Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  We all agreed, then a silence fell between us as we sat with our individual thoughts and sipped our drinks.

  “Oh, Christopher, I almost forgot.” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a key. “The king has released my inheritance, including the family home.” I handed him the key. “This is for your parents. They can move in immediately.”

  “I do not know how to thank you.” Christopher stared at the key in his hand.

  “There is no need to thank me. Something good at least can come from Mr. Green’s life, and perhaps your parents can bring happiness and love back into the house that Mr. Green’s hate created.”

  “When are your parents leaving London?” Pierre finished off his gin.

  “They are leaving this afternoon. I was going to see them off, but perhaps I will pack a bag and go with them and help them start moving.”

  “I think that is a splendid idea.” Pierre nodded. “Sheppard, if you wouldn’t mind taking me to Mayfair. I shall continue the investigation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I am late for my meeting with Mr. Wilcox, so I need to be on my way.”

  “Shall I take you to the Goose and Gridiron first?” Sheppard stood.

  “That will not be necessary. A walk shall give me the time I need to clear my head.” I kissed Pierre and Christopher goodbye then grabbed my overcoat.

  “Wait, I have something for you.” Pierre came up to me.

  “What?”

  “I shall be right back.” Pierre placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezed it with loving affection, then headed up the stairs and into the back hallway. I looked at Christopher. He shrugged, letting me know he was as clueless as I of what Pierre was up to. “I thought you would want this.” Pierre said as he came down the stairs.

  “I cannot believe…where did you find this?”

  “Where did the sword come from?” Christopher asked.

  “This is the sword Mother Clap purchased for me in Gabriel Laurence’s shop.” I took the sword and pulled it out of its sheath. “Lord, I remember that day like it was yesterday.” I turned the sword through the air, admiring its shine and weight.

  “What happened?” Christopher stood and came to me.

  “When I arrived at Mother Clap’s I did not have any clothes except the rags I was wearing. She told me appearances were everything and if I wanted to impress the men I had to be properly attired.” I chuckled at the memory. “She took me to Mr. Laurence’s shop to buy me a new wardrobe.” I turned it around and ran my fingers across the carved handle. “Pierre, where did you find it? I thought I had lost it during the raids.”

  “You did. When I came back to look for you, Mr. Clap showed it to me. He said he purchased it from a street hawker. He knew it was yours from the T.N. engraved into the handle. He bought it and kept it in the cellar. I forgot about it until just now.”

  “Thank you.” I slipped the sword back into its sheath then hung it from the band on my breeches. I rocked back and forth on my feet to get adjusted to the added weight.

  “Remember, do not seem too eager to pay off your debt with Mr. Wilcox. Hold your ground, fight and argue if you must, but do not give in too early or he will know something is wrong.” He smiled, but beneath the exterior expressions, I could tell he was worried about me. I looked over his shoulder at Christopher. The three of us hugged.

  “I shall be fine.” I said and broke our embrace. We are all going to get through this. I shall see you tonight.” I kissed Pierre then turned to Christopher. “You take as much time with your parents as needed. Stay a few days and get them settled.” I wrapped my arms around Christopher and felt him pull me into his body. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent. For a moment, I was eighteen again and embracing him for the first time.

  * * * *

  The walk through the city had provided me time to clear my head and to make plans for what I was going to say. I had even convinced myself there was nothing to fear, but as the Goose and Gridiron came into view, I began to second guess everything.

  I stood just outside the entrance. My bravery flickered and died, replaced with a fear that almost took my breath. I realized I was playing a dangerous game and foolishly believed I could come out of it with my life intact. A sudden rain of dizziness swept over me. My stomach soured as the unease settled into it. I lit my pipe and took a long draw. Whether it was the breath or the tobacco, I felt a bit more relaxed. After one last deep exhale, I walked into the public house and entered the lair of the magistrate’s thieves.

