Donovan nodded repeatedly. ‘A change of mind, methinks.’
Misu tried to sprint, but failed in her shoes, designed for fashion and not mobility, especially taking the heels into account. A leg launching away in a slip sent her to the ground most ungraciously, and it took no effort for Flenn and Donovan to catch up with the woman. The pair was used to their quarry fleeing. They were also used to them not making it very far.
‘On your feet, kitten. Let’s be having you.’
Flenn’s fists clenched cotton, hauling Misu to her feet by her attire. Clearly every touch of his fingers disgusted her as he patted her pale cheeks. Every patronizing word cut through with thick, penetrating sarcasm.
Wilheim’s men had not been expecting an opportunity like this. The woman had always kept herself around others in public, cleverly near constabulary when perusing the markets or shops. They had watched keenly, shadowed her movements closely, all while remaining out of sight. Wilheim expected them to deliver his message, though a better word for it would be ultimatum, with the sort of persuasiveness those entrusted to such work were known for.
Toe to toe, Flenn towered over Misu’s frame. Her nostrils flared as his hand ever so gently stifled her breaths.
‘Let’s not be dancing any more, girl. You’ve had your little dandy despite Wilheim being far from patient. You know what he wants and he’s going to take it. You have no alternative and certainly no wiggle room for bargaining.’
‘I said I won’t do this any more for him,’ Misu whimpered, trying hard to retain her composure; however, her bravado had been quickly eroded away. No pithy quips. No snide remarks. Misu was bared to her predators.
‘You don’t get it still. There is no time to give. No extra chances. No more waiting.’
Donovan fidgeted with the leather sheath at his hip, drawing his palm around his knife handle. He was clearly getting bored of talking.
Talking rarely solved anything. Words were only an exchange of threats and force, no matter how well camouflaged. Everything was a foreplay to violence.
‘I don’t think she’s going to cooperate, do you?’
‘I think she’s spinning us a yarn. Don’t like being spun, me. Makes me frustrated. Makes me angry, if you get my meaning.’ Flenn’s thick fingers constricted in turn.
‘There – you’ve gone and done it,’ Donovan teased, seating himself on a crate. The metal was produced from its housing, an event that Misu was acutely aware of. Donovan used the blade tip to pick at debris beneath his fingernails.
‘I don’t care what you think, I won’t –’
Donovan interrupted. ‘I think we need to stop you talking for good. What do you think the boss would say?’
‘He would have your hides if I was harmed,’ Misu said, attempting to negotiate, but again this was unsuccessful.
‘Not what I heard. Maybe he’s getting old. He wants things done and doesn’t care about the methods. Never been much of a method man that one. Likes results.’
Flenn snickered cruelly. ‘It has been a while, hasn’t it? You didn’t even recognize us at the table. I dare say you’ve developed some humility, little one. I recall all your barbs at our persons, unwarranted slander if I recall. Looky here now though. Not as untouchable as you used to taunt.’
Thick, searching fingers groped at Misu’s breast. ‘Very touchable indeed.’ He licked her cheek, in a long, eager draw.
* * *
Slow footsteps echoed in the night, the soles of well-kept leather striking paving stone getting closer and closer as a figure walked up the alleyway. They stopped, yards from Wilheim’s men and their quarry. The scattered gaslights were too far away to cast light on the figure. All turned in unison, trying to make out if it was the law or just a random fellow who found himself witnessing business that he would do better to forget.
Misu attempted to wail for help, but the moment she tried, her restraint was pulled firmer, curbing the outburst.
‘Step away from the lady,’ the voice demanded, male and clearly in no mood to discuss it further. The demand was ignored, so it was repeated once more, sterner.
‘I paid my money,’ Flenn called. ‘I take what’s owed.’
Donovan rebuked any claim to the contrary, placing the cold steel on a thigh in warning. ‘We have a business transaction, don’t we, dear?’
Misu failed to object, or speak in general. Her eyes welled with tears.
