Jackson swung into a storage room and slammed the door. He practically ripped the clasp off the bag in haste as he opened it. His mind whirred while he pulled out the rolled-up sherwani and salwar, then shrugged out of his clothes and donned his Dominic Black persona. He ought to send a note to Shivaji, but no time. He fished out a scrap of paper and pencil from the bag and with bold strokes wrote a cryptic message instead—one he prayed would do the trick. Pocketing the note, he reached into the bag once more and removed an identical silver box to the one he’d given Bellow, then pocketed that as well. Without another thought on the matter, he tossed his bag onto a shelf and fled the station, racing to Lombard Street like a madman.
He made it with several minutes to spare, and good thing too, for his lungs heaved like a rat catcher’s on the chase. Inhaling deeply, he forced even breaths while waiting in the shadows of a nearby alcove.
Moments later, a short man in a tan carrick coat exited, two hulks flanking him. Blast. He should’ve at least tried to contact Shivaji. Too late now, though. He sucked in one more lungful of air, then dashed after the trio. “Pardon me, but I believe you dropped this.”
They turned in unison. The henchmen were the usual bulldogs with hams for hands. But Child was another matter altogether. He wore a garishly tall top hat that merely elongated his narrow face instead of lending him height. Small scabs flaked on his ruddy skin, adding a bizarre reptilian flair to his long snout and beady eyes. Now the coat made sense, for clearly the man suffered from a skin condition.
Child tipped his head at the brute on his left, who immediately advanced and snatched the paper from Jackson’s grasp. He handed it over to Child, whose lips moved silently as he read.
In the snake pit, only the strong survive.
Child crushed the paper into a wad, his dark eyes flicking to Jackson. “Who are you?”
Jackson held his stare. “Your new business partner.”
A ripple of annoyance flickered on his face an instant before he jutted his jaw at the same henchman. Then he wheeled about and strode away.
The big man advanced, his mouth slashing into a sneer.
Jackson crouched, stance ready, measuring the fellow’s gait, weight, and most importantly, how he raised his hands—a lesson he’d learned the hard way in the ring with Baggett. The instant the man threw his right fist, Jackson ducked. Swerved. Came around and swung a hard left hook, connecting an open-palm strike directly behind the oaf’s ear.
The man’s eyes rolled at the same time his body plummeted backwards. The bigger the man, the harder the fall, and this one thwumped like a dropped load of bricks.
Shaking out his hand, Jackson pivoted and caught up to Child before he could disappear into a black coach waiting at the kerb. “Do not try my patience, Mr. Child,” he growled.
Child glanced at him then beyond, a single thin brow arching as he spied the big brute on the pavement. His gaze drifted back to Jackson. “I could say the same to you.”
“Point taken, yet I think you’ll wish to hear me out.”
“I am a busy man, Mr… .?”
“Black.”
Child’s head reared back. “Ahh. The famed Cobra?”
Once again Kit’s connections had come in handy. A small smile curved his lips. “I neither confirm nor deny your allegation, but what I can tell you for certain is I have what you want.”
Child’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? And what is that?”
“A street corner is a rather inconvenient place to discuss such matters. Shall we?” He swept his arm to a coffee shop two doors down.
Child hesitated.
“You can bring your pet along.” Jackson angled his head at the beefy man holding open the carriage door. “I assure you it will be worth your while.”
“How do I know this isn’t a setup?”
“How do I know you won’t order your dog there to slit my throat?”
Child chuckled, a raspy, gurgly sound, as if scabs lined the inside of his throat as well. “Very well, Mr. Black. Let us convene for a hot cup. After you.”
Jackson led the way, which went against his every defense instinct. He was wide open to a blow to the back of his skull or a knife to the kidney. Thankfully, though, he made it to the back corner of the coffee shop and snagged a table unscathed.
Child sat. His man didn’t. The pillar merely towered over them both, glowering.
“We are busy men, Mr. Child, and so…” Jackson reached carefully into his pocket and pulled out the silver box, then set it on the small table.
The henchman reached for it.