  The cacophony of laughter from the drunken men was enough to make my head hurt. Despite the crowds, I noticed Bess right away. She always stood out in any crowd. She was serving a particularly rowdy table of men. They pawed and groped her. The minute she knocked one man’s hand away, there was another one eager to get a handful of skin. I wanted to go to her and pull her away from the men but knew it was not my purpose. Then from across the room, I caught the furious gaze of Mr. Wilcox. I saw a fire in his eyes, and with that knew my tardiness was not going to stand. I looked at my pocket watch and realized I was several hours late for our meeting. Instead of rushing over to his table and begging his forgiveness, which was what he was expecting of me, I took another long draw of my pipe and slowly exhaled the smoke. I was not going to let him see me quiver. I made my way over to the bar and ordered a double gin. Tossing the payment on the counter, I took my drink then made my way through the crowds toward the back of the public house. Bess headed me off and stopped my approach.

  “Thomas, what are you doing here?” she whispered. There was a nervous tone to her voice, one I had never heard from her before.

  “I am here to meet with Mr. Wilcox.” I kissed her cheek. “It is good to see you.”

  “Always.” Bess’s smile faltered. “Please, do not tell me you are going ahead with this debt he thinks you owe him.”

  “I am. Do not worry. I shall be fine.”

  “If you need anything—”

  “Thank you, Bess.” I started to walk away. Bess reached out and touched my arm.

  “How’s Nicholas?”

  I turned back to her. “Not well. He is struggling with his devotion to the Lord and his feelings toward you.”

  “Maybe I should go and talk to him.”

  “Give him some time, Bess. He will work it out.”

  “You are right. The distance will do us both some good.” She smiled, but I could tell it was not genuine. “You better go. Jonathan has been in a right foul mood all day.” She touched my cheek, smiled again this time with more feeling, then walked toward the bar.

  “Mr. Newton.” A short squat of a man tugged at my coat sleeve. “You are wanted immediately.” He took hold of my hand and pulled me through the crowds, delivering me to Mr. Wilcox. He bowed to Mr. Wilcox, gave me a brief look, then scampered away.

  “It is kind of you to make time for me, Thomas.” Mr. Wilcox leaned both elbows on the desk and spun a thick gold ring around on his forefinger. “I hope I have not kept you waiting.” The sarcastic tone of his voice was as sharp as a blade.

  “If you are looking for an apology you shall not find one here.” I finished off my drink, sat the empty glass down, and relit my pipe. “Regardless of the fanciful notions you might have about me, I am not, nor will I ever be, at your beck and call.”

  “Thomas.” He pounded his fist on the table as he stood. “I will not be spoken to in a disrespectful manner, especially in front of my men.” He straightened his overcoat and looked around the room as he tried to compose himself. “Perhaps we should take our conversation to a more private room.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Wilcox.” I bowed so that the others might see me as conceding. As I turned to follow Mr. Wilcox, I glanced across the room and noticed Bess watching our every move. She turned from my gaze and went to serve another table.

  The narrow, damp corridors beneath the city streets sent a chill through my body. If it had not been for the purpose of my visit, I would have enjoyed th
e respite from the heat of the day. Neither of us spoke as I followed Mr. Wilcox through his underground labyrinth. Men of all ages occupied various spaces, laboring away with exorbitant demands Mr. Wilcox placed upon them and for nothing more than a share of less than a shilling. Their eyes, full of suspicion about my presence down among the den, followed us as we passed from room to room. I tried not to let the constant glare of the men fluster me as I suspected only a select few members of Mr. Wilcox’s gang were privy to the actual inner workings of his less than legitimate empire.

  “After you.” Mr. Wilcox opened the door.

  I refused to meet his gaze as I passed him and entered his private office. The memories came flooding back of the day Bess brought me here to persuade Mr. Wilcox to tell me where Mr. Green was holding Pierre and Christopher. I turned and faced him. He shut the door and walked over to his drinks cabinet.

  “I believe we may have started out our business arrangement on the wrong note.” Mr. Wilcox poured two gins and handed one to me. He clinked his glass against mine, smiled, and downed half of it.

  “Is there a correct note between us?” I took a sip of the drink as he motioned for me to sit. “I prefer to stand, thank you, Mr. Wilcox.”

