“Yes, I can see that. Don’t just stand there, man. Let them in! Pardon my clerk, gentlemen.” Mr. Bellow whisked from his desk to the door as the clerk fled. The glassworks owner was just as Baggett had described: well built, sharply dressed, and eyes keen as a falcon’s.
He extended his hand to Jackson. “Mr. Black, what an honour! Your reputation precedes you.”
Jackson looked at the man’s hand then directed a pointed stare at Shivaji.
His bodyguard immediately filled the gap between them, towering over Bellow a good several handspans. “Sahib prefers no physical contact.”
“Oh. I—see.” Bellow dropped his arm, left eye twitching. Clearly he didn’t see at all.
“Nothing personal, Mr. Bellow.” Jackson sidestepped the behemoth Shivaji and strolled to a chair. “You must understand that in my line of work, one never knows what sort of poison may be transferred by the simple show of greeting. May I?” He tipped his head towards the leather high-back.
“As you wish.” Bellow closed the office door then stopped near a tea cart. “Will you take a cup? Poison-free, that is.”
“Not necessary.” Jackson waited for Shivaji to finish swiping the chair with a white cloth, then sat at the edge of the seat, back ramrod straight. Shivaji flanked him, on alert—and Jackson couldn’t help but be impressed. The man was attentive, precise, and keen on playing his role. Perhaps when this was all finished, he might consider taking a job on the force.
Mr. Bellow stationed himself behind his desk. At his back, a massive window made up of many rectangular frames overlooked the hot shop. Anchoring his elbows atop the cherrywood, Bellow steepled his fingers. “I must admit I was surprised to receive a request from you, Mr. Black. It’s not every day a dealer such as yourself makes a point of meeting with a smaller player such as me.”
If the swell of the man’s Adam’s apple were any indication, such humility nearly choked him. Jackson hid a smile. “I find it takes players of all sizes to make an operation a success.”
“A principle you obviously live by, for The Cobra’s success is undeniable.”
This time he let his smile run off leash across his face. “Clearly you have done your research, Mr. Bellow.” And clearly Kit had done hers. Those rumours she’d spread at the local opium dens and a few well-placed words at the club Bellow frequented surely had done the trick.
“A man can never be too careful.” Bellow lifted his chin defiantly. “And speaking of which, I am sure you will understand when I ask you for a sample of what you can provide before I procure a buyer. Hearing of your reputation is one thing. Seeing the goods for myself, however, is quite another.”
“I would expect nothing less. Show the man, Shivaji.” Jackson gestured with his index finger.
The Punjabi approached the desk and pulled a silver box from his pocket. Flipping open the lid, he then held it out on cupped palms. The distinct scent of opium—pungent, sweet, slightly fruity yet acrid—filled the air.
Barrow leaned over the desk, appreciation widening his eyes. “That is…oh…may I?” He glanced at Jackson.
“Of course.”
Plucking the ornate box from Shivaji’s hand, Bellow leaned back in his seat and carefully poked a finger at the dark brown ball. The stickier and more resinous, the better, or so Graybone had said, and this chunk left a dark stain on Bellow’s fingertip—one that he licked off.
“I’ve not seen such a pure specimen,” he murmured as he closed the lid and pushed it back across the desk.
Jackson held up his palm. “It is yours.”
“Mmm,” Bellow purred. “Very generous of you. Thank you.”
And there he had it. Bait cast. Hook set. Time to reel Bellow in. “Think of it as a token of gratitude, my new friend, for your effort of arranging for me a meeting with Mr. Child.”
“Child?” Bellow’s face blanched to parchment. “I do not think that would be advisable.”
Jackson edged forward on his seat. “Why not?”
“Mr. Child is…” Bellow cleared his throat while tugging on his collar. “He is…well, suffice it to say he is a very private man. Prefers the shadows to light and doesn’t take kindly to making new connections. So, in that respect, I do not think a partnership with him would be a good fit for you. I can, however, set you up with William Jardine, a rival of his, so to speak.”
“No. Jardine doesn’t have the reach Child does.” Hopefully he didn’t, for Jackson had no idea who the man was.
“Then I am sorry, Mr. Black, but I fear I cannot help you.” Rising, he rounded the desk and held out the silver opium box to Shivaji.
“Keep it.” Jackson stood as well. “You may need it to aid your recovery.”
“My what?”
Jackson gave a slight tilt of his head to Shivaji. In the space of a single breath, the big Punjabi swung around Bellow and pinioned the man’s arms behind his back. Bellow struggled, rage sparking in his eyes, then went completely still as Jackson unsheathed his ornate dagger. Holding the weapon up to within inches of Bellow’s face, he ran his finger along the flat part of the shiny blade, pausing at the end where the metal split into two prongs.
