‘That so?’ Cole chuckled nervously.
‘That is so. I have a dealer in the empire so everything you see here is as quality as you can get. I sell none of those copy-cat pieces.’ Wyld raised her voice and bounced back straight to address the others. ‘Anyhow! I suppose you’re all here for your orders. Just one moment please. Umbra dear, can you get the boxes over there and to the left please? The ones with the red stamps on it.’
The man complied, taking possession of the packages, all whilst eyeballing Cole the whole way from one end of the shop to the other. When he reached the cabinets, he placed the boxes down, gently, their weight seemingly nothing. By now Cole was dreadfully aware of his presence. His height advantage was disconcerting, causing Cole to glance this way and that so as not to provoke him. Finally Umbra spoke, low and with conviction.
‘Someone is getting awfully familiar. Do you mind stating your intentions, lad?’
Immediately Cole recoiled, attempting to stammer his way through a combination of surprise and apology. Not that he knew what the apology was for, just that he was keen to avoid the seemingly inevitable third beating on the job. Jackdaw intervened before the youngster fretted himself to a sweat.
‘Leave him alone, Umbra, he’s still fresh to all this.’ Jack pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘He barely carries a scar if you need evidence of that.’
‘All I’m saying is that you come into the shop, make kissy faces at the lady here …’ he grumbled, sizing the young blood up.
‘If you could find it in yourself to stop terrorizing my man that would be quite appreciated. He’s a customer, just as much as I. We don’t need someone of your sort giving us hassle when we’re just trying to do business.’
‘You assume your dirty money is any good here.’
‘It’s a mite more soiled than your average, but it’s as good as anyone else’s.’
Finally Umbra carved a smile over his tired features and shook Jackdaw by the hand, firmly. It was warmly reciprocated. The exchange of moxie between them was amusing.
‘Still causing trouble out there, Jack?’
‘Not enough to turn my back on it that’s for sure. Have you considered my offer any further?’ He withdrew his hand, shaking the tingle from his fingers.
‘I told you –’ Umbra waved at the air between them ‘– I’m done with all that.’
‘Nobody ever parts with their nature, Umbra, not even you. It’s a good offer – you’ll make plenty. With you on board, we’ll be nigh on untouchable. Most don’t know your reputation around here but I sure do. I have better ears than most.’
‘Maybe.’ Umbra seemed wary about exactly how much Jackdaw was privy to. ‘But the answer still stands.’
‘It’s got to be boring behind a counter after what you two got involved in up north.’
‘I prefer boring. I’m sure the games you all play are entertaining time sinks, but I’m not a criminal. I’m not looking to go toe to toe with anyone … and I prefer not to glamorize murder.’
‘Yet you’ve partaken in it,’ Jack stated. Cole looked between them hurriedly. Despite the pair’s obvious relationship it was clear that this topic was skirting the lines of what constituted as respectable conversation.
‘We do what’s required of us. War is war. Death is just one facet of its tapestry.’
‘And mercenary work?’
* * *
Umbra stopped and surveyed the man before him. If it was anybody else he would have provided sterner words or, if they were very unlucky, a series of threats. There was no malice of course – that wouldn’t have got Jack anywhere. It was a serious question and one to make him reassess his viewpoint. Someone like him stuck as a shopkeeper was a tragedy. Still, promises being what they were, he was obligated to put down his weapons and take up a more peaceful life. Umbra owed her that much at least.
‘I’m afraid the answer is still no.’
Finally Jackdaw conceded, patting the case he leant upon. ‘Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying, right?’
Wyld returned, intervening. ‘He won’t blame you, but I sure might. I’m not letting him out to play and that’s final.’
Umbra smirked, nudging her playfully upon passing. ‘Woo, I’ve been told …’
The storeowner rummaged her way through the box on the counter, unpacking each order and addressing each member of the party in turn.
‘Alvina. Sixty cartridges of wolf pepper,’ Wyld stated, checking off the collection on an inventory. The brown-paper-wrapped boxes were slid over, each one holding twenty shotgun shells each.
