hitchin was protected. “There's nothing we can do, even considering his recent habits.”

  Jonathan raised his eyebrows with interest. “Recent habits?”

  Matthew looked to Mary. “He really doesn’t know?” she simply smiled, shaking her head slowly with amusement.

  “Know what?” he pleaded.

  “Charlie loves murder, you know this, but he despises prostitutes even more,” Jonathan followed the wording to the only logical conclusion…, as Mary had hoped.

  Shaking his head wildly, he defended the accusation. “No, I can't believe it.”

  “You better,” counselled Matthew. “He's been murdering our friends for a long time now. Throwing them in the river when he's done with them.”

  “He is the Riverside Killer,” she added as confirmation.

  He had great difficulty believing this claim. He knew Hitchin was a killer and a lover of young boys. This would suggest he would have no interest in murdering ladies of the night. Especially for reasons of a sexual nature. “You are joking?” he asked.

  “Don't think you know Charlie,” recommended Matthew, desperate to make his point, “he's a man who lives hi
s life contrary to every person’s expectations. Even the criminals of London.”

  Together Mary and Matthew detailed the history of Charles Hitchin. They desperately tried to explain how dangerous and corrupting he could be. He found it terrifying and horrible, but there was much he needed to experience by the first hand. His reluctance to part company with this awful man concerned Matthew, and Mary more. They were united in their fear he didn’t understand the height of the precipice on which he now stood.

  “I need him,” he said with purpose. They both looked on him as a physician would a madman. “I have much to learn from him, much to experience.” He was desperate. His life in London had varied greatly and it was only with his incarceration he had found purpose and meaning. He liked this world, with all of its dangers and deceit. He endeavoured to find his rightful place within it. It was Hitchin who acted as his guide through the gates of hell.

  “He'll be the end of you,” warned Matthew, concerned she had found herself another reckless idiot.

  He stood, plucking his glass from the table and paced the room dramatically. “You misunderstand me,” he explained. “I don't want to become like him. I don't want to be a terrible man who holds no consequence for his actions, but I do have much to learn.”

  Mary shook her head with complete disbelief and bemusement, filling her own glass once again. “What can you learn? How to kill effectively? How to become a total arse loving bastard.”

  Jonathan glided to her, resting himself on one knee and kissing her lightly on the cheek. Standing he made his point. “There's an old saying,” he started. “Know your enemy,” he passed his gaze to Matthew. “Something I'm sure you understand.” He nodded his agreement. “The more I know about him, his methods and his secrets, the easier it will be to topple the man.”

  “So, you're hoping to discover how to end him?” asked Matthew hopefully, still not completely understanding. “Why?”

  “Charles reminds me of another terrible man. They're equally as vicious and evil,” She smiled at him offering her comfort. “I have a natural dislike for such a demonic quality.” He hardly talked of his father and Mary had only ever heard him do so in passing. “He is a tyrant who treats humanity as his possession. I hope to stand for more, but to do that I should know the terror of Charles intimately.”

  It was still a conundrum to Matthew. Most people he knew did their best to stay as far from him as they were able. Jonathan seemed to hope for their relationship to grow even closer.

  More drinks were consumed and the conversation never strayed too far from Charles and his wicked ways. Matthew remained unsure as to his perceptions of Jonathan. He seemed far too eager to consort with the wrong type of man. Overly ambitious and sure of his ability. There was, indeed, much for him to learn, but it would probably be better for this education to come from any other man. Not from Hitchin.

  “So, what do you think?” Mary asked of Matthew when the evening had come to a close and she walked him to the door.

  “He's alright,” he said with a strong hint of suspicion. “As long as he's with Charlie, I'm not sure I trust him. Just be careful,” he warned. “Be sure he doesn't get you into any trouble.”

  Mary kissed him and hugged affectionately. She wasn't sure what Jonathan was planning, but she knew it would be worthy of note.

  22

  Tom Edwards rushed from the Bailey with glee. City marshals swarmed the auspicious building, both inside and out. This was a great day, worthy of recognition. In his hand he carried two neatly folded official flyers. One for him, the other for Collins.

  He found his compatriot sitting on the wall where he had left him, dazedly staring into space. He tapped him on the shoulder as he sat next to him passing a flyer across the way.

  “There we go...,” he said happily, “..., the future.”

  Collins read, skimming the document from start to finish. “Jesus,” he uttered with glee. “They actually did it.”

  Tom glanced at his own flyer and smiled. “This will make our lives a lot easier,” he commented. “It will change the face of London.”

  He nodded in agreement. He glanced up at the marshals who skipped before them, dancing with joy at the news. Above the cheering and joyous relief Tom could hear the angry murmur of a man in distress. Looking over the way he saw a large, plump city marshal screaming at a younger man. He could not decipher the words, but he knew they must have been colourful and aggressive.

