Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  “Yes, of course.” I looked at Mr. Atwood. He shrugged and walked over to the table with me. “I am unsure of how to ask this…”

  “Do not piss in the bush, Mr. Newton. Out with it.” He waved his hand as if disregarding me altogether.

  “I am aware that the court is out of session, and while that may seem like it gives us time, I am afraid I do not agree with that sentiment. I worry, Mr. Wilcox is planning on murdering Pierre before a trial can even be scheduled.”

  “Good heavens.” The sergeant stopped as he held a wig in his hands and peered over the top of it in my direction.

  “I need one of your guards to go to Newgate and ensure Pierre’s safety.”

  “Whatever you need, Mr. Newton. Mr. Atwood, ask Jenkin’s or Tobias if they would fetch Ramsey and bring him here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mr. Atwood bowed then turned and opened the door and stepped outside the office. The sergeant and I stood with an uneasy silence between us. He smiled at me. It was a coy expression and one I was not sure how to accept. When I did not respond to him, he shrugged and went back to tightening the curls of the wig. I was relieved when Mr. Atwood returned, followed by three of the king’s guardsmen.

  “Ramsey, I have a special mission for you. As I am sure you have heard by now thanks in part to the rumors that run rampant in this building, despite the risk to the king and our great country about the arrest of Mr. Pierre Baptiste. I need you to go to Newgate and stand guard at his cell.” The sergeant walked over to his desk, pulled out a piece of paper, dipped a pen in a bottle of ink and scrawled a note. “Under no circumstances is anyone to take him out of his cell, unless it is Mr. Newton or Mr. Atwood. This command applies to any of the gaoler’s and especially the magistrate.” He folded the paper in thirds and enclosed the paper with an official wax seal. “This will avoid any confusion. If force is to be used to try to get at Mr. Baptiste, you have the authority to fire at will, injuring is best, but killing if necessary.” He handed Ramsey the official letter. He bowed. “Oh, and Ramsey, I do not have to warn you of the importance of this task. Let me assure you that if anything happens to Mr. Baptiste, you will be held responsible, his life for yours. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” He bowed again.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, get on with it.” He shooed them away. He walked back to his wigs and sighed as if the few minutes away from their reach was more trying than the task of saving lives. “Is there anything else I can assist you with, Mr. Newton?”

  I have no idea what the expression on my face might have been at that moment, but the sergeant’s willingness to help me without question left me speechless. I cleared my throat, hoping the purpose would not be too evident. “I have not worked out all the details as of yet…”

  “I despise details.” He shook his head as if annoyed at even having to think about such things. He picked up a wig and spun it around his fist. “What do you need and it is yours.”

  “I have become quite reliant on Mr. Atwood and would like his services for at least another twenty-four hours, along with one or two more of your men.”

  “Twenty-four, have forty-eight, or seventy-two. Whatever it is you need to get this unpleasant job done, you have it. Take Jenkins and Tobias. They are reliable and will serve you well.” He peeked around the wig and winked. My face reddened as I knew who and what he was referring to.

  Mr. Atwood cleared his throat this time.

  “Thank you, sir.” I said, but the sergeant was once again lost in the seduction of his wig collection. Mr. Atwood motioned to me with his head. I followed him out of the office with the two guardsmen bringing up the rear. After a brief conversation with two of Mr. Atwood’s men, the four of us gathered into the carriage and set off toward the center of London.

  “What is the plan?” Mr. Atwood asked once we were on our way.

  “I would like you to drop me off at the Goose and Gridiron.”

  “Is that wise? The magistrate will surely be there.”

  “I am counting on it.” If Mr. Atwood was following my thoughts, he gave no indication of it. “The magistrate is going to be gloating over his victory against Pierre and the fallacy that he single-handedly brought the murdering spree to an end. He will want everyone there to know it, which means Mr. Borgstrom will be close by.”

  “I thought I told you to leave Mr. Borgstrom out of this.”

  “I am sorry, sir. I cannot do that.”

  “What is your reasoning?”

