by Chris Hales
He seriously considered escorting this thief to the Bailey. He thought it obvious Mad Dog and his rag tag band of thieves were operating their own little gang. They probably deserved to be his next target. He did, however, let him go on his way. With a message.
“Tell Michael he’s risking my anger. He should stay quiet and out of trouble, or his life will be the price.”
He didn’t want to cause Mad Dog any more harm. He thought he may deserve some mercy. Hitchin however wanted to know more. He continually pressed Jonathan, hoping he would tell the sorry tale. All he said was: “Michael and I had a disagreement. Matthew was forced to punish him severely.”
“On your orders?” he asked, knowing he was not the kind of man to willingly harm another. Of course the city marshal still remembered Mad Dog. He was a good thief and he felt betrayed when he had moved to the Thief Taker’s side of the river.
“In a way,” laughed Jonathan. “It's complicated.”
No more was said about the incident and both concentrated on the remainder of the walk. Hitchin did however wonder about Michael and his troubles. It gave him a dastardly idea.
37
The Mad Dog had been quiet of late. It took him some time to heal and recover from his terrible ordeal. A backstreet surgeon had cauterised the wound painfully and stitched the skin over to form a stump and all he had for the agony was a large bottle of strong liquor. He still felt as if he still had a hand but in its place was actually a large and unsightly stub. No one dared mention it as Mad Dog was still true to his name. He could still cause terrible injury.
It was early in the morning, as he organised his few remaining thieves when he was visited by a troubling man. Down a dark, deserted, alley he gave his orders for the coming day. The man snuck up on them, barging past all of those who were supposed to stand as his protection.
“I'm not here to cause you, or your kind, any harm,” said Hitchin. “I have a proposal for you.” He relaxed, although he was still wary of his arrival. All thieves, once allied to Hitchin, usually had uneasy nights. Fear of his repercussions haunted each man's dreams. They only lived in trepidation of his anger. He pulled Mad Dog aside, slapping him on the cheek in a show of affection. “I hear you've been wronged by Jonathan?”
He pulled the sleeve of his right arm down to hide the stump. “We did have a misunderstanding,” he said, memories of pain rushing his mind. He wanted more, however. “I wasn't giving him all my stolen property. He took offence and had Matthew take my hand.”
Hitchin's gaze passed to his missing appendage. “You must want revenge for that most terrible of deeds?” he asked, knowing all too well what the answer would be.
“Chance would be a fine thing,” he said. “Matthew’s always close to ‘im. Ready to kill us should we try anything.” The possibility of forcing both Jonathan and Matthew, into a position where they would painfully pay for their crimes had occurred to him. It would, however, never be easy.
Hitchin knew Jonathan had a protector close to hand. As a dark defender he couldn't have chosen better. “So, you don't particularly want to be one of Jonathan's thieves,” Hitchin started. “You want to have more say and power over your own gang.”
Mad Dog didn't need to answer. Hitchin could see the truth of the matter quite clearly. This thief, this formerly powerful gang leader, would happily do him great harm. “Sure, I'd fuckin’ gut the bastards,” said Mad Dog matter-of-factly.
Hitchin laughed and paced the alley. “I have a better idea,” he offered. “You and your gang come back to me. We'd be direct competition for Jonathan and his ways.”
He sniggered. “There are others who feel like me.” Most were happy with Jonathan and the way he had structured them, but a few resented being forced out of their former positions of authority.
“Wonderful,” he roared. “Then you can all join me. You can come back, Mad Dog. Screw Jonathan and his ways. Let's keep doing things as we always have done. An old new world. And you can have your place.”
“My place?” he asked, curious as to where he would be headed.
“Consider yourself,” Hitchin stopped pacing, “my right hand man.”
He quickly realised his mistake, his eyes darting toward Mad Dog's hideous stump. “Is that a joke?” he questioned, anger brewing within.
“I'm sorry,” he apologised, “together we could make that upstart pay. Jonathan will fall from his throne and we will be the ones to push him.”
Hitchin had no intention of sharing his glory. All he needed was a willing slave. A man who would happily do the dirty work. Mad Dog was that person. With his help and that of his thieves he could reclaim his grandeur. It would all have to be approached with the most careful and precise of hands, but Charles Hitchin had a plan.
38
He believed everything he did went unnoticed by Jonathan, but he was far too quick to allow that to happen. He had his spies and his informants who allowed him to predict Hitchin's every move. He knew what he was up to, probably before he did. He knew Mad Dog had happily re-joined Hitchin’s collection of useless thieves.
He often chuckled at how his gang was growing in size. It was clear he thought this battle would be won by numbers alone, never thinking the quality of the thief was more important. All of his gang were poor thieves. Of course Jonathan knew they were watching him, trying to determine his next move.
He also knew all of those gang leaders who survived the arrests at the pawnbrokers outside of the city had joined Hitchin and his gang. His own collection of criminals was still vastly larger and there was much which he could not compete with.
Jonathan was quite content with the state of his business. Hitchin was struggling to keep up. Each was secretly planning their next move, hoping it would end the other. Hitchin dreamed his former apprentice would be revealed to the world and he would rise, once again, as the gang leader who was once so powerful.
