“Are you mad?” The horrified look on his face was priceless.
“I didn’t say we’d hire one, Mr. Baggett. Besides, you’re here to help me, aren’t you?”
“Fine,” he hissed. “But for the record, I don’t like it.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word of this to Martha.”
A growl ripped out of him, but the jab got him moving. He wheeled about so quickly the breeze of it flapped a row of handbills nailed into the rickety boards of the nearest building. Ten paces later, a red scarf dangled out an open window, held firmly in the fingers of a woman whose lily-white bosom half spilled out the top of her bodice as she leaned over the sill.
A shrill whistle passed her painted lips. “Up here, handsome.”
Kit gained his side and faced the ladybird, holding up a coin as she did so. “I’m looking for a man. This shiner is yours if you can tell me where he is.”
“Looks like ye got one. A right fine one.” She finally pulled her gaze from Mr. Baggett and arched a kohl-black brow at Kit. “How ’bout ye leave this ’un here with me while ye find yerself another?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Charles huffed in a harsh whisper.
Kit ignored him. “The fellow I want has a hump on his nose, an overwide mouth, square jaw, and brown hair. Have you seen him?”
Coarse laughter rained down from the window. “I don’t pay no never mind to those parts of a body, ducky.”
Well. This was getting them exactly nowhere. She spun on her heel. It didn’t take any convincing to get Charles to join her side, where his fingers flew to straighten his collar and tie.
Two doors down she stopped in front of an open door with a signboard hanging catawampus from one chain above it. THEBLACKSHEEP. She smirked. Appropriate name for a flash house.
“I’ll handle it this time.” Charles held out his hand. “Give me your knife.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“You said yourself I’m here to help you, and to do so, I require the use of your knife.” His palm didn’t waver.
Evidently this was to be quite the show, then. Curious, she handed it over and followed him inside.
The stink of sour ale and sweat punched her in the nose. The low drone of men’s voices didn’t stop, but it did quiet quite a bit. From the shadows in the murky taproom, the whites of several sets of eyeballs tracked their steps all the way to the counter.
An ox of a barkeep lumbered over to them, his bald head glistening with a sheen of perspiration. The man was so large, should tending bar not pay off, he could easily nab employment as a workhorse.
“Well?” He eyed them.
Charles lifted his chin. “Two mugs.”
While the barkeep grabbed two filthy steins, Kit’s gaze roamed the perimeter. Six drinkers, by the looks of it, keeping to the corners. Even in here, handbills hung stark from a few posts that propped up a sagging ceiling. Advertising for a circus, from the looks of it, though she doubted very much they were fishing for customers. More like for workers.
The barkeep slapped down the mugs on the counter, foam sloshing over the rims. “Two bob.”
Charles pulled out a pound note and laid it down.
Kit choked. What on all of God’s green earth was the man thinking? Flashing such an amount in this wicked denizen was a good way to get them both killed.
“New here, eh?” A slow grin split the barkeep’s face into a sharp-toothed grin. “We don’t do change in these parts.” He made a grab for the bill.
“And I don’t give something for nothing.” With a quick stab of the knife, Charles pinned the man’s hand to the counter, the thwack of it digging through the barkeep’s sleeve and wood alike. Any closer to the fellow’s forearm and he’d have hit skin.
The barkeep growled, but before he could yank back his arm, Charles pulled out his gun and aimed it square at the man’s forehead. “Not another move from you, aye?”
Murder flared in the barkeep’s black eyes. “What do ye want, cuffin?”
“Information,” Charles said as breezily as a summer day. “A man, hook nose, slasher of a mouth, dirt-brown hair, and square jaw. Seen him?”
