For whatever the man’s reasons, he was willing to lie about it. Munro would remember that.
Their meeting was over.
“Aye, once I have the information I asked for.” He turned to leave.
“Use the front entrance without concern that ye might encounter one of my people. And there is the old coaching inn nearby where ye may find a driver to take ye on about yer business.”
He didn’t trust the man, but the front of the warehouse was lit with more than one lantern, and he already knew what waited in the back alley, by the names Sean and Mick.
“I’ll make certain that McKeon, who you encountered, sharpens his skills with a knife.”
It was a warning. Munro nodded as he left the man’s office and crossed the warehouse floor, aware of the eyes that watched as he left. As he stepped out onto the cobbled step, a shadow darted across his path. A very small shadow that turned out to be a boy when he grabbed him about the neck.
“What were ye doin’ there and wot is yer name?”
Two questions he doubted the boy would even answer as he fought and struggled.
“Me name’s Kip, and I sleep here sometimes.”
Kip? It was common enough, he thought. Still...the boy fit the description Lily had given after the encounter at the Close and again at the Grassmarket.
“Wot isyername?” the imp demanded with amazing bluster, considering he was presently dangling almost two feet off the ground.
“Wot were ye doing at the Grassmarket the night before when a young woman was attacked?”
Kip’s eyes widened. “Ye weren’t there, I woulda seen ya. The blighter attacked her and she fought back...”
Satisfied that the boy he held in the air was the same lad Lily had encountered, he lowered him to the ground but kept a firm hold on him.
“How do ye know her?” the boy demanded.
“I’m helping her find out who killed her friend at the Close. My name is Munro.”
“I heard ye askin’ Campbell about the man I saw that night. He’s the same one that attacked her at the marketplace. Campbell knows him.”
He took that in. He wasna surprised. The fact that the man said nothing of it, meant there was money involved.
“Tell me wot ye know,” he demanded.
The boy grinned. “It will cost ye.”
The same as he would have demanded, and had, when he was on the streets. The boy reminded him too much of himself.
“Not here,” he told him. “It’s too dangerous. Come with me.”
“How do I know ye’ll pay me?”
“How do I know that ye will tell me the truth?” Munro countered.
“Ye have to trust me.”
Cheeky lad.
“If ye do me wrong, I’ll bring ye back here for Campbell.”
Not that he would. It only mattered that the boy believed that he would.
“A half-crown,” the boy negotiated.
