It was his salvation, even as the physician grimly explained what was slowly killing him.
But there was still enough time to finish what he had begun, the one thing that had given him purpose in prison and the will to survive. And the means to carry it out was at Number Ten Hanover Square.
Thirteen
Brodie enteredthe boxing club in Bethnal Green by way of a back entrance.
“I’ll stay here,” Munro told him. “To make certain there are no surprise visitors while ye meet with Brown.”
He nodded and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor.
The club was a place where lads with a week’s wages in their pockets tried their fists against those who called themselves ‘professional boxers,’ fighting in the two raised rings surrounded by a houseful of those who came to watch and bet.
It smelled of cigarette smoke, sweat, and the drink that cost three times the price at a local tavern, amid shouts, cheers, and curses from those who gathered round.
Not so on the second floor, the noise and smells of the floor below left behind by the man who occupied the large office. He looked like a respectable businessman, as long as one disregarded the two guards at the door.
One of the guards nodded at Brodie and opened the door. The man behind the large desk completed a meeting as he scooped bills and coin into a metal box.
A portion for the young woman who stood there was quickly scooped into a satin bag and tied off with satin cord.
“There’s a girl,” Mr. Brown commented. “A good night’s work. Be certain to pay the other girls as agreed.” Something in his voice changed, not quite threatening but a reminder.
“I’ll not have ’em cryin’ to my men that ye’ve been holding back their pay.”
“I wouldn’t cheat,” she assured him. The truth in her claim went as far as the distance of the desktop.
“Ye would do well to remember what happened to Maisy when she decided to pay herself extra coin, instead of sharing it as agreed. You steal from the girls, yer stealin’ from me.”
“You have me word.”
“There’s a good girl, Lucy. I wouldn’t want to have to send one of my men round to pay a visit.”
Prostitution was just one of Mr. Brown’s business enterprises that included extortion, protection offered businesses in the working-class area in that part of London, gambling, and drugs. Specifically, morphine brought into the country.
Brown was a man of many business interests that Brodie had once kept a watchful eye on when he was a constable with the MET.
Then, in his time as an inspector, he kept a distance from the illegal street trading, stolen goods in unregulated markets, and other activities that operated outside official regulations and taxes.
Unless it had to do with children, the poor who were sold for a few coins into lives of beggary, pan-handling, and prostitution. He had seen too much of that on the streets of Edinburgh as a child. Had even begged in order to survive, picked pockets, and seen what became of girls with no other trade except themselves.
Years before, he and Brown had struck a bargain of sorts. There was nothing in writing, only their word that they would keep to their own ‘side of the street.’
There were occasional favors exchanged, but Brodie made it a rule to keep one ahead of Brown. It was a good way to stay alive. And somewhere through the years and favors, a grudging respect one for the other had grown. Although he had no doubt Brown could turn if there was enough profit. He made certain there never was.
Now? He’d received word to meet with the man, the result of the word he and Munro had put out on the streets through Brown’s web of business associates, in doss houses, tenements, taverns, and pubs, searching for word of Blackwood.
Lucy, one of Brown’s ‘employees,’ stopped as they met in the doorway, her expression clearly an offer.
“Get on with you,” Brown told her. “That one’s taken, by a lady no less, a real lady with red hair, a temper to match, and a particular skill with a revolver. I’ve met her and she’s not one you would want to cross.”
“Sorry,” Lucy apologized with a pout, then left Brown’s office.
“You would be the ruin of me, Brodie, if ye ever decided to take advantage. The lot of them wouldn’t charge you a farthing to warm their beds.”
“You sent word that ye’d received a message.”
Brown nodded, opened the center drawer of the desk and took out a folded note.
