He glanced across the crowded tavern. Montague and Rothchild were nursing their drinks, seemingly underwhelmed with the brew, as well. All four men wore clothes borrowed from their footmen and valets in order to conduct their surveillance of the public house Dancer was known to frequent. The man’s ship, theTeresa May, had docked that day, and the first stop of any sailor worthy of his name was his local tavern.
“Dunkeld’s journey up to Scotland isn’t looking so bad now, is it?” Max lifted the mug to his lips and pretended to take a sip. Aside from the rancid flavor, he needed to keep his wits about him. Dancer was starting to feel like their last chance to find Zed. Max was growing tired of going around in circles.
“I did have a lovely new winter coat made that would have been perfect for Scotland.” Summerset fingered the rough collar of his shirt. “Braving a bit of cold would have been preferable to wearing …this.”
Max snorted at the horror in his friend’s voice. “You didn’t have to come tonight. Montague, Rothchild, and I would have managed fine without you.”
“So you think. Without me, you might not have noticed that a man of five feet and a couple of inches with deep-set eyes and cadaverous cheeks and sporting disgusting tufts of hair out of his ears has just seated himself at the bar.”
Max kicked a boot up on the table and glanced over his shoulder. “How did you know the man’s description?”
Summerset stared at his nails and buffed them against his coat. “After you gave us his name, I had my men run my own check on him. It came with a description of his personal appearance.”
“A colorful one at that.”
Summerset shrugged. “What now? Do we wait for him to get deep into his cups? Perhaps speed the process along?” He patted the breast of his coat. Summerset was a bit of a chemist, and Max didn’t want to even guess what drug lay bottled within. “Or do we follow him and hope he leads us to Zed?”
Max pushed to his feet and cracked his neck. “None of the above. I’m tired of chasing after our prey like a pussy cat. I say we take a more active approach.”
“All right,” Summerset drawled. “What, exactly, does that … hey, wait up!”
Max felt the earl fall into step behind him, saw Montague and Rothchild rise from their seats. Knowing his friends would stand beside him, Max didn’t hesitate. He walked up behind Dancer, grabbed the back of his neck, and dragged him from his stool. “Last order. Let’s go.”
Swatting at Max’s hand, the man stumbled to one knee. Max dragged him until Dancer regained his footing.
Two burly sailors stood, and Montague and Rothchild blocked their access to Max and Dancer, staring them down. Summerset followed Max to the rear exit, walking backwards, assessing any potential threat.
None came.
Kicking open the back door to the alley, Max pushed the sailor outside and into a rubbish heap. Empty bottles rolled along the dirt, dislodged from his sprawl.
Dancer rubbed his back. “What the bloody hell are ye fuckwits on about? I just came in from a month’s paddle. If you won money off someone, it weren’t me.”
The door squeaked open, and Montague and Rothchild slipped through.
Max rubbed his forehead. “I’m tired, I’m hacked off, and I’ve run out of patience. To save time, I’m going to tell you what we know.” Dropping to a squat, he brought his face level with the sailor’s. “Your name is Harvey Dancer and you live off Brook Street. You have a lady friend who lives in Lambeth and whose children call you Uncle Harry. You’ve worked for Bellweather Shipping for eight years, and until three months ago, also took on the odd job with a crime organization run by the self-named Zed.” Max had his own men, and they could run background checks with the best of them. They had failed to mention the ear hair, however.
Dancer started to protest, his chin drawing back into his neck.
Max slapped his face. “Focus. You could spend from here to eternity denying your connection to Zed, and we wouldn’t believe you.”
Rothchild stepped forwards. “Perhaps answers would be more forthcoming if I applied a little pressure.”
Perhaps. But they’d already encountered one man who preferred death to talking. Max didn’t have the time to test the pain limits of another fanatic. Besides, it wasn’t information he was after.
“Let’s save that as an option, shall we? If Dancer refuses my simple request.” After riffling through Dancer’s pockets and removing his only weapon, one small blade, Max stood. He planted his fists on his hips. “You are going to deliver a message for me. Tell Zed I want to meet. Just him and me, at a location of his choice. Tell him my only objective is to rid England of his presence, and I’m willing to pay handsomely to set him up in a residence abroad.”
Rothchild inhaled sharply through his nose. Max knew his friends wouldn’t approve. They each wanted their pound of flesh. Max just wanted it over. He wasn’t so foolish to think that Zed would take him up on his offer. But they’d tried roundabout ways to find the crime lord without success. It was time for the direct route. He was going to offer himself as bait.
The eight men he’d set to follow Dancer back home made a solid secondary plan.
Max tossed a small bag of coin at the man’s feet. “Every delivery man deserves payment. Tell Zed that the Baron of Sutton has issued an invitation. Deliver this message, and you’re out.” Toeing his boot under the bag, he tossed it, and it hit Dancer’s chest with a thump. “Fail to deliver it, and the consequences will be severe.”
Clutching the sack to his stomach, the sailor looked between it and Max. Slowly, he nodded and heaved to his feet. “I hope you know what you’re about. You don’t just invite the devil to a party and expect him to drink the punch.”
Summerset rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a damn poet these days. I blame Wordsworth.”
Dancer shrugged. “It’s your funeral if you meet with Zed. But I warn ye, that one don’t have both oars in the water.” Tugging up his collar, the man sidled past Montague and Rothchild and scuttled down the alley.