  “Like it or not, Mr. Borgstrom is the key to all of this. Pierre was starting to put the pieces together. Mr. Borgstrom has been trancing people to get information out of them, then passing that knowledge onto Mr. Wilcox. Mr. Wilcox was using Ash for the robberies to throw everyone off the scent of the real plot.”

  “Weakening Great Britain’s armed services.”

  “Correct. Mr. Borgstrom is going to stay close to Mr. Wilcox. I need to draw Mr. Borgstrom out, and get him to trance me, or at least make him believe he has done so.”

  “And us?”

  “With Ramsey already on his way to Newgate to guard Pierre, you take Tobias and Jenkins to Clapton’s. Make sure no one can see the carriage from any angle. Get Bess, Lord Burnham, and Mrs. Reid upstairs and out of the way. I have a feeling Clapton’s will be robbed tonight and another murder will take place.”

  Chapter 15

  The Goose and Gridiron was busier than I had expected for the early hour. I stood just inside the front door and took notice of the people to get a sense of the crowd, and anyone I might recognize. My eyes immediately fell upon Mr. Borgstrom seated at the bar with his male assistant, Ansell. They appeared to be deep in conversation. Fielding sat on Mr. Borgstrom’s shoulder eating a piece of bread. Neither of them looked in my direction. The other men, who made up the majority of the patrons, looked and sounded like they had been there for most of the day. Night workers, I thought to myself, remembering my job as a night soil man when I first arrived in London. It seemed like twenty years since those days, though in reality it was a mere four. I took a small, two-seater table near the door as was my habit when entering this establishment. I always made sure I had a quick and easy way out.

  “What I’s get ya, honey?” The barmaid said as she leaned across the table. Her move was an obvious ploy to give the men a free and up close inspection of her breasts. I gave them a once over, out of a strange curiosity and thought that Bess had much more to offer than this woman. She smiled, exposing fewer teeth than most her age, and what was left were rotting and yellow. Though she looked to be in her late thirties, my guess was she was in her early twenties with a rough life as the cause of such aging.

  “A half-pint of Gin,” I replied. I slipped the pipe between my lips. “I have not seen you before.” I struck the tinderbox, lit my pipe, and inhaled a deep breath of tobacco. Whatever the reason, the tobacco soothed my body and mind.

  “Johnny…Mr. Wilcox jus hire me. Says I’s special and all.” She stood straight and cupped her breasts. “I’s cheap cause I ain’t got no experience like the other ladies, but I’s learn real quick like.”

  “The gin is all I am looking for today.” I exhaled a cloud of gray smoke into the already thick air. Her smile faded, she shrugged then left without another word.

  I looked over the broadsheet someone had left on the chair next to mine while I waited for the drink. I did not much bother with the city sheets as most were full of lies, innuendos, and rumors, but I wanted to see if anyone had picked up on the story of Pierre’s arrest. As I skimmed the front side, I heard a chair skid across the floor then my table shifted. I lowered the paper. Mr. Wilcox sat across from me.

  “Thomas.”

  “You must have the power of forethought like your accomp…business associate Mr. Borgstrom. A minute ago you were nowhere to be seen, then swifter than a blink of an eye, look at you, right here in my face.”

  “I’s got your gin, sir.” The barmaid leaned across the table with a slight tilt to
her body, so her breasts were visible to her new boss. “Two pence.”

  “Mr. Newton’s drinks are on the house, all night, every night.”

  I reached into my pocket. “I would rather pay my way than to owe a debt for my drinking.”

  “I will not accept your money, Thomas, and neither will Elisabeth.”

  “Yes, sir.” She curtsied and smiled.

  “Now get out of our faces. We have business to discuss.” He shooed her away like a bothersome crow.

  “You should leave, Mr. Wilcox. I am in no mood for you tonight.” I took a sip of my gin.

  “I am sorry about what happened to Mr. Baptiste,” he said. There was an unmistakable smirk rising across his lips. “I tried to warn the two of you that something like this might happen.”

  “Your sincerity is truly heartwarming, Jonathan.” I raised my hand to get Elisabeth’s attention and pointed two fingers toward my drink. With two more coming, I finished off the first glass and let the heat of the alcohol settle my nerves.