  “Please, Thomas, if we are to be business partners, I insist you call me Jonathan.”

  “In what part of your fanciful thoughts did you think we were going to be business partners?”

  “Why the hostility, Thomas?” He walked toward me. There was still a good foot between us, but the closeness unsettled me none-the-less.

  “I do not trust you.” I took several steps back. “Your polite and charming personality may fool some, but not me.” I paused as he came upon me like a vulture stalking its prey. He had me backed against the wall. “I know you threatened to exile Pierre, and you certainly have no care for me.”

  “That is where you are wrong, Thomas.” Mr. Wilcox ran his finger across my cheek. I turned away from his touch. “You will soon come to realize that your rancor toward me is nothing but misplaced lust.”

  “You must be joking.” I laughed. “That is the most preposterous notion I have ever encountered.”

  “Trust me, Thomas, when I say that I will have you in my bed.” He put one hand upon my chest and pushed me against the wall. He placed his other hand between my legs and fondled me. Despite my loathing of the man, my prick stirred restlessly with his attention.

  “I shall have to be stone cold dead before you get the chance.” I pushed his hand away. He leaned in closer to me. His nose touched mine.

  “See, then there is a chance. I have had far worse. Even dead, you would be a precious fuck.”

  “You are a swine, Mr. Wilcox.”

  “I have been called worse things in my life.” He kissed me. I bit his lip and slapped his face as he pulled away. “Very well, perhaps another time.” He rubbed his cheek as he turned, walked behind his desk, and sat down. “Remember, Thomas, Pierre’s fate lies in how well you serve me. Make our arrangement difficult, and I will be forced to take Pierre out of your life.” He reached his arm out suggesting I sit. “Am I making myself clear?”

  “You are, but I am not the only one with something to lose in this arrangement. If you try something like this again or request the exile orders, I will be forced to deliver the documents to the proper authority and have you arrested.” I took the seat he had offered.

  “I am glad you mentioned the documents.” He nodded. “The day you came to me, desperate to save the pathetic lives of Pierre and Christopher, you led me to believe the documents you obtained from Mr. Fenny about Mr. Green contained sensitive information, which might be perceived by some as incriminating me in Lord Green’s illegal activities. I went through every piece of paper, and never found anything relating to me. Do you not find that peculiar?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Why is that? Did you perhaps lie to me to get me to help you?”

  “You think me foolish enough to risk a lie. I knew you would want to destroy any document implicating you before turning them over to the king. Before I gave them to you, I removed those with your name on them for safe keeping.”

  “I would like those documents, Thomas.”

  “And I would like Mother Clap not to be dead, so I guess neither of us will get what we want.” I saw the frustration building behind Mr. Wilcox’s cold stare. He leaned back in his chair, placed his elbows on the arms, and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers. He glared at me as if willing me dead with his eyes. I began to think I had pushed him too far, so I gave into his self-perceived arrogance. “Mr. Wilcox, Jonathan. You assisted me in finding Pierre and Christopher. They would be dead if it were not for you. I am a man of my word. I am here today in good faith to oblige the debt I owe. If you would rather continue this pointless banter about your desire to fuck me, or the papers I have in safe keeping, then you are wasting both our time.” I shifted in my chair, as Mr. Wilcox sat unmoved by my words.

  “Tell you what, Thomas.” Mr. Wilcox leaned forward in his chair. “I do not believe you have any documents. In fact, I am willing to stake my entire fortune on it. So, go ahead, leave and make those records public, take them to the judge, or better yet to the king.” His eyes moved back and forth as he waited for a response from me - one I could not give. “Go on,” he yelled.

  I knew I was getting in over my head and had to think fast. “What and give you a chance to send one of your men to follow me and retrieve the documents? I am not that stupid, Jonathan.” I addressed him by his first name in hopes of making this more of a business argument than a war of words between enemies. “The papers will stay where they are for now.”

