“Your stash. So. How about it? This evening, do we go after the book?”
Rebecca nodded distractedly as she rummaged in her tin for a roll-up. “So it’s, there’s a reason it’s got to be you, yeah, I get that. And the money, and the thing with your sister and your mum, but it’s fucking harsh, man, you know?” She always kept a couple of finished joints in her tin, just in case. Now she lit one, sucked in a contemplative lungful, and offered it to Imp. He took it and joined her in silent contemplation for a minute. “Have you told GeeBee and Doc yet?” she asked.
“I don’t know if they need to know.” He paused. “Was hoping they’d follow your lead.”
“No promises.” She took the smoldering roll-up back. “It’s entirely up to them. But I get how it’s not just about the money for you.” She tipped her head back, setting the beads at the end of her dreads clattering. “I want to bring Wendy along on the job.”
“No.”
“Your sis got HiveCo off our ass. She’s not hunting us—”
“I said no!”
“Mellow out, asshole.” Del thrust her joint at him. After a moment he took it.
“Why,” he said, then puffed furiously. Somebody had once told him that every time you toke, a policeman dies: Imp didn’t believe a word of it, but he was all in favor of testing the theory.
“She’s made us. That’s for one thing. But she let me go. That’s for ’nother. She’s not a cop. She works security. And she’s well hard. You—” She poked Imp in the ribs with a bony finger—“are not hard. Doc is not hard. Game Boy is butter. And what you’re telling me you want to do, it needs hard.”
“Still saying no.” But Imp was listening.
“I can’t carry you all on my own.” She pointed at the treasure map. “I get that you got to start out on the top floor, but the route doesn’t end in the house. See that side-door? What do you think 1888 means? This arrow, pointing at Whitechapel. What do you think that’s about? I’ll tell you what it’s about: Remember the way the rooms are full of old shit the further you go, that staircase Doc told us about with the air raid sirens?” She tapped the map. “I want Wendy ’coz Wendy is muscle an’ Whitechapel in 1888 is like no fucking way, man, it’s a fucking rookery. Go heavy or don’t go.”
“But surely they’ll greet time travellers like us with flowers!” Imp said, with a tilt of his head so subtle Rebecca almost thought he was serious for a moment. “Point taken.” He looked pensive. “Afterwards—”
“Your big sis just tripled the fee, din’t she? That Dilbert Wendy works for in his troll-office, bet you he isn’t paying her five hundred a day.”
“Oh!” The penny dropped. Unnoticed, the joint guttered and died in a wisp of smoke. “You think I should hire her.”
Del snorted. “Money talks, bullshit walks. Pay her—but not too much,” she advised. “Offer five hundred under the table, maybe go to two thousand. It’s for one day, like? It’s good money. But it’s not so much money you’ll regret it later an’ try to stiff her.”
“You just want me to pay your girlfriend,” Imp jabbed, but the barb was blunt.
Del nodded: “I do, I do.” A feral grin split her face. “You saw what she could do with a bow and arrows? Dontcha want her on the raid team if the job goes bad?”
“Let me make a phone call,” Imp said abruptly. He pulled his phone out. “Hi, Evie? Yeah, it’s me. Got a question. Did you by any chance pull HiveCo off our back?” He listened for a bit, then caught Del’s eye and nodded minutely. “Thanks, good to hear.” He listened some more. “Yeah, we’re talking it over now. I think it’s a goer—wait, when? Tonight, really? You need it by lunchtime tomorrow? Or what?” He turned pale. “Okay, that’s good to know. I’ll see what I can do. Hey, can I bum an extra five thou off you for extra muscle—” He stopped. “Yes, yes it’s the thief-taker. Del says I should hire her and I thought—” He stared at his phone—“You what?”
He hung up and stared at Del.
“What?” asked Del.
“My sister.” He shook his head. “She says she’ll square it with HiveCo and get your girl assigned to us.” He shook his head again. “Shoulda expected that from Eve. She takes care of business.”
“Why tonight?” asked Del. Her ear twitched at the sound of footsteps descending the main staircase.
“Her boss is coming home and he expects her to hand him the manuscript tomorrow.” Imp was clearly trying hard not to roll his eyes. “So it’s all hurry up and get it done right now.”
“Lie down with the man, get up with man-crabs.” Del shrugged. “What can you do?”
“Call Wendy,” Imp told her. “If you can figure out a way to bring her over without her knowing exactly where we are that’d be good, but don’t sweat it: if Eve’s hiring, we’re covered. Meanwhile, I’m going to talk to the boys.”
A light rain was falling when Del met Wendy outside the tube station.
“Hey, Becca.” Wendy’s grin was contagious. “Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“Yeah, well, about that.” Del scuffed her boot on the pavement and glared at an officiously busy businessman who was paying too much attention to his phone to think about dodging. “Wanna see the clubhouse? Imp invited you.”
“Imp—” Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “You know I’m not going to shop
