by Chris Hales
As he stood he whistled loudly in the hope he could attract their attention. Slowly all turned to face him.
“My name is Jonathan,” he said. “I know you have no idea who I am and you've probably all heard I work for Charles Hitchin.” His gaze stopped at Matthew who stared at his feet guiltily. “You have no reason to trust me, but I should tell you I no longer walk with Charles. Our relationship is at an end.”
The gang leaders fell into a deep, mumbling discussion, concerned by his previous allegiance. Mary reached out to hold his hand and squeezed, urging him to continue.
“You all know, by now, of the new law which has come into effect. It puts each of your lives, and those of your thieves, in great danger,” he raised his voice as the men preferred their own debate of the problem. “You will face immediate arrest and death if you are found in possession of any stolen goods. They are taking no liberties in enforcing this new law, but..., I have a solution.”
They flew in to accusation and suspicion. Matthew pointed a finger at him, raising his eyebrows with intrigue. “You think we haven't tried to figure out how to avoid this bloody law?” he questioned accusingly.
“I'm sure you have,” he replied, “but, you're not in a position to do anything about it,” He smiled as hopes of their agreement and allegiance filled his mind. “I am.”
Commotion descended again, threatening to drown him out and drive him into the cold. Raising his voice he continued. “I have found the only loophole in their new law. I have established a way to bypass it completely.”
“How?” screamed one short and stubby gang leader.
“It's quite simple really,” he explained, “You pass all of your stolen items onto me. I'll deal with it from there.”
“How?” asked Matthew. “What can you do we can't?”
He rubbed his head in thought. “The problem you have is with the pawnbrokers, the places where you usually sell those stolen items. The legislature and therefore the marshals will be watching all pawnbrokers very closely. If you even go near them, you'll be arrested without question,” they all murmured in agreement, “You're all well known, too well known. I, on the other hand am not.”
“So you'll do what exactly?” asked another impatient man. “Sell our stuff for us? Then you'll be arrested instead. That's no solution to the problem.”
He laughed, risking anger from the man. “I won't sell the goods,” he detailed. “I'll return them to the owners.”
Shock and confusion swept the room as if it were a restless storm. None understood and each desperately tried to comprehend what he was saying. In the hope he could ease their state he continued. “Pawnbrokers don't pay you the true value of an items worth. Why use them at all,” he sat back in his seat, ready to make his plan clear. “Instead I, as a man with no criminal record and minimal notoriety, will return the stolen goods to their owners,” he grinned evilly. “For a reward. An honourable amount which will exceed anything a pawnbroker would offer.”
It was a bold plan. It all hinged on Jonathan's integrity and status as an honourable man. It depended on him boldly returning stolen goods to their owners. Daring risk could easily become stupid mistake, but he knew he could make it work. In the eyes of the law he would be seen as working for it, not contrary to it. He would be an independent force for good. The gang leaders, however, didn't see how it could ever work.
“I don't need you all to decide now,” he told them in a gentle tone. “All I need is five gangs willing to give my idea a shot. When the rest of you see it works, you will come join us.” He glanced at Mary, smiling and relishing in her endless eyes. “Mary has already agreed. All I need is four more.”
That was a reasonable offer. It gave them the opportunity to see if it worked. How it worked. As they discussed it among themselves Jonathan reclined in his comfortable seat. Mary kissed him on the cheek, whispering into his ear. “Well done.”
Matthew looked over the busy room to him. “So nothing changes?” Mary’s lover nodded the affirmative.
“Nothing changes,” he confirmed. “By answering to me your payments will easily be double, maybe triple, of that from a pawnbroker. People will pay handsomely to recover their own goods.”
He whistled loudly, bringing order to the chaotic room. “I'll try it,” he declared. “If Mary's willing to give it a go, I don't see why I can't.”
By the time they had finished discussing the matter Jonathan had twelve gangs willing to try his new scheme. He couldn't have asked for more. Others would follow but he had a lot to do. He had to make this work, or his life would be the price.
Matters of Business
25
Jonathan had discovered his true purpose in life. He had easily proven his father wrong. Finally he had found what he excelled at. The matters of the criminal world had become his only concern. The attention of all in London now flooded to his door, causing him to experience a strange sensation. He thought these feelings were akin to pride and self-satisfaction. Stranger emotions had been felt during his troubled life, although they usually only caused him to feel anger and loathing towards those who were opposed to him.
Three months after he had approached the gang leaders of London he had attracted virtually all of the criminal fraternity to his new method of business. He had quickly risen to the status of king in the underworld. He no longer answered to any man and instead they now considered him their leader. Their unfaltering guiding light.
It was all very simple really and Jonathan was surprised no other had worked it out. Especially Hitchin. Claims of ruling over the thieves of London now seemed rather pathetic and useless. He was no longer their master. Instead he seemed to be only a distant memory of a once legendary man. Jonathan's reputation made his business work and with each passing day his status grew. Others had tried to copy him and his workings, but each had failed, never considering it was his status and standing which allowed it to succeed.