‘Checked?’
‘Aren’t they always?’
Alvina took one, tore a flap open and inspected a shell between thumb and finger. The cap seemed to be set neatly and the crimp of good quality. She slid it back inside, signing the invoice and sliding over the required monies.
‘Can’t be too sure. Counterfeits are everywhere nowadays,’ Alvina mumbled, having been stung before. A misfire in their line of work could be fatal. It was only by the grace of the Holy Sorceress that she’d survived that unfortunate situation.
‘Not under my roof, lady. I assure you.’
‘You’ll be shocked at the lack of quality that I’ve seen.’
‘That tells me that you’ve been shopping around. Should I take offence at that?’
Alvina smiled, clearly preferring not to divulge.
Next, Wyld produced a mass wrapped in white cloth, with barely a speck on it. It was bound in red string that, when pulled, let the cloth effortlessly slip away. Wyld slid the newly revealed revolver across the countertop to Blakestone.
‘Your Jamerson-Smythe returned. Sparkling like a princess. Etched as requested.’
‘And looking mighty fine it is too. Look at that. You could put it in a dress and marry the beauty.’
He grasped it by the handle, letting reams of sunlight dance over each contour of the ornate leaf decoration with each turn of the wrist.
Jack interrupted the moment of wonder with his unwanted opinion. ‘I never understood the desire to gussy up a weapon like that. Money for nothing. It’s not like you’ll be asking the thing to dance now are you?’
‘Depends who wants to do the dancing, boss. We of refined taste are above the understanding of normal folk.’ He grinned, the tobacco stains clearly tarnishing his words.
‘I remember this man of taste drinking down something that resembled radiator water for a bet last month. Still, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of its purpose, indulge.’
‘If you’ll like to sign here,’ Wyld intervened.
‘Any issues with the cleaning?’ he asked, scrawling his signature.
‘I had to replace the cylinder on account of the sticking you described. You got something between that and the frame. By the time I got my hands on it, it needed swapping out. That and on account of the slow timing and all. Do yourself a favour. I like your business but please keep that thing out of the sand. It would drive me to tears to see it be junked.’
Blake stepped away and brandished his new toy with childlike glee, causing Alvina to roll her eyes. Then the attention turned to the larger presence in the room. Eight boxes were presented in succession, each stapled shut and adorned with the establishment’s own name. Wyld spoke his name on an exhalation.
‘Jack. Eighty rounds of .38 specials, as ordered. Each pressed by my own hand. The bigger question is when you’re going to let me get my hands on that lovely piece on your hip? I can pretty it up good for you. I know it’ll be your first time and Blake can testify as to how gentle I am …’
Umbra cocked a brow and sarcastically coughed to ensure people remembered he was still in their company.
Wyld leant on the glass and whistled in affection at the weapon at Jack’s side. He had only let her examine it once and the sheer giddy thrill in doing so made it considerably memorable. Her desire to be allowed to fire it was constantly denied.
‘Nothing else. I don’t need anything shiny. My Pendulu
m here is doing me just fine.’ He patted it with a palm in affection.
‘Positive I can’t tempt you with something newer?’
‘No, you see with something new you have to live with it for a spell. It’ll grow to work with you and in turn, make you lucky but the now and the then, it can be a difficulty. And me? I like my luck just how it is.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘As for you, Little Fish, what are you used to carrying?’ Jackdaw asked, half slumped on the counter. Immediately Cole jerked upright, glancing at the holsters on everyone else’s hips. He seemed surprised that he would be trusted with a weapon so quickly.
‘I don’t,’ he confessed.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Carry iron. Never have. I’ve never had the need for a gun.’
Jack lowered his brow. His words were stiff. ‘And that whole affair pointing iron at me at Cutter’s?’
‘Something of a one-off,’ Cole meekly replied. Blakestone rolled his good eye in amazement.