  “Love is blind, Thomas. You are too close to see it. I am not. Pierre was getting too arrogant and self-assured, and when that happens, people make mistakes.”

  “Mistakes, indeed. And do you worry what mistakes you have made?” I kept eye contact with him. I was determined not to let him see me tremble in fear of him, despite my concern of what his desperation might cause him to do next.

  Mr. Wilcox’s face tightened, his cheeks flushed with anger, and yet he said nothing in response. I knew my statement was a bold move and wondered if I had played a card too soon, but I had to let him know I would not be bullied.

  “What is this?” I turned my attention away from Mr. Wilcox to Elisabeth, who returned not with two drinks, but an entire bottle of gin.

  “Mr. Wilcox, says I’s not charge you. Figer’d I’s bring the whole bottle.”

  “That is awfully kind of you.” I smiled at her and reached into my pocket and pulled out a penny.

  “No charge.”

  “It is not for the drink.” I touched her hand and placed the coin into her palm then closed her fingers around it. She smiled with a rose hue blooming in her cheeks.

  “Thant’s you, sir. You too kind.” She slipped the money into her apron, bowed her head then turned and left. When I looked back at Mr. Wilcox, he was staring at the front door. He appeared oblivious to anything going on around him. His lips were pursed shut, and a discreet shake of his head indicated to me he was telling someone not to enter. I turned and followed his gaze, but from my angle, all I saw was an intermittent shadow move across the threshold.

  “You are not that sly, Jonathan.”

  “What?” He glanced at me, then back at the door before fully returning his attention toward me.

  “A fly on the other side of the room could tell you were trying to keep someone from entering.”

  “You think you have that much talent?” He laughed. “You are becoming as self-assured as Pierre.”

  “Is that a threat, Jonathan?” I downed the gin in two long gulps, then refilled my glass.

  “Thomas,” He took the glass from me, took several long drinks, then passed the empty glass back to me. “I am hurt by your words.”

  “Really.” I forced myself not to laugh. I refilled the glass and pulled it away from his reach. “What is it you want, Jonathan?”

  “I have already told you.” He leaned across the table and whispered. “I want you, all of you, and I always get what I want.” He leaned back in his chair. “Be careful, Thomas. I always find it best to choose your side early. Playing both sides is a dangerous game and can be deadly.”

  “Another threat?”

  “Take it to mean whatever you want.” He stood and rapped his knuckles on the table. “I shall see you soon.” He winked, then walked across the public house and disappeared into his private sanctuary.

  As I took another long drink of the stout beverage to rid my mouth of the foul taste Jonathan always left in it, I noticed Mr. Borgstrom looking in my direction. I lowered the glass, keeping my eyes on him the entire time. I stood and straightened my waistcoat. He smiled and nodded toward the door. I turned and left, believing he wanted a word with me outside and away from prying eyes and ears.

  I stepped outside and looked into the night sky. Rain pelted my face and immediately soaked my clothes. My shoes squished and sucked in and out of the muddy ruts of the street. A few people ran from building to building, which left me feeling out of place in the near-empty street.

  I heard footsteps behind me. I smiled to myself that my plan to get to Mr. Borgstrom alone had worked. Then without warning or expectation, I was struck across my upper back. The strike had such force it sent me stumbling forward, tripping my step, and landing me face first into the wet, soiled ground.

  Disoriented from the vicious blow and stunned as to why Mr. Borgstrom would attack me, I shook my head to rid my mind of the twinkling stars that invaded my eyes. The footsteps were closing in on me. I had no time to recover. I pulled myself to my knees then stood and turned around. It was not Mr. Borgstrom who stood in front of me. It was a tall, lumbering man, someone I had never seen before. He held a large wooden beam in his grip. The smirk on his face informed me he planned to finish what he started.

  “You are not welcome here, Mr. Newton.” There was nothing in the man’s voice that was not laced with intent to murder. He was not talking about my presence in the public house. The man was talking about my life. I took a quick look around, blinking rain from my eyes. The few people who were on the street knew trouble was near and scattered in random directions, not wanting to get involved with matters that did not concern them.