The thieves now allied to him would, each morning, bring him the collections of their stolen items. He had spent much time trying to educate them, telling them only the most expensive and personal items were of true worth. He had started by going door to door, until he found the man or woman who had been robbed. He would then hand them their stolen items, making it obvious he required a reward. This method of working was both tiring and time consuming. What Jonathan would say on the doorstep, as he held the stolen possessions, was as follows:
“I happened to hear you have recently been robbed. Look, I have this: if it proves, as I wish it may, to be yours, then I will return it to you. I trust nobody will be given any trouble and that the broker who informed me has something in consideration of his cause.”
It didn't take long, however, for Jonathan to discover a better way of doing business.
He would place small advertisements in the London newspapers telling people of those items which had recently been found. They would visit him to reclaim their possessions and pay him for his troubles.
It quickly became apparent working from a whore house didn’t give the proper impression. It was for this reason he had rented a small house very close to the Bailey itself. This home, on Cock Alley, served as his base of operations. Its proximity to the courthouse made his affairs seem much more legal and legitimate. Essentially it did much of the work for him.
He had become widely known as the 'Thief Taker', an unofficial and extremely productive city marshal. They would write about him in the papers and tales of his heroic deeds spanned every level of proper society.
Before long Jonathan realised he would be forced to make arrests, leading criminals to the courthouse personally. Rather than risk his own thieves he turned to those who held no allegiance to him. He would centre his attention on the gangs which had chosen not to join his ranks, or those with whom he had argument over his recent actions. With the help of his own thieves he would capture certain parties and deliver them to the court for crimes his had committed.
Attempting to convinc
e those at the Bailey of their innocence was of little use. Jonathan's word was regarded much higher and he would ensure he had numerous witnesses and evidence for the committed crimes. His standing had become significantly better than the poor buckle maker from Wolverhampton. He would often find himself dreaming of boasting to his terrible father. Proving to him he was so much more than he ever imagined.
He was an unstoppable force and there was no person who could compete with him. In an effort to protect himself from those who would do him harm, he had surrounded himself with the strongest, most fearful men he could find. No one was brave enough to attack him in any way. The risk was far too high.
Even Charles Hitchin could do nothing about Jonathan’s sudden rise to fame and power. He had tried to compete with his apparently successful way of working, but to no avail. This was largely because he didn't fully understand how it operated, but also due to the fact Hitchin was far too greedy. The rewards he asked for were ridiculously high and people would prefer to let their property go, over paying such a price for their return. He never realised he shouldn't demand a reward, but should simply allow the owner to offer it freely.
Jonathan had kept Hitchin at bay, thus far, preferring to keep a great distance between them. He knew Charles would do him harm, should they ever meet again. He had done the impossible and totally flouted the law. He had done what Hitchin was never able.
His gift had been uniting the gangs of London. He attacked the efficiency of these gangs with ease. He had truly done the impossible and things only seemed to be improving. He was the mastermind behind almost all of the crime in the city.
26
No one in the legislature, or the offices of the city marshals, knew how they were doing it. Thievery and robbing were not only still taking place, but the rates of crime were, in actual fact, rising. It was a conundrum of the highest order.
Serious arrests had virtually ceased completely. To the world it appeared as if the thieves of London had retired, but still robbery continued. The members of parliament could often be found in their lavish homes and gentlemen's clubs discussing the matter and musing on the reasons. Despite the fact they considered themselves the most intelligent in the land they found it perplexing how no solution was discovered.
This was why Tom had been called upon.
He sat before Magistrate James Lawson as he had on numerous occasions in the past. The magistrate persistently fondled his white wig in an attempt to have it sit straight atop his head. He failed in his desire, the wig appearing definitely lopsided. He mused over how they had been desperately seeking an explanation to the rise in crime for a while now. Hopefully Thomas Edwards had an answer for them.
Lawson sat before him, papers spread across the surface of his desk, pondering the problem at hand. “We know you to be an honourable and trustworthy man, Thomas,” He nodded his head in thanks. “Tell me, what do you know of corruption?”
He had not expected such a question and he didn't fully understand. “In what context?” he asked.
“Within the offices of the city marshals,” was Lawson's simple response.
He personally knew very little of such a matter. He had heard stories and rumours, but little which was concrete. Of course city marshals often side-stepped the law, hoping it would garner more efficient results. The rumours often involved marshal's siding with illegal activities to supplement their wage. He watched Lawson very carefully in an attempt to gain a little perspective. “May I enquire as to why you ask?” he questioned.
He rose from his comfortable chair, pacing his large office in frustration. Tom was forced to watch and follow him with his eyes, finding himself desperate for more of an explanation. No matter how ludicrous. “We are troubled,” he said in reference to his fellow magistrates. “We cannot decipher how the thieves are continuing to operate. We are worried the only reason may be corruption within the city marshal’s offices.”
