Hawk and Fisher had met them before; in their line of business, it was
inevitable.
'Thank you, Howard,' said Hawk. 'You've been a great help. Now, tell that
bouncer of yours, who thinks he's hidden behind the pillar to our left, that if
he doesn't put down that throwing knife and step into plain sight, Isobel and I
are going to cut him off at the knees.'
Howard made a quick gesture, and the bouncer stepped reluctantly into view, his
hands conspicuously empty. 'Sorry,' said the bartender. 'He's new.'
'He'd better learn fast,' said Fisher. 'Or he's never going to be old.'
They turned their backs on Howard and the bouncer, and threaded their way
through the packed tables. Glaring faces and hostile eyes followed the two
Captains as they headed for Fast Tommy's table. As usual, Tommy was dressed in
the height of last month's fashion, had enough heavy rings on his fingers to
double as knuckle-dusters, and was accompanied by a gorgeous young blonde half
falling out of her dress. Tommy glared at Hawk and Fisher as they pulled up
chairs opposite him, but made no objections. He undoubtedly had a bodyguard or
two somewhere nearby but had enough sense not to call them. Hawk and Fisher
might have taken that as an affront, and then he'd have had to find some new
bodyguards. No one messed with Hawk and Fisher. It was quicker and a lot safer
just to tell them what they wanted to know, and hope they'd go away and bother
someone else.
Fast Tommy was a gambling man. He got his name as a lightning calculator, though
some uncharitable souls suggested it had more to do with his love life. He was a
short, squarish, dark-haired man in his early forties, with a gambler's easy
smile and unreadable eyes. He nodded politely to Hawk and Fisher.
'My dear Captains, so good to see you again. May I purchase you wine, or cigars?
Perhaps a little hot chocolate; very warming in the inclement weather…'
'Tell us about the spy, Tommy,' said Hawk.
'I'm afraid the name Fenris is unknown to me, Captain, but I can of course
inquire of my associates…'
'You're holding out on us, Tommy,' said Fisher reproachfully. 'You know how it
upsets us when you do that.'
'Upon my sweet mother's grave…'
'Your mother is alive and well and still paying interest on the last loan you
made her,' said Hawk.
Fisher looked thoughtfully at the gambler's blond companion. 'Little old for
you, isn't she, Tommy? She must be all of seventeen. Maybe we should check our
records, make sure she isn't some underage runaway.'
The young blonde smiled sweetly at Fisher, and lifted her wineglass so she could
show off the heavy gold bracelet at her wrist.
'She's sixteen,' said Tommy quickly. 'I've seen the birth certificate.' He
swallowed hard, and smiled determinedly at the two Guards. 'Believe me, my dear
friends, I know nothing of this Fenris person…'
'But you can find out,' said Hawk. 'Leave word at Guard Headquarters, when you
know something.'
'Of course, Captain, of course…'
Fisher leaned forward. 'If we find out later that you've been holding something
back from us…'
'Do I look suicidal?' said Fast Tommy.
Hawk and Fisher got to their feet, and made their way through the tangle of
tables to join the Little Lord in her private booth at the back. No one knew the
Little Lord's real name, but then, nobody cared that much. Aliases were as
common as fleas in the Northside, and a damn sight easier to live with. The Lord
was a tall, handsome woman in her mid-thirties who always dressed as a man. She
had close-cropped dark hair, a thin slash of a mouth, and dark piercing eyes.
She dressed smartly but formally, in that old male style that never really goes
out of fashion, and affected an upper class accent that was only occasionally
successful. She always had money, though no one knew where it came from. Truth
be told, most people weren't sure they wanted to know. She peered
short-sightedly at Hawk and Fisher as they sat down opposite her, and screwed a
monocle into her left eye.
'As I live and breathe, Captain Hawk and Captain Fisher. Damned fine to see you
again. Care to join me in a glass of bubbly?'
Hawk eyed the half bottle of pink champagne in the nearby ice bucket, and
shuddered briefly. 'Not right now, thank you. What can you tell us about the spy
Fenris?'
'Not a damned thing, old boy. Don't really move in those circles, you know.'
'You're looking very smart,' said Fisher. 'Those diamond cuff links are new,
aren't they?'
'Present from me dear auntie. The old girl and I were up at Lord Bruford's the
other day, meeting that new Councilor chappie. Adamant, I think his name was…'
'Never mind the social calendar,' said Fisher. 'A set of matched diamonds
disappeared mysteriously during a Society bash last week. You wouldn't know
anything about that, I suppose?'
'Not a thing, m'dear. Shocked to hear it, of course.'
'Of course,' said Hawk. 'Are you sure you haven't heard something about Fenris,
my Lord? After all, someone such as yourself, moving in your circles, would be
bound to hear something; perhaps spoken in confidence in an unguarded moment?'
The Little Lord raised an elegant eyebrow, and her monocle fell out. She caught
it deftly before it hit the tabletop, and screwed it back in place. 'My dear
chap, surely you're not asking me to peach on a friend? Just ain't done, you
know.'
'Those diamond cuff links are looking more and more familiar,' said Fisher.
'Perhaps the three of us should take a little walk down to Headquarters, so we
can compare them with the artist's rendering of the missing items…'
'I assure you, Captain, I haven't heard a thing about your beastly spy! But of
course I'd be only too happy to keep my eyes and ears alert for any morsel of
gossip that might float my way.'
'That's the spirit,' said Hawk. 'Noblesse oblige, right? And by the way, I've
met Councilor Adamant, and I know for a fact he's never bloody heard of you.'
He and Fisher left the spluttering Lord in her booth, and made their way through
the last of the tables to their final port of call, a single table at the rear
of the tavern, half hidden in shadows. Razor Eddie wasn't fond of even dim
light. Hawk and Fisher borrowed chairs from nearby tables, and sat down facing
him. Razor Eddie was a slight, hunched figure wrapped in a tattered grey cloak
apparently held together only by accumulated filth and grease. Even across a
table the smell was appalling. He was said to be so dirty, plague rats wouldn't
go near him in case they caught something. He was painfully thin, with a
hollowed face and fever-bright eyes. At first glance he looked like just another
