“Thank you.” He grabbed the irons. “I trust Constable Snagg has made the preparations I requested?”
“Aye, sir, far as I know. Leastwise he had plenty of time to carry out your wishes.”
“Very good, Barrycloth.” Jackson snatched a ring of keys off the wall. Gruver sneered at him as he unlocked the cell. “Up you go, Gruver. Hands behind your back, please.”
“Well, ain’t we just a plate o’ manners today?” He rose from his cot, surprisingly compliant. Anxious for a move or eager to try an escape?
Jackson approached him on edge, ready for anything.
Gruver merely pivoted and held out his wrists near the small of his back. “Where we going?”
Jackson snapped on one cuff then the other. “I didn’t think it was right keeping you from your friend and all.”
“Together or apart don’t make no never mind.” Gruver rasped a chuckle. “Ye won’t crack ol’ Blackjack or me.”
“We’ll see about that.” Grabbing hold of Gruver’s upper arm, he steered the man out of the cell and up the back stairs. Then up another flight. And another. All the while he breathed out the side of his mouth, trying desperately to ignore the man’s eye-watering stench. When was the last time that skin of his had crossed paths with a bar of soap?
The stairwell ended at a door that ought to be locked, but Jackson shoved it open without a hitch. While he hadn’t been pleased the only constable the sergeant could spare this morning was yet again Constable Snagg, at least the fellow followed orders, even if a little too exuberantly.
Jackson tugged Gruver onto the roof. Across the flat expanse stood Snagg next to two chairs positioned dangerously close to the edge, facing outward. A black-haired man was tied to one, his back to them. Blackjack, Gruver’s partner in crime.
The constable met him partway, his boots crunching the gravel-coated tar paper. “He give you any trouble, Chief?”
“No, I’m just running late from other matters. You are all set, I assume?”
“Couldn’t be more ready, sir. Done everything as you asked.”
“Excellent.” Upping his pace, Jackson yanked Gruver to the end of the ledge. Four stories below, a passing rider looked as small as a child on a hobbyhorse. “Long way down, wouldn’t you say?”
“Don’t say anythin’, Gruver.” Blackjack rumbled the warning from his chair.
Challenge sparked in Gruver’s dark gaze. “No need to tell me.”
Jackson shoved him into the chair, taking care he didn’t lose his balance in the process. Unwrapping the coil of rope from his shoulder, he glanced at Gruver’s neighbour. Blackjack sported a freshly purpled eye and blood snaked out both his nostrils. A growl rumbled in Jackson’s throat as he tied Gruver to the chair. “Was that really necessary, Constable?”
Gruver barked a laugh. “Ye can beat ol’ Blackie all ye like, but I tol’ ye he’d never squeal.”
“Yet ye can be sure I makes the ladies do.” Blackjack threw back his head and guffawed.
Jackson gave a jerk to the knot, irritated at the man’s crude jest. Such obscene banter wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for this line of work, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
For surely God did not.
Straightening, he faced the constable. “Blind him, Mr. Snagg.”
“Ye can’t be serious!” Gruver bellowed.
“Oh? Are you ready to talk, then?”
Gruver and Blackjack exchanged glances, Blackjack shaking his head a little, then both stared ahead, faces set as stone.
Standing at the men’s backs, Jackson yanked a long strip of dark cloth from his pocket, as did Snagg. They both tied the blindfolds tight against the cullies’ eyes.
“And now we are ready for a little game I like to call who-will-talk-first.” Jackson tipped his head at the constable, signaling for him to leave the roof. As Snagg strode away, Jackson continued with the rules, calm and deliberate, as if he were explaining a round of marbles to a gaggle of lads. “The first one to tell me who hired you to keep an eye on that room and collar the man who lived there gets to walk free.”
“We ain’t playin’.” Insolence ran thick in Blackjack’s gruff voice.
Gruver laughed. “You tell ’im, Blackie.”