He understood this fear. He knew it was the most logical place to look. “While I know nothing of this personally,” he said, “I too have heard rumours of corruption and greed within our ranks. It's therefore unfortunate,” he regretfully explained, “that, as one of your most loyal and uncorrupted men, I know little of this matter.”
“The Lord Mayor is concerned,” furthered Lawson, hoping mentioning him by title would spur him on to do his job more efficiently. “This new amendment to the law was supposed to quell the rate of crime. Instead it would seem to be rising steadily.” It had surpassed levels of annoyance. Each magistrate had been ordered to do everything in their power to find a cause to this growing problem.
Tom shrugged his shoulders innocently. “I don't see what the crime rate has to do with corruption,” he said, hoping for a valid answer.
“We believe there are those in the city marshals’ office who would lend themselves to corruption,” he said, as he sat, clasping his fingers together in thought. It was not an unknown issue. Everyone, from the magistrates, the solicitors and to the bailiffs knew the law was considered by many to be a guideline, rather than instruction. He looked at Tom, his eyes begging for help, or at least an explanation. “And maybe even partake in criminal activities themselves.”
‘So that’s the reason’, he thought. The legislature were concerned city marshals were involving themselves in the rising crime. They thought if they could handle the corruption, the thieves would soon follow. This was a little naive. They must have been aware corruption within the offices of law had always existed and always would. Removing this influence would not affect the common criminals who walked the streets.
Tom, however, decided to play along, imagining he could push him in the right direction, hoping he could figure it out for himself. He didn't know much more than he, but he did have his own concerns. “There are those who ally themselves to thieves, using threats and blackmail for their own personal gain.” This was not new information. It was how the city marshals operated.
“Are you a man who would resort to such tactics?” he asked warily.
Tom had gone to great lengths not to involve himself with such methods. He didn’t like to resort to the same underhand strategies as many of his esteemed colleagues and considered himself a good, honest Christian man. Better than his fellows. “Suffice it to say, on occasion there are rules which need to be broken,” he said, leaning in to press his point. “I do not lend myself to such activities, but I will often do whatever it takes to find justice.”
He, however, was still not sure why he had been brought in that day. If the magistrates were concerned about corruption, then a man like Tom would have been assigned many weeks previously and their concerns about the crime rate were already under as much control as possible. Steps had been taken. The worrying state of crime in London had urged the city marshals to be more than vigilant about crime and the criminals they could find. No one would talk and no advances in any investigation had been made. Every city marshal and constable was working hard to find and arrest criminals of any description in the hope the suspected ringleaders would be identified.
“The magistrates have been informed there is a possibility the gangs and the thieves of London have been united under one banner.” Lawson sat back in his chair peering at him thoughtfully, watching the realisation as it passed across his face. Tom had been one of the most outspoken voices concerning the topic of corruption in the Bailey. He was here, not to spy on other marshals, or to aid in the capture of thieves. He had the sick, sinking feeling he was about to be given the toughest assignment of all.
“It is possible,” he admitted.
He explained to the magistrate how if the thieves had been unified it would still indicate a man, or a group who was in control. To even consider a marshal had such an active role was both ridiculous and insulting. There would still be a true villain at heart. If these criminals were, in the most unlikely of circumstances, allied in some way to the city marshals’ office, then Tom knew nothing of it and a secret like that would be incredi
bly hard to keep.
The more they talked, the more they both came to believe there were people, maybe even one man, who had organised the gangs of London. Despite this, they both still had trouble understanding how they were operating. How they were keeping the thieves out of the spotlight and hiding the stolen goods so well. This seemed to be an incredible feat, as well as unbelievable, and despite many long nights discussing the matter amongst themselves, the magistrates and the members of parliament had failed to determine how it was being done.
For a magistrate Lawson's understanding how the marshals enforced the law was surprisingly minimal. Their only concern was the punishing of criminals. The upholding of their capital state. The way a marshal did his business was of no consequence.
During their discussion, Lawson came to like and trust Tom more than he already did. He soon decided Thomas Edwards was the perfect man for the task of solving the riddle and bringing the thieves of London to swift justice. This was his new charge and as he left the office he felt proud of his new appointment. Now he could be identified as one of the most powerful city marshals in the city.
All he had to do now was find the thieves responsible for handling and selling stolen goods. He feared such a task was much harder than anyone could imagine.
27
Saturday mornings were always the busiest at Jonathan's house. Very early in the day all of the gang leaders would sneak in the rear door with their collection of stolen property for the week. He would sort through the sacks and then send them on their way, paying them for their troubles when they returned, after the goods had been passed back to their owners.
Before him, in his study, stood a rough man who was adorned with a multitude of scars and previously broken bones. Long black hair sat atop his head and he bore a face full of total disregard for life. His friends and compatriots referred to him simply as 'Mad Dog', an affectionate nickname for a man of unadulterated violence. Jonathan called him Michael. His true name.