Jonathan, however, was content with how he had discerned Hitchin's every move. He knew a battle of wits, power and numbers was coming. He was prepared. The terrible marshal couldn’t beat him in any respect.
39
Mary, on the other hand, worried deeply about Jonathan and his gang. She often thought he may be out of his league, as Hitchin continued to increase the numbers of his own gang. Yet, her love seemed perfectly content with the state of his business, the size of his gang and the opinion London held of him. She was nervous about what this bastard was planning. She knew it couldn't be beneficial to anyone.
She often spent nights at Jonathan's little house on Cock Alley, the two swapping between there and her brothel. She would watch him with his thieves and gang leaders and was greatly impressed at how efficient and fair her love could be, but the more time passed the more concerned she became about his occasional fury. She often managed to glance at his ledgers and was surprised at the number of red 'x's' which littered the documents. He was not taking any chances and those thieves who misbehaved would feel the full force of his wrath. His rising status only made her love him more.
She woke one morning in his little house, surprised at how Jonathan hadn't come to bed during the night. He often stayed awake until the early hours of the morning, but it was rare he was up all night long. She found him in his study, scrawling away in his ledgers. He didn't even notice her enter. Approaching she threw her arms around him and hugged tightly.
“Did you come to bed?” she asked.
He rubbed his eyes wearily. “What time is it?”
“Nearly eight o'clock,” she informed. He slumped forwards, groaning with fatigue. Pushing his ledgers away he turned and kissed her heavily on the lips. “What have you been doing all night?” she asked.
He chuckled, kissing her again. “A few of the boys were fighting,” he explained. “Arguments over territory. It's all sorted now.”
She spun to sit on his lap, embracing him with pure passion. “And that took all night?”
“No,” he laughed wearily. “Matthew then officially in
troduced me to a friend of his. We spent most of the night talking and drinking.”
“Which friend?” she enquired.
“Ian,” was his short answer.
Mary laughed and sighed. “Ah, Iron Fist...”
It amused Jonathan how all of these large, powerful men had ridiculous nicknames. Matthew was the only one he knew who didn't have a hilarious association. Even she was well known as ‘Mad Old Mary.’
Iron Fist Ian, as he was known, was a brutishly large man, with worn knuckles. He was a man who possessed a great deal of power and Jonathan had often heard how he had been brutal in punishing those opposed to him. Jonathan had also heard, in great detail, how he was prone to fighting with his peers, often causing them great injury. He was a man Matthew trusted greatly and it seemed Jonathan should do the same.
She kissed him once again, whispering in his ear. “If you're too tired to have some fun, I understand.” Her hand affectionately fondled his crotch, causing him to squeal with pleasure.
“I think I have enough energy for that,” he said happily, pushing her from his lap and picking her off the floor. Running up the steep stairs of his house with Mary in his arms Jonathan thought as to how life had never been this good.
If only he knew what was yet to come.
40
It was past midday when Jonathan was woken by a banging at their bedroom door. Pulling the bed sheets over himself he uttered only one word, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Mary.
“Come.”
Matthew barged into the room, desperately trying not to look at the bed. He threw Jonathan a newspaper and balled his fists in fury. He plucked the newspaper from the covers and looked at the open page.
“What's this?” he asked.
“Charlie,” he responded in anger. “Cheeky bastard’s playing games with us.”
Jonathan scanned the article and turned to Matthew. “I'll read it and get dressed. Give me five minutes,” he ordered.
He nodded his understanding and left the room, shutting the door quietly and stomping down the stairs.
Jonathan lay back in bed to read while Mary snored lightly. The article which Matthew was so concerned about was 'The Regulator; or a Discovery of Thieves and Thief Takers.' The rather feeble literary attempt was written by none other than Charles Hitchin. It exposed the activities of the Thief Taker and declared he was both corrupt and in league with the thieves he apprehended. It went further by claiming the Thief Taker was worse than the thieves themselves.
He was very careful however, not to implicate Jonathan by name. He was the only man known by the title of Thief Taker, so the correlation was plain and the association was hard to miss. It was a dirty trick, but one he had expected.
He found Matthew in his study, pacing in small circles angrily. “Does it mean what I think it means?” he asked.
He threw the newspaper on his desk and collapsed in his comfortable seat. “How many visitors did we have this morning?” he enquired.
“None,” was the honest answer.
“Hardly surprising,” he muttered, “but, I wouldn't worry about it too much.”
Matthew continued to pace, balling his fists in fury and growling quietly. He considered it a great betrayal. “Don't worry about it?!” he screamed. “How can you say that?”
He chuckled quietly, thinking to himself it was probably best not to anger him any more than he was already. “I expected this, Matthew. Not this soon, I must admit, but I knew it was coming,” he rose from his chair and joined him at the window. Matthew thought he appeared far too relaxed. “Charles is playing a game to which he does not know the rules. I was thinking of doing the same but he beat me to it.” Jonathan slapped him affectionately on the back. “He doesn't realise a response is far more powerful than the first word,” he started to laugh loudly, shaking as he did so. “This is of no importance. Now we get to toy with him and his gang.”