‘She’s no streetwalker and you didn’t give her a coin. It’s painfully clear that she has no interest in what you’re offering, so I’ll repeat myself. Step away.’
Donovan narrowed his eyes, hopping from the crate with the weapon in hand. He slowly sauntered up the alley towards the intruder, waving the blade in gesture and threat. ‘None of this concerns you, slack jaw,’ Donovan claimed. ‘Turn around and forget what you saw. You’ll live longer for it.’
‘You know …’ the shadow paused, as if wrestling with the decision ‘… I just can’t bring myself to do so. Wouldn’t be proper, you know?’
* * *
Misu searched her memory, a burst of familiarity registering at the words.
That voice. She knew that voice!
She attempted to croak his name – a warning, anything, but it failed and came out as a grunt.
Donovan lunged forward, thrusting the knife into the alleyway’s darkness, following each jab with a lunge, a swipe, and then repeating the sequence. The stranger jumped aside each time, weaving away in the blackness. When Donovan paused, his opponent kicked the weapon away to the gutter and delivered a pair of punches across the cheek.
‘Nice knife.’ The shadow offered his compliment with a grin, now in close proximity to his prey. His hand slipped to his back and in a flash unsheathed his own weapon from oiled leather. It drove deep into Donovan’s thigh, parting flesh and striking bone.
Donovan screamed, but only just before a forearm sent him onto his back, steel now protruding from the limb coupled with a trickle of blood.
‘Mine’s bigger,’ Jacques quipped.
Foolishly Donovan wrenched the weapon away with a shriek, a spurt of blood hurriedly contained by fumbling hands.
Jacques shook the sting from his knuckles, gesturing to the heap before him.
‘Now you be keeping pressure on that there wound, you hear? You haven’t got time to go another round otherwise you’ll be losing too much blood to keep your heart beating. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we? This girl here would be a silly thing to perish for.’
He turned to Misu with a look of thunder. Disappointment was interlaced with disdain.
‘A very silly thing.’
Flenn reached for his revolver only for it to be knocked free. Blows rained left and right, violent waves on rocks of forearms. When an opening emerged he jabbed in time, following with left and right hooks. A few matches of bar boxing gave Flenn some talent, giving his strikes weight, but he was slow and sloppy. Jacques weaved and kept his arms up, slipping under each fist that stopped just out of reach. When secure enough with his delivery, Jacques punished Flenn with a bevy of punches, breaking his nose with a burst of crimson. Enough time was given, seconds in reality, for Flenn to comprehend his beating before Jacques pulled a forearm to his throat and kicked his legs away. Flenn squatted, face flushed red, gasping.
‘Now, the right thing would be to apologize to the nice lady,’ Jacques demanded, pushing him forward in the restraint. Before he gave his response, each gurgle of defiance was choked away but when he spoke it wasn’t to give the smartest of answers.
‘N … n … never!’
Jacques breathed deeply through his nose, keeping his quarry steady.
‘You’ll think better of it when you wake up.’
After driving his elbow into the base of Flenn’s skull, Jacques stepped over the limp body between him and the woman who had caused so much trouble.
Misu trembled but not from the night air. She withheld thanks, knowing full well
that things were about to get much, much worse.
Escorted to the station, every street felt like a walk of shame, where prying eyes judged her for every misdeed. This was, of course, false. Nobody paid notice as she ventured back, cheeks reddened with tearstains. Their business was their own. Naturally busy with wherever the day took them, figures brushed past in a daze. Every so often Misu peered past her shock of raven hair to ensure that Jacques was accompanying her. Of course he was. Despite his silent footsteps, he remained in her shadow, ensuring she would return home with no detours.
Every step up the station was a mountain, at its summit: scorn.
When finally reaching Platform 4 she silently stopped, as if weighted. Looking at the once-inviting doors of what she called home, she felt she could vomit. Indeed, she covered her mouth as if she were about to succumb to such a thing. Her nerves had bested her and for good reason. She turned to her sentry and pleaded for him to reconsider.