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “That's Charles Hitchin,” Collins responded immediately.

  “I know this,” he exclaimed. “I meant the other one.” He pointed across the small square to Jonathan. They stood in argument, Hitchin waving his arms and gesturing wildly. They were partaking in an exceptionally heated conversation.

  Tom, much like many other marshals, always knew there was something odd about Charles Hitchin. To the younger he was considered as something of a legend and the magistrates apparently adored him.

  He had finally discovered Hitchin had been handed the case of the riverside killer, but he had not heard of any advancements in the investigation. If only he knew the truth.

  “I've never seen him before,” said Collins as he squinted at Jonathan, “but it does appear to be a heated argument.”

  Tom almost jumped as Hitchin screwed up his flyer and threw it at his apprentice. Raising a fist Hitchin stopped, turning to glance at the other marshals who watched. Thinking better of it he turned and stormed off, leaving Jonathan in peace. With his own thoughts threatening to overcome him Tom stood to leave. He had to make preparations for the next exciting step.

  23

  Fury and hatred threatened to consume him. He had been unable to think of anything else the entire day. Things were going to change, of this he was sure, and he intended to be the one who took a commanding role as the face of London twisted and distorted.

  Entering Mary's house he climbed the stairs, breathing deeply with excitement. He had to tell someone of the things he had discovered and she was the logical choice.

  Listening at her bedroom door for sounds of sexual pleasure, he paused before entry. As madam of her home Mary only sexually entertained a small few. Priceless and powerful customers. Yet, with her and Jonathan's relationship, she had refused to stop performing these tasks. He had agreed, not wishing to take a dominating role in her life. This was who she was. This was what she did. He had no intention of denying her those things she enjoyed.

  Sure she was alone in her room he entered, removing and throwing his jacket on the bed. She sat at her dressing table examining the books which he had taken charge of. She could see why Hitchin favoured him so. Her own profits had risen dramatically. Even in the short time he had been released from the compter.

  He drew her attention by throwing Hitchin's crumpled flyer before her. Glancing at it she sat forwards to read. “What's this?” she asked.

  “The shape of things to come.” Pacing the room as she read he explained. “A change in the law, something the legislature has kept very quiet, for obvious reasons.” This new law would certainly create a problem for all thieves in the city. It was for this reason they had kept things a secret, in the hope they could surprise everyone involved. “A change which could easily destroy business for people such as yourself.”

  As she finished reading Mary pushed the flyer away. “This could destroy us.”

  He laughed, spinning her in the chair. “I'll tell you the same thing I told Charles,” his features suddenly appeared smug and all-knowing. “There are ways around every problem. Nothing’s impossible.”

  She gazed at him questioningly. “I bet he loved hearing that.” She knew he despised someone telling him what he could, or couldn't do. It infuriated him more than anything else.

  Chuckling painfully he shrugged. “We had something of a..., confrontation,” he slumped onto the bed, falling backwards to lay still. “I think it's safe to say I'm no longer working for him. I'm truly a free man.”

/>   She moved to crawl across the bed, gently cradling him in her arms. “What does this mean?”

  Sitting up slightly he held her hand. “It means no one can continue to do what they've been doing all these years. To do so would surely ensure their death.”

  “And you know how to deal with it?” she asked warily.

  “Do you know what I've been doing all day?” she looked at him blankly as he stood and began to pace once again. “I've been at the Bailey, reading in their library and talking to all manner of prosecutors and solicitors.”

  Mary sat on the edge of the bed. “And they told you how to avoid it?”

  He laughed and finally stopped quickly pacing. “No, I worked that out for myself. They were much more willing to talk to me when I told them I was an associate of Charles Hitchin.” He knew this relationship would come in useful one day. As usual he was right.

  She found herself in a state of total confusion. “And what did they tell you? What do we do?”

  Smiling he sat next to her on the bed once again. “How many gangs are there in London?”

  “A lot,” she replied. “Why do you ask?” His line of questioning was starting to worry her.

  He smiled, trying to comfort her in some way. “Can you get a message to them,” he took her hand in his. “I need to talk with them. If we're going to do this, we should do it properly.”

  Mary knew the risks. Many of the gangs in London didn't get on too well. Given the opportunity they would strike and attack each other without warning. Massing the leaders in the same room would surely end in death. He was playing with fire and she knew he was certain he could control the inferno.

  24

  Mary made the arrangements quickly. Two days later, in the main reception room of her home, virtually every gang leader in London gathered to listen to Jonathan. The atmosphere was stifling, each trying to resist the urge to attack his fellows. A sea of rugged men stood before a small table which had been erected at the front of the space. Behind it sat Mary and Jonathan, both hoping the calm of the room continued.