‘Well you do now.’ Jackdaw patted the counter, skimming his eyes over the wares in the locked glass case. ‘Show me the Matterson.’
Wyld complied and withdrew a clean, nickel-plated gun, sliding it between them. Jackdaw grasped it, examining it free from its glass enclosure, before offering it to Cole, handle first. Accepting, Cole flexed his fingers around its bulk.
‘Check it in your hand. Feel the weight. Move it around some,’ Jack instructed. ‘You have to be comfortable with it on your hip; otherwise any weapon is a liability. What do you make of it?’
Cole pursed his lips, giving the odd frown. ‘It’s a little heavy on the handle.’
‘Weak hands from all that paperwork. No good!’ The revolver was retrieved and offered back to Wyld.
‘Let’s try the Bastion,’ Jack suggested.
The second firearm was removed from the display case and slid over. Already the movements became quicker, lighter, the barrel twisting through the air. Wyld elaborated on the firearm and detailed the comparison to the previous one.
‘Less of a kick to that but same stopping power as the Matterson, just one less in the cylinder. If you can live with the loss, you’re golden. The handle is made of horn rather than the fat weight at the grip base to act as a counterpoint. Looks like it might just be your thing.’
‘Better?’ Jack asked, already spying the improvement that Wyld had caught upon.
‘Uh, yeah.’
It was enough of a decision for Jack to act upon. A wad of paper was slapped down between them by Jack who had already begun unfurling notes while they spoke.
‘We’ll take it. How much?’
‘It’s six hundred,’ Wyld stated.
‘No it’s not,’ Jack corrected, prodding the money with a finger. ‘It’s five hundred and we keep doing business with you.’
Wyld scooped the payment towards her, not the slightest bit put out. There was no need to count it. Haggling and bargaining was part of the trade.
‘Would you look at that? So it is. My mistake.’
Jack attempted further business whilst folding his wallet and stowing it away. ‘Protection money is due you know. I could come back another time if you like, or if you would prefer to settle up now …’
‘Oh I know.’ Wyld finished ringing up the purchase in a ratty old cash register. Whilst there she withdrew a bundle of notes that had been put aside, already bound with a strip of elastic. The register draw shunted to a close.
‘I’m unsure whether I should even hand this over considering the mess that was made the other day. We had the Sanders Boys sniffing about trying to convince us that protection from you wasn’t worth squat. They gave a compelling argument until Umbra got bored and kicked them straight out on their asses. Were they correct, Jack?’
Jackdaw held his hand out expectantly as the notes hung in the air. ‘You know better than that.’
‘Of course I do.’ Wyld grinned. ‘You best keep an eye on them if they’re trying to muscle the likes of me into sliding them money. Who knows what else they’re up to.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind.’
‘One last thing, and humour me, will you.’ Jack lowered his voice. After tucking the money into a breast pocket, he eyed Umbra busying himself by running a chamois over a reloading stand that dominated a bench. Already Wyld pre-empted the request.
‘I told you, he doesn’t do that any more.’
‘Ah, you don’t know what that actually is, yet.’
‘Whatever you’re intending, he doesn’t do that and any variation thereof.’
‘Shame. I could find good work. Pays well too.’
‘You and everybody else who’s asked me. I’ll tell you like I tell all the others. Famous or no, he’s done with all that. He made a promise to me that he’s abandoned the dirty work and woe betide he should break it. Jack, I figure you take enough from me. You get the best service not to mention decent leads, which I always approach you about first. We even stash hot goods for you on occasion, so I’ll put this politely: don’t get greedy.’
‘If it was anybody else but you, I tell you …’ Jackdaw trailed off, the both of them wearing matching smiles. He rounded up the Jackrabbits with a twirl of his hand.
‘But it is me. So nothing more needs to be said on that front.’
Wyld straightened her back and brushed her thumb across her nose, launching a coy wink. The shop doorbell tinkled as it was opened for the group to leave.
‘We’ll be seeing you again. Sooner than later I expect, of that I have no doubt,’ she called as the door to the Gunworks eased closed.