‘Please,’ Misu whimpered. ‘Don’t, just don’t make me do this. Please.’
Jacques took a moment to grunt a response. He wasn’t heartless, but this situation was terribly complex and needed someone else’s illumination to resolve.
‘Sorry, lass. It’s not my call to make. You have some explaining to do to people and if you don’t – I will fill in the blanks with everything that I heard. Come, they’re waiting for you.’
When he had decided that she had readied herself appropriately, Jacques shuffled his feet behind her and inside she went, her bodyguard following and locking the door to the showgirls’ residence carriage behind him.
As she brushed aside a beaded curtain, its clattering informed the occupants of a visitor. The showgirls – all ten of them – immediately rose to their feet, if they were not standing already. Kitty pushed herself through the collecting bodies, a struggle as she was shorter than the rest. She left her hand of cards upon the table, a collection of tips from the previous night’s takings being played off against whoever was brave enough.
Her intention was to wrap her arms around that slender body, link them together and embrace Misu in relief. She had been worried. They all had been of course since Jacques announced he was leaving to find Misu. It was all people could think about and when potential worries were brought up, they were dismissed, stating that such things were nonsense, that everything was just fine.
But it only took one second to notice that things were clearly not that simple and certainly not fine. Jacques moved past, watching keenly without so much as an utterance, and seating himself at Kitty’s space. He glanced firstly to the terrible hand she had been lumbered with and then back to Misu. He clearly expected a verbose explanation.
‘Misu, what is it?’ Kitty asked. She examined the soulless face of the other woman, shocked and devoid of its usual lustre. Her stature was hunched and her demeanour – no matter how authoritative it had always seemed – was cracked.
‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Please, can you … Can you not ask me?’
‘But we were worried about you,’ Kitty objected, curious about Misu’s standoffishness. She tried to explain their concerns. ‘You’re sneaking out on your lonesome. Jacques brings you back and … Why are you so upset? Did something happen?’
Misu’s charade broke, causing a trail of fresh tears to trace down her cheeks. ‘It’s nothing – not a concern for any of you,’ Misu lied, trying to firmly denounce any speculation. This, expectedly, failed. Coos of concern emanated from the girls, doing no favours for her poise.
Corinne crossed her arms, stepping between the pair in a subconscious gesture of protection. She was utterly, utterly unconvinced.
‘Rubbish.’
‘Please don’t do this. Don’t shut us out,’ Kitty called from behind Corinne, interlinking her fingers in desperation. Everyone congregated around Misu, wrapping around one another in a loving embrace to the point where Misu was unable to move. All of the showgirls had noticed her odd behaviour and wanted her to understand that she was loved, no matter the cause of this peculiarity. For most, she was the closest thing they had to family.
‘No. No!’ Misu fought for some space, forcing them to ebb back like a waning tide. ‘What I do is my own business. I don’t invite you into my affairs because they are mine. Thank you for your concerns but I do not need all of your meddling. I am quite capable of looking after myself.’
Corinne scowled, a thunderous grimace that one would expect to be directed at a liar.
Or, possibly, a traitor.
She reached out and took Misu’s wrists, holding them forward. Red lines crisscrossed up to each elbow, where nails had been dragged down flesh. Corinne’s grasp was powerful enough to make Misu’s first attempt at withdrawing them fruitless, forcing the second to snap them back with force. All of the girls allowed their eyes to linger on the welts, moving as one.
‘That doesn’t seem to be the case.’ Corinne withdrew, having proved her point though gaining no advantage from it.
Katerina struggled to make sense of what was unfurling and found herself, much like Kitty, pleading for sense.
‘We love you, Misu. Please, listen to us.’
This was met with the same rejection. Misu snarled her response, letting her voice rise with her anger. ‘All I hear is prattle,’ she burst out. ‘Needless prattle and I will not tolerate it. This is the end of the subject. Am I clear?’
Katerina refused to be ordered in such a way and certainly not in these circumstances.
‘Just answer us one thing. Where were you just now?’
