“Recent?”
“Yes. With the unions.”
“Unions? What unions? Last I heard there didn’t seem to be any.”
“That’s what concerns me. I think they were trying to make one by other means, and I think you’re involved somehow.”
“Hmm,” Spinsie said. “This is what worries you these days?”
“Today, at least.”
Spinsie leaned back. “You’ve changed, little brother. Changed since the old days. Back then you didn’t give a good goddamn about politics. You hardly realized the world was going on at all. Finally woken up? Finally seen the bigger picture?”
“Spinsie, I really didn’t come here to get nostalgic.”
“All right. Then play your cards, if you have any.”
Hayes thought for a second, then turned to Samantha and said, “Sam, could I please see that picture you have?”
“The picture?” she said.
“Yes. The drawing.”
She handed it to him. He studied it, nodded, and then passed it to Spinsie, who took it, confused. “What is this?” he asked.
“That’s a man we think was involved as well,” said Hayes. “Somehow.”
“Do you? And why are you bringing this to my doorstep?”
“Because he’s dead.”
One eye twitched. Samantha noticed he flexed his ankles. “Is he?” Spinsie asked.
“Yes. Very.”
“And it’s just him you’re here about?”
Hayes gestured to Samantha. She rattled off, “There were also Charles Denton, Michael Huffy, Frank Naylor, John Evie, Edward Walton, Louis Courtney, Phineas Brooks, Turner Maylen… Several others as well. An even dozen in all.”
Spinsie looked at her, surprised. “Well. I see why he keeps you around,” he said. “You’re his little encyclopedia, aren’t you.”
“I prefer to be called his assistant,” she said coldly.
“Yeah, I expect you do.” He handled the sketch, tilting it back and forth. “And you think I ran him?” he asked Hayes.
“Yes,” Hayes said.
“Why?”
“Because he was involved in smuggling, and you were always a genius with the docks. With water landings, with shore-running. You could fool a port guard into carrying ammunition ashore in his mother’s valise. Distribution, I think you called it. I was demand, staying on shore. You tamed supply, at sea.”
“Until they chained me up for it,” he said darkly.
“You can’t still be smarting about that, Spinsie.”
“It was seven years,” said Spinsie fiercely. “Seven fucking years.”
“I got you out, though. Even from the other side of the world, I got you out.”
“Yes. Yes, with your special connections. With your carte blanche, yes.”
“It wasn’t always easy for me, either,” Hayes pointed out. “I did my own time. You know that.”
“Not as long as me, though,” said Spinsie. “I suppose I had nothing to offer the mighty McNaughton.”
“Well, now. Here’s your chance. Offer me something of value and I may recommend you to my employers.”
Spinsie placed the sketch on the coffee table, glared briefly at Hayes, and then stared out through one of the dusty windows. Even though he called Hayes his little brother Samantha could see no kinship between them. She decided he was a man who called the world his brother, yet moved through it alone.
“Well?” Hayes said impatiently.
“If we’re going to talk business, I’d prefer if we do it over tea,” said Spinsie, and stood. “When’s the last time you had really good tea, Hayes?”
Hayes rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t really care.”
“You should,” Spinsie said. He walked into the kitchen. They could hear him clanking around the stove. “All proper Englishmen need an honest cup of tea every once in a while.”
“I’m not a proper Englishman,” Hayes shouted back.
“And you never will be if you keep this up.”
They listened to him rustle up some coal and start the stove. As he worked Spinsie spoke at great length about the type of tea, discussing its genealogy and how it had been won and purified in the colonial days. Samantha got the impression that he had not honestly spoken to anyone in some time.
“Sam,” Hayes said softly as Spinsie carried on talking.
“Yes?” she said.
“You pick up the reins,” he said. “When he comes back in.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because he likes you.”
“But surely I can’t-”
“He likes you more than me. He’s more likely to tell you anything than me, honest.”
She stammered and tried to protest, but Hayes shushed her and pointed to the kitchen. After several minutes Spinsie came in with the kettle steaming and dripping and said, “Tell me, Miss Samantha, how did you get tossed in with old Hayes?”
“I was assigned to him.”
“Assigned? Why?”
“I believe he had some issue organizing his work.”
Spinsie smiled and poured three cups of tea. “Yeah. That sounds about right. Hayes never was good by himself, were you, Hayes? He’d fall to pieces if he was by himself. He always likes having one or two other people working with him. And he always, always winds up getting them into trouble, eventually. Isn’t that so?”
Hayes blinked languidly as though he might not have heard any of it.
“Do you live alone, Mr. Spinsten?” Samantha asked.
“Well, no. Not alone, no,” he said hastily. “I have the cats, that’s something. There’s a logging firm up the way, though I think they’re going out of business. I see them sometimes, though, on my walks.”
“It’s very pretty countryside here.”
“Yeah. I think so. Hilly. Lots of pines.”
“It’s much nicer than the ones I’ve seen recently,” Samantha said. “The man who died. We went to see his house. It was a tenement, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It was one of the most deplorable places I’ve ever seen in my life. He had a son, you know. He raised him there. Taught him how to read, a little. But we don’t know where the boy is. Wherever he is, I suspect he’s alone, too.”
Spinsie finished pouring and made sure everyone had a cup and a saucer. Hayes set his tea down on a nearby table and ignored it.
“Are you sure you never met the man, Mr. Spinsten?” Samantha asked.
“I never said I never met him,” he said, almost sulkily.
“So you did meet him?”
Spinsie was quiet for a long while, cradling the tea in his hands. “I don’t do much out here,” he said. “It’s retirement, you’re not supposed to do much, but sometimes I get bored. And every once in a while someone comes to me with a job. About twice a year or so. I’m not sure how they get my name or find out how to get ahold of me. I guess word just gets around.” He took a sip. “I take some of them,” he said. “I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s not because I need the money. It’s just…”
“A distraction,” Samantha said.