He seemed confident he knew how to handle it. His lack of anger confused Matthew. He had expected him to swear and punch the walls, but again he had surprised him. He didn't really understand what was happening but he was sure his friend would make the sneaky dick pay.
41
Charles Hitchin had done nothing but make mistakes since Jonathan's release from Woodgate. He had pushed and pushed, forcing retaliation. Now it was the Thief Taker’s turn. Time to press hard against the corrupt and the murderous.
His article did cause some damage, but nothing which couldn't be easily dealt with. For a few days business stopped entirely and for a couple more it was slower than usual. Jonathan knew people listened to the newspapers and that it would take a masterly response to repair the damage done. This was just what he intended.
He knew his response would be far more powerful and the marshal’s recovery would be a great deal more difficult. He didn't respond with one article. He sent a different article to every newspaper in London. This was something he could not escape.
The newspapers published without question. It was the biggest scoop they’d had in many years. Jonathan went further by printing his own pamphlets and using his thieves to distribute them around London and the surrounding areas. The public was anxiously awaiting his response and when his letters came out in print a great sigh of relief enveloped the city.
He did not play anywhere near as fairly. He told how Hitchin was a corrupt city marshal and how he would accost thieves, taking their stolen property with the explicit intention of selling them back to their owners. He explained how he was exploiting the people of London for his own monetary gain. He sorrowfully told how he had been operating his gang for many years, all the while using his status as city marshal to lie and steal more effectively.
The response to Jonathan's articles was phenomenal, the tides of good fortune turning abruptly from Charles to the Thief Taker. Much of this was down to his naming him as the wrong doer. It did everything he hoped for and more. Soon Hitchin had marshals beating at his door, instructing him to visit the magistrates immediately.
42
Charles was in deep trouble. He now stood before a panel of six magistrates in one of the large, official rooms at the Bailey. Nerves had never assaulted him anywhere near as much. They each peered down on him, unimpressed and angry he had soiled the good name of city marshals, far and wide.
He had tried to claim innocence, but each magistrate maintained it all sounded so plausible it couldn't possibly be false. They weren't willing to condemn him entirely and each knew a full investigation would only damage their courts in a far greater way.
“Charles Hitchin,” started the senior magistrate, whose name was Davidson. He sat on the highest tier of the seating structure before him. “We find the allegations made against you more than plausible. We are greatly concerned as to the possibility you are as these articles suggest.” He had never felt the urge so strong to kill and humiliate Jonathan.
Lawson glared down at him with disappointment and a little fear. He often told him to be more cautious and now it had come to this. The danger was it would implicate him in the process.
Fears and loathing appeared to cascade from both Lawson and his infamous counterpart. Both were in trepidation as to the fate which could well descend.
“It is the opinion of this bench that you should be punished. Whether these claims are true, or not, is of no importance. You have soiled the good name of these courts and its officers.” Davidson was furious. He had never known there to be such uproar. “You are hereby suspended from duty for a period of three months. At the end of this time we will reconsider your status.”
There was no arguing the matter. The Lord Mayor himself had requested someone be punished. He didn't really care who. As they filed from the room, Hitchin managed to hold his magistrate back, praying he could assist him in some form.
43
“What do you want, Charles?” spat Lawson with annoyance. It was hardly a question, more of a future prediction. He knew he would ask the impossible.
Hitchin was equally as unhappy. He had expected him to do something to help, to say something which made his punishment less severe. “You didn't say a damn word,” he complained.
“What did you expect me to do!?” he exclaimed angrily. “Reveal we were in cahoots? Explain how I had been party to all of your law breaking?”
He began pacing the large room. “It's Jonathan..., it’s all his fault.” He punched a wall, causing the plaster to crack explosively “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
Lawson sniggered slightly. He had forgotten how murderous and unhinged he could be. “I'm sure you'll still get your chance.”
He turned to him, pleading with dark eyes. “I want him out of the picture. I want him dealt with.”
He tried to make it for the door, desperate to be away from him, but he had not done with him yet. “It's not that easy now, Charles,” he protested. “Wild has peaked a lot of interests. People are paying him more and more attention. If we were to do anything about him...”
He knew he was right. “He's ruining me.” If anything happened to Jonathan people would notice. No one could touch him and he was sure he was protected. More than he once was.
He needed to do something. Jonathan had grown too big for his boots. If he couldn't harm him maybe he could hurt those he cared for.
Hitchin rested a hand on his shoulder, smiling wickedly. “I do have one idea,” he said. “I will need your help, however.” Lawson froze in fear for what he would demand he do. “If this works it will clear my name and raise peoples’ suspicions about the Thief Taker…”
44
Times were hard after his meeting with the magistrates. Jonathan's articles had ruined him. He knew he was being watched by all manner of people. Jonathan and his gang, Tom Edwards and the city marshal’s offices as well as members of the press who hoped for another scoop on this terrible beast of a man.