  “Put the board down then and fight like a man.” The words as they fell from my mouth started me. I was coaxing him to a fight, instead of trying to console him with words. My thoughts darted back to the night Ash had saved my life. I realized this man who stood before me was part of the same gang that tried to kill me and failed.

  The rain and darkness made it difficult to see with any clarity. I stood my ground, clenching my fists and waiting. The stranger dropped the piece of wood and laughed, then charged me. I waited for him to get closer, then dropped to my knee and ducked my head. As he struck me, I lifted with my legs, throwing the man over my shoulder. I did not turn to see the damage. I heard him hit the ground, then a heavy gasp as his breath was knocked from him. I ran over to the beam and picked it up but before I could turn around, the man was upon me, wrapping his arms around my body. His strength terrified me and forced me to drop the makeshift weapon.

  “You are a dead man, Newton.”

  I elbowed him in the gut. My attack did nothing to loosen his grip. I tried again, and a third time. His arms tightened against me. I brought my head toward my chest then threw it backward, and smashed into his nose. I heard a bone crack. He screamed in pain and threw me into the air. I seemed to float during those moments of being air born. I landed against a handcart, which was secured and locked down for the night at the edge of an alley. The old wood was surprisingly tough on impact, but thankfully it gave against my body. The cart collapsed around me. My back exploded with pain so intense I thought I would faint. I laid motionless, unsure if I could move, let alone be able to gain my footing before he was on me again.

  “Cyrus was a fool.” The stranger said as he approached. “He wanted you to suffer, so he toyed with you, allowing another to interfere with his orders. There is no one here now, Mr. Newton, and I do not want to see you suffer. I want you dead and out of the way.”

  “On whose orders?” I asked as I scooted backward, trying to find some avenue to escape and regain my footing. “Mr. Wilcox—”

  “You think Wilcox wants you dead? You cannot be that stupid. The fucking wanker is trying to get rid of us. The men who made him who he is today. He not only wants to bed you, he wants you to take our place in his den. And that is not going to happen.” The man stopped just a few inches from me. “I do want to thank you.”
/>   “For what?” I was stalling for time, but had no other option.

  “Taking care of Ash for us.”

  “I do not know what you are talking about.”

  “No?” He kicked me in the gut. I curled into a ball and choked on my breath. “Word is he murdered himself in your home. You and your wankers disposed of his body with the help of a resurrectionist.”

  “Then you know I am not one of Mr. Wilcox’s men.” I looked at the man’s large booted feet and the thought of the pain those shoes could cause. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something sparkle in the dull light of a lantern hanging in front of the shop front. My body ached. The pain made it difficult to breathe. I struggled to keep my focus and a clear head. I turned and crawled toward the glinting point of a nail which was sticking out of a splintered piece of board.

  He grabbed my leg and pulled me back. I kicked out and struck his wrist. He let go of my leg, which gave me enough time to scramble forward and grab the board. Without taking the time to look behind me, I swung the board and embedded the nail into the man’s calf.

  “Fuck,” the man screamed. His face twisted with pain as he yanked the board out of his leg. The wood split and released, leaving the nail stuck in his leg.

  I rolled over on my back. It was then I felt something pressing into my back. I reached behind me and pulled out the gun Mr. Atwood had given to me. I aimed the pistol at him. “Come on. Let us finish this.”

  Before I knew what was happening, he swung the board in my direction. I pulled the trigger, but my aim was off. The bullet struck the ground a few inches from where the man stood. The board hit my wrist. The gun flew from my hand and struck the ground out of reach.

  He struggled with his footing but managed to keep himself upright. “Now let us see who has the upper hand. The man charged as best he could. I could see the gleam of murder in his eyes. I reached into my boot and extracted the dagger and plunged it into the man’s belly as he fell on top of me.

  The warmth of the man’s blood began to cover my hands and soak into my shirt. He continued to struggle against me, despite the blade lodged in his belly. By some unknown force of will, the man managed to get his hands around my neck and squeeze. His hands shook, but he still managed to make breathing difficult. A lightheadedness washed over me. I knew if I did not end the man’s life I would faint from the pain and exhaustion of the past few days.