  He laughed, shook his head, then leaned back in his chair. “Nice move, though someday soon I am going to call your bluff. This is by no means checkmate in your favor. You are playing with the master, Thomas. Remember that. By the time that I am done with you and your little playmates, I shall be the one left in your life. Then I will have the best fuck of my life.” He grabbed his walking stick and struck the floor three times in rapid succession. No sooner than he replaced the stick, did a man come into the room as if he had been waiting behind the door for a planned entrance.

  The man’s smile quivered. He bowed several times as if nervous in the presence of the magistrate. Mr. Wilcox and I stood. The man, whose age I could not discern, was missing his right eye. A long, jagged scar fell from the edge of the eye socket, down his cheek, and ending below his jaw. He kept his head tilted to the left where he still had sight.

  “Thomas, I would like you to meet, Ash.”

  “Ash,” I said more out of surprise than anything else. Before I had a chance to utter another word, he came upon me with a knife poised at my throat.

  “Do not be fooled by his name or lack of an eye. Ash has a history of madness in his family. Ash can slit one’s throat without the person realizing that he is close enough to inflict harm.” Mr. Wilcox laughed as if it were all a game to him.

  “My apologies. I meant no offense.” I raised my hands and took a step back. Once Ash had placed the knife back in its sleeve, I presented my hand to him. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” I said. He shook my hand once, then pulled away without uttering a sound.

  “You will not get a response, Thomas. Ash does not talk. He is dumb.” Mr. Wilcox came around his desk.

  “What happened, if I may ask?”

  “His father made that scar.” Mr. Wilcox raised his walking stick and drew it down the side of Ash’s face. Ash flinched but made no verbal complaint. “His father was a son-of-a-bitch. Used to beat his wife. One day, Ash decided he had had enough and fought back. During the fight, his father ripped out Ash’s eye. Rumor has it, the father fed it to the family cat, then skinned and gutted the cat. They say Ash went mad that night. Murdered his father and threw the pieces of his body into the fire and watched him burn.

  “So that is how he got the name Ash?”

  “By coincidence. His Christian name is Asher. Af
ter the burning of his father’s body, the nickname became his signature you might say. The poor man hasn’t spoken a word since. Now, if there are no more questions, perhaps we could discuss the details of your job tonight.”

  A deep grunt came from Ash. He shook his head in defiance.

  “Ash, do you care to say something?” Mr. Wilcox said with laughter in his voice. Ash pushed us both out of the way and went to the desk. Pulling out a piece of paper, he dipped the pen in ink and wrote with large letters as if he was screaming; I WORK ALONE!

  “Except for tonight, Ash.” Mr. Wilcox rubbed Ash’s back trying to placate him, then added with a sharp, scolding tone. “You will show Mr. Newton how we do things around here.” He raised his hand. “There will be no further discussion. I will not have my demands questioned.”

  I looked at Ash, trying to make some connection with the man. His eyeless expression was hard and cold. His one eye stare left me ill at ease. I started to question who was the more dangerous man, Ash, or Jonathan. I decided to trust neither of them.

  “What is the job?” I asked, not taking my eyes off Ash.

  “There is a woman by the name of Elizabeth Westford, who in recent weeks inherited a lovely diamond and ruby brooch from her mother in Paris. It has substantial value to it. You and Ash will leave here immediately and steal it for me.”

  “In daylight?” I questioned. “It seems full of unnecessary risks. Can we not wait until nightfall?”

  “Every Friday between the hours of four and eight, Mrs. Westfield plays Faro with several of her neighbors, while their husbands are drinking and gambling at a local public house. The house will be empty.”

  “And you expect this valuable piece of jewelry to be just left out in plain sight?”

  “I see your inquisitive nature is going to take some getting used to around here. First of all, I do not like my men second-guessing me, or my plans. Is that clear?”

  “It would be if I were one of your men, but I am not.”

  “You are starting to annoy me, Thomas.” Mr. Wilcox’s frustrations with my questions were becoming apparent. Mr. Wilcox pulled a folded piece of paper out of his overcoat and handed it to Ash, who slipped it into his pocket without taking a moment to read the note. “You work for me, and follow my orders. I owe you no explanations. Is that understood?”