‘I went for a walk. I couldn’t sleep and I figured the night air would help. Why is that so unusual? Why is any of this so unusual?’ Her shallow, nervous laughter filled the void as she focused on Jacques who sat quite still. He gave no response to this attention, not that Misu wanted any, but what if he was to speak about what happened tonight?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
Katerina’s face sharply fell.
‘That’s a lie,’ she mumbled.
‘What?’
‘That’s a lie.’ She spoke louder this time, more confidently, her lips flushed red. ‘And you know it.’
‘It looks like they can see right through you. I think it best if you confess what you were up to, before I begin to get impatient,’ someone called in male, rough tones – exactly what Misu was afraid of hearing, and with good cause. The line of women broke and parted slightly to make room for the owner of the voice.
But it wasn’t Jacques who spoke. He had remained, as silent as he had been upon entering. Hidden out of sight, Franco had been present the entire time. He poured himself another single malt and waited for his answer. He looked different while reassessing many things about her character, and how much of a danger she now presented. After all, he had to take stock of the business, based on her explanation.
Franco didn’t need to repeat himself, but did so, slower, firmer.
Misu’s face fell tremendously. The jig was up. ‘This is unbelievable,’ she stammered uncontrollably.
‘It is,’ Jacques interjected, finally telling his part in all this. ‘Franco asked me to keep tabs on everyone. He told me something didn’t smell right about this here city. A good thing too. I’ve shadowed you for the last couple of nights. Your toing and froing was a worry. The safety of everyone here is paramount and no matter how quick you thought you were, I followed you, down every street, down every alleyway. I saw the people you conversed with. You’re lucky I did so tonight, else I expect you’d have been sliced to ribbons.’
Now there was nothing left to hide behind. Misu’s secrets were truly bared and she was frightened about what may become of her.
‘Tell me …’ Jacques lit himself a smoke to take the edge off the situation, if only for his benefit. ‘Those gentlemen from the night before. The same well-dressed ones, who had you by the wrists tonight against a wall. Who are they?’
‘Associates.’
&nbs
p; ‘Of whom?’
Misu hesitated, looking to Franco who remained utterly silent.
‘I won’t repeat myself, Misu.’
* * *
It was Franco’s turn to speak and as he did so, the river of women parted further for him, letting him walk unhindered through the carriage, where the walls had become too tight and the air thick with deception.
‘She doesn’t need to. It’s pretty clear, of course. Something had been bothering me, something the sheriff mentioned when he gave us the business. He said something about the company that we kept, which is a feat considering we’ve never put a show on here before. See, it wasn’t Wyld who got us impounded; she’s too thorough to get caught. Ever since you found out we were coming to Windberg, Misu, you’ve been unhappy. Gave me the cold shoulder for no other discernible reason. Since we rolled in, you’ve been skittish and distracted. Somebody here has a history with you and given their brazen attitude with sending thugs, they must be pretty high up the food chain.’
Misu nodded. ‘I’m so sorry … he …’
‘He who?’ Franco now stood toe to toe with her, a woman who he’d thought above all people he could trust. What a foolish notion, he concluded. It seemed like everyone was corruptible. Sentimentality was thrown aside.
‘Wilheim.’
That name. Of course it was Wilheim. Since arriving they had heard of no other party. Clearly whatever Wilheim was doing, it was enough to ensure that he was immovable in the eyes of the law. Either that, or he kept himself so far from the dirty work it was impossible to trace his association.
‘I knew it. Don’t even know the man and he’s all over my business.’
‘I didn’t have a choice!’ Misu pleaded, arms outstretched. ‘He blackmailed me. Before you and I even met I was at his beck and call. I was at his mercy and he’s an animal, simply an animal. You don’t just walk away from a man like him. You just … you don’t. You have no idea what he said he would do to me. I wasn’t going to let myself be his slave any more. Do you get that? I wasn’t going to tolerate it so I escaped and fled, fled as far as I could. And then, his men found me. And it just got worse.’
Den of Shadows Page 17