Part 2 (1/2)
”From the firm. Like I give a b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+te what Bobby is turning over my laundry,” I snapped.
”Owens has your case,” he said.
I sucked air through my teeth. Who had I p.i.s.sed off enough to get Owens as a safety net? The man couldn't find his own a.r.s.ehole with a map, a donkey, and two Sherpas. His odds of success landed squarely between not likely and no f.u.c.king way. Timothy Owens had joined the firm as some manager's cousin or nephew. A family hire. A tag-a-long relegated to group raids and jobs where numbers accounted for more than brainpower. I gave Silver my menace smile and leaned close, as close as I could. I reached up until the chains were taught and strained.
”Come on then, shake my hand.”
Silver looked at my mitt. His face revealed thoughts like gypsy palms, first fear, then shame for being afraid, then a forward resolve to face his fear and grasp my extended hand, then the realization that fear or not I was going to hurt him and he'd be a fool to take my offered shake. I credited his complexity of mind and the fact that he didn't fall for my childish, petty trap.
”We'll be in contact, then,” he said.
”I'm sure we will,” I replied and lowered my hand. I wish I could say that was the last I saw of Mr. Silver aka Silverstein. Of course it's not, but aren't wishes such wonderful things?
I ran a list in my mind of who my second visitor could be. Work being accounted for, I couldn't imagine who would take enough of an interest to appear. My football squad? Perhaps Morris Benny, the owner of the public house I lived above, wondering why his place was surplus eight pints above quota and no one had hara.s.sed his intolerable cook, who was also his intolerable wife.
I should not have been surprised when Jacques Nouveau glided into my embarra.s.sing predicament. He'd played a small role in my debacle. Also, he was the only other man, excepting the poor dead doctor, who knew of the Swan Princess'capabilities.
Frenchy lit a cigarillo and sat on Silver's stool.
”We meet again, Mr. Fellows.”
”Cut the niceties, Nouveau. What brings you to my happy domicile?”
Nouveau drew long on his cigarillo and let loose a bluish cloud. The guard outside the door suddenly realized that he had something better to do and left me and Nouveau by our lonesomes. Nouveau made no motion to the guard, no gesture to me. To him it was a non-event. To me, it was a reminder of who had the taffy and who had none.
”I saw that Mr. Abraham Silver just visited you.”
”Yeah,” I said. ”Fellows checking up on fellows.”
”I also know that Bow Street will not be posting your bond.”
I let silence be my voice. Nouveau was showing off, making a point that was unnecessary to make. Sure he had contacts, he could sway guards, he knew my private business. So what? All those things are acquisitions of money, and I knew he had that well before his glamorous entrance.
”Get to the point, Jacques.”
”Do you want me to post your bail?”
”Why?”
”It is impolite to answer a question with a question.”
He regarded my face as I regarded his. His eyebrows were plucked and shaped. His fingers were slender and delicate, nails perfectly trimmed and shaped. Two of those dainty little sticks held his cigarillo away from his face. The smoke reminded me of Benny's public house, which reminded me that I was hungry and filthy and all around a pathetic creature of captivity. I let him win our little silent game.
”Yes,” I said.
”Yes what?”
”Yes. I want you to post my bail.”
Nouveau smiled. His teeth were straight and large and just a little green.
”What do you want from me?” I asked.
”Mr. Fellows, how can you put a price on liberty? For shame, John Locke would weep at your words.”
”So I can go for nothing?”
”Well, one cannot get something for nothing. How about we say your freedom is yours to claim and that in exchange you will grant me an unrelated nominal request, a favor to a friend who has done you a favor.”
”What sort of favor?”
Nouveau looked to the door. The guard had not returned. Regardless, Nouveau lowered his voice.
”You must steal the Swan Princess for me.”
I looked at Nouveau for a moment, a pause. I let his words swim around in my mind. Maybe I had misunderstood, or maybe he didn't realize the implication of what he'd said.
”You want to run that by me again?”
”Steal the Swan Princess.”
”You do realize that the Swan Princess, all of Saxon's automatons in fact, are in evidence storage?”
”Yes.”
”That's under lock and key?”
”Yes.”
”Those keys are held by guards?”
”Yes.”
”Those guards are big f.u.c.k-all Metro blokes who maybe just maybe won't take a s.h.i.+ne to me carting out their charges.”
”Yes.”
”There's got to be someone better suited.”
Nouveau's laugh was augmented by blue smoke.
”I disagree, Mr. Fellows. Anyway, I don't want the other dancers, I just want the Swan. You know the Swan. You know what she is. You know how important it is that I receive all of her parts.”
”How do you suppose I get the Swan?”
Nouveau waved his fingers. ”The trivialities I leave to you. Do whatever you like, as long as she is in my possession within fourteen days.”
”What happens in fourteen days?
”You go on trial for murder.”