* * *
Cole found it difficult walking with a holster on his hip. The excess weight on one side caused him to lean, a feeling he assumed he would get used to. Currently though, it was challenging to accommodate, making every step feel awkward.
‘I’ll leave you all here. I have business to attend to,’ Jack called out, derailing the conversation.
‘Pressing business?’ Cole asked.
Blakestone spluttered laughter, quickly concealing it behind a hand but only after gaining everyone’s attention.
‘Sorry. The kid has an amusingly poor choice of words.’
‘In answer to your question, one would hope,’ Jack wryly confessed, flicking the stub of a cigarette to the gutter. Cole was no more enlightened now than he was before and put the banter down to an inside joke.
Alvina broke her silence. ‘He’s going to see that Rose of his,’ she elaborated, obviously quite familiar with this routine of abandonment. ‘You’re spending a lot of time in her company, Jack. She’d best be watching her rates with the amount of business you put her way.’
‘None of that in my presence if you please,’ Jack not-no-subtly asked.
‘What is the plan for us today then, boss?’ Blake enquired.
‘Take the afternoon off if you like. Put the feet up, find yourselves something fun to do. I know I will. I leave it up to Alvina’s discretion.’
‘I like the sound of that.’ Alvina clapped her hands together in glee.
‘I don’t,’ Blake grunted.
‘You wouldn’t. It means I’m in charge and you’re babysitting the young blood. He’s your responsibility, so play nice.’
‘What am I supposed to do with him following me like some lost mutt? I could have things to do.’
‘Do you?’ Alvina interjected.
‘Well …’ Blake hesitated, attempting to pluck a fake agenda out of the air but coming up blank. ‘No, but, y’know, that’s not the point now, is it? I could.’
‘There’s no problem then.’
‘I decidedly hate you.’ He pouted.
‘You’re not the first, you sure won’t be the last.’
Before he left the Jackrabbits to it, Jackdaw handed off the ammunition he carried to Blakestone who took hold of the canvas bag. The additional burden was an annoyance but he endured it without any further gripes.
‘Little Fish. A word of advice,’
Jack said, addressing Cole, ‘don’t make me waste my money. There’s plenty of things that I dislike but wasting money is high up there on the list. What I just bought you is to become your new best friend so treat it as such. I don’t want to see a repeat of what happened in Cook’s Alley. Do we understand each other?’
‘Sure.’ Cole eagerly nodded, watching Jack stroll away down the street.
‘And try not to get shot!’ he added before vanishing around a corner.
Chapter Eight
Idle hands
The concept of free time for the Jackrabbits was a rarity. There was always something to do. Deals could be made, the progress of jobs checked and if all that came to nothing, Jack would insist they cleaned. The hideout was hardly spick and span – far from it as the never-ending supply of dust was impossible to clean from a factory environment. Cleaning it was a never-ending nightmare and as such liberties were taken with what could be defined as clean.
In these rare moments, when Jackdaw wasn’t cracking the whip, the group took time to focus on the important things: putting their feet up. They had retreated upstairs and set about playing cards. Alvina stated that it would be good for Cole to play more frequently so as to improve what she called Cole’s bullshitting face. It was suggested that the young blood couldn’t lie to save his life and, as she pointed out, the day would come where he might need to. Each time Cole attempted to bluff, Alvina gave numerous pointers, none of them particularly polite in their wording.
Oddly, Blakestone wasn’t enjoying the downtime as much as the other two. His mind was far from the game, harbouring secretive thoughts, but unlike Cole, his face gave away nothing of his true intentions. After the sixth hand he noticed that his irritation was growing. Every now and again he discovered himself staring at the new recruit. Something just didn’t sit right with him. It had been weeks since he had joined their little band and even now they knew very little about him. They all had their secrets of course, most dirty as those who engaged in what they did were never pristine in character. If he was a threat he was quite good at keeping it hidden, a fact quite at odds with Alvina’s current training.
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