They walked in silence for a while, not looking at each other.
'So, what's the plan?' said Burns finally. 'Are we headed anywhere in
particular?'
'I thought we'd start off with Short Tom,' said Hawk. 'Has a nice little
distribution setup, down on Carlisle Street. He'll move anything for anyone, as
long as the money's right. Not one of the biggest, but certainly one of the
longest established. I doubt he's handling the super-chacal himself, but he'll
probably have a damned good idea who might be.'
'Will he talk to us? Do you have a good relationship with him?'
Hawk looked at Burns. 'This is the Northside, no one here talks to the Guard
willingly. We're the enemy, the ones who enforce the laws that keep them in
their place. The poverty here's so bad, most people will do anything to escape
it. They don't care who they rob or who they hurt. All they care about is making
that one big score that will finally get them out of the Northside. You can't
reason with people like that. Short Tom will talk to me because he knows what
will happen to him if he doesn't.'
Burns stared straight ahead of him, his face expressionless. 'I don't approve of
strong-arm tactics. I put on this uniform to help people, not oppress them.'
'You've spent too long in the Westside, Burns. They still like to pretend
they're living in a civilized city over there. Here in the Northside, they'd
quite happily cut you down for the loose change in your pockets, or a chance at
your boots. The only thing that keeps them off my back is the certain knowledge
that I'll kill them if they even think of raising a hand against me. I have to
be obviously more dangerous than they are at all times, or I'd be a dead man.
Look… I used to think the same as you, once. There are good people here, same as
there are good people everywhere, and I do my best to help and protect them.
Even if it means bending or ignoring the rules to do so. But when you get right
down to it, my job is to enforce the law. Whatever it takes.'
'Being a Guard doesn't give us the right to beat up someone just because we
think they might have information that might help us. There are procedures,
proper ways of doing things.'
Hawk sighed. 'I know. I've read the Manual too. But the procedures take time,
and for all I know, the super-chacal's already seeping out onto the streets. I
could threaten to arrest Short Tom, maybe even drag him down to Headquarters and
throw him in a cell to think things over. But I couldn't hold him for long, and
he knows it. I don't have the time to be a nice guy about this, and to be blunt,
I don't have the inclination. My way works, and I'll settle for that. I've never
laid a finger on an innocent man, or killed a man who didn't deserve it.'
'How can you be sure? How can you be sure you haven't killed an innocent man by
accident? The dead can't defend themselves from other people's accusations.
We're Captains in the Guard, Hawk—not judge, jury, and executioner.'
'I go by what works,' said Hawk flatly. 'When the people in the Northside start
playing by the rules, so will I. Look, there are just four Captains and a dozen
Constables to cover the whole Northside. We can't be everywhere at once, so we
have to let our reputations go ahead of us. It's a big area, Burns, and rotten
to the core. All we can ever hope to do is keep the lid on. Now, I don't care if
you approve of how I do my job or not; just watch my back and don't interfere.
The only thing that matters now is stopping Morgan and his stinking drug.'
Burns nodded slowly. 'Of course, finding the super-chacal would go a long way
towards reinstating you in the Guard, wouldn't it?'
Hawk looked at him coldly. 'If you think that's the only reason I'm doing this,
then you don't know me at all.'
'Sorry. You're right, of course. Hawk, can I ask you something… personal?'
'I don't know. Maybe. What?'
'What happened to your eye?'
'Oh, that. I pawned it.'
Short Tom's place was a two-storey glorified lean-to, adjoining a battered old
warehouse on Carlisle Street. The street itself was blocked from one end to the
other by an open-air market and the tightly packed crowd it had drawn. The
tattered, gaudy stalls crowded up against each other, and the vendors behind
them filled the air with their aggressive patter. Most of them were bundled up
to their ears in thick winter furs, but it didn't seem to be slowing them down
any. Some of them were all but jumping up and down on the spot in their attempt
to explain just how magnificent and amazingly affordable their goods were. Hawk
glanced at a few stalls, but wasn't impressed. Still, with Haven's Docks closed
by the winter storms, goods of all kinds were getting scarce, and even rubbish
like this was starting to look good. The smell was pretty bad, particularly
around the food stalls, and Burns pulled one face after another as he and Hawk
made their way slowly through the crowd. Even their Guards' uniforms couldn't
make them any room in such a crush.
Short Tom's lean-to loomed up before them, looking more and more unsafe the
closer they got. It looked like it had been thrown together on the cheap by a
builder in a hurry, trying to stay one step ahead of his reputation. The walls
weren't straight, the wood was stained and warped, and the door and window
frames were lopsided. It was a mess, even by Northside standards. Still, it was
no doubt cheap to rent, and for a man in Short Tom's line of business, that was
all that really mattered.
Two large bravos in heavy sheepskin coats stood before the main door, arms
folded, glaring impartially about them. Hawk walked up to the one on the left,
and punched him out. The second bravo yelped in disbelief and started to unfold
his arms. Hawk kicked him in the knee, waited for him to bend forward, and then
knocked him out with the butt of his axe. No one in the milling crowd paid any
attention. It was none of their business. Burns looked at Hawk.
'Was that really necessary?'
'Yes,' said Hawk. 'They wouldn't have let us in without a fight, and if I'd
given them a chance to draw their swords, someone would have got seriously hurt.
Most probably them, but you never know. Now follow me, watch my back, and let me
do all the talking. And try to at least look mean.'
He stepped over the unconscious bravos, pushed open the door and stepped
through, followed closely by Burns. Inside, all was surprisingly neat and tidy,
with clerks sitting behind two rows of desks, shuffling pieces of paper and
making careful entries in two sets of ledgers. One of the clerks shouted for
them to shut the bloody door and keep the bloody cold out, and Burns quickly did
so. Hawk glanced at him, and shook his head. Far too long in the Westside. He
looked back at the clerks, who had finally realized who the newcomers were. One
clerk opened his mouth to shout a warning.
'Don't,' said Hawk.
The clerk looked at the axe in Hawk's hand, thought about it, and shut his
mouth.
