Hope and Red (12 page)

11

L
ittle Bee had an aunt in Hammer Point who took her in. Red didn't feel right about letting her leave the Circle for a neighborhood that everyone knew wasn't near as nice. But as Filler pointed out, there weren't any other options. When Red had suggested they take her in, Filler just stared at him like he'd gone slippy. Red had to admit that they were probably not ideal choices to care for a little girl, and it was fortunate that Little Bee had anyone at all. Or Jilly. Nobody would call her Little Bee now, Red realized. That idea troubled him perhaps more than any other part. In Paradise Circle, a name meant something, whether you chose it, or more often, it was chosen for you. And in the Circle, a name stuck.

But Red's doubts about Little Bee didn't linger, especially once she was gone. Because more and more, his thoughts and energy were spent trying to figure out how he could see Nettles as much as possible.

She wanted to be near Filler while he worked on her chainblade, as she'd started calling it, but didn't want to be a pest. So she spent a lot of time in Gunpowder Hall. The inside of the hall was one big open space with tables, benches, and tents scattered here and there. It was a popular spot for gamblers to get a game of stones, for whores to bring their clients, and murderers to dump their bodies. There was no judgment at Gunpowder Hall, and no imps either. The authorities had tried to raid the place a few years back, and after five days and heavy losses, gave up. Some places just couldn't be ruled.

“I was thinking I might want a custom weapon of my own,” Red said by way of greeting when he sat down next to her.

“Mmf?” she said, her mouth around the roasted fish on a stick she'd picked up at one of the tents outside.

He pulled out one of his throwing knives and held it up, looking at it thoughtfully. “Sometimes when I throw one of these, they accidentally strike with the handle. Now, if I'm aiming for the head, it's still enough to stun them or even knock them out. But if I'm aiming elsewhere, say the chest, all it does is make them mad. So I was thinking, why not have a blade at either end, so I don't have that problem anymore?”

“Because where would you hold it, you salthead?” said Nettles.

“I thought of that, too.” He gave her a smug grin. “See, I don't need to hold it, I just need a way to fling it. If there was like a loop or something in the middle I could get my finger through, I could hook it and whip it out right from the sheath.”

“Even if the loop was stiff leather, you'd risk it being flat and closed up when you needed it,” Nettles said. “Better to make it metal. Like a ring of metal you can easily get your finger through.”

Red's eyes widened. “That's a sunny idea, Nettie! What if the ring was actually what joined the two blades? Three pieces, easily joined. I bet Filler could whip me up some in no time.”

“After he's done with my chainblade,” said Nettles.

Once he'd met up with her, he would try to extend their time together beyond the initial conversation. He would show her some strange little place he'd found in the neighborhood, like the underground pond in Apple Grove Manor. Or he'd get her over to the Drowned Rat for a pint and a game of stones. Or he would take her down to the docks and get Missing Finn to lend them some fishing poles. Sometimes she went along with his plan. Sometimes she said, “Nah, let's go back to your place and toss instead.” And sometimes she just said she wasn't interested. Red tried not to show the sting he felt when that happened. He knew she would think him soft for it, call him artsy or a ponce. About the only time he could count on her to come along with him, no matter what, was when it was a job.

“What's this one, then?” asked Nettles as she sat down with Red at a table in the corner of the Drowned Rat. She coiled her shiny new chainblade around her hand. Filler had done a fine job. The chain was thin and light, but linked so tightly that it wasn't brittle. The blade was double-sided and a little longer than her forefinger.

“It's like this.” There were few things Red enjoyed more than sharing a new plan. “You know the wrink who owns that butcher shop down on Manay Street? Calls himself Neepman?”

“I know the shop,” said Nettles. “Never met the old man.”

“Because you're not a people person, Nettie. You have to talk to folks. Smile and make nice.”

She made a sour face. “Too much work.”

“Work brings work, though,” said Red. “I got to talking with Neepman, and find out he also owns the bakery over on Tide Lane. He was complaining what a chore it was to have his shops so far apart, transporting things between them. I couldn't help but wonder what things he might be transporting. An afternoon of friendly talk over at the bakery, and a few nights of careful observation on the route between the two shops led me to the discovery that there is no safe at the bakery. Not enough room, what with the ovens. So old Neepman has the day's earnings transported to the butcher's after closing by one of his shopgirls.”

“You can handle rolling a shopgirl,” said Nettles. “So what do you need me for?”

“Because a day's earnings at a bakery is barely worth my time. No, we're going to use this to get to the bigger prize, which is the safe in the butcher's.”

“How do we do that?”

“Like I said, they let this shopgirl in after closing. Unlock the doors and lead her straight to wherever the safe is hidden. And this girl just happens to be about your height and have similar hair.”

“You want to roll the shopgirl, then have me pose as her to find the safe and get in it.”

“I'll trail you to the shop. Then when it's time for you to make the grab, I'll step in and help with whatever muscle they've got there. In and out. Simple as sideways.”

“It's never as simple as you say,” said Nettles.

He grinned at her. “I wouldn't want you to get bored.”

That night, they spotted the shopgirl halfway between the shops. On one hand, it seemed an odd, not very safe way to transport money. On the other hand, most people wouldn't think of a mousy little shopgirl like her to have anything worth stealing. She played it well, too. Walking at a leisurely pace, not giving anything away that she might have something worth taking or that she was going somewhere important. If Red hadn't stumbled across the knowledge, he wouldn't have been the wiser. But over the years, he had learned that, more than throwing a knife or picking a lock, finding things out was the skill most useful to thriving in Paradise Circle.

Nettles positioned herself in an alley ahead of the girl, and Red was on the street a block beyond that. Red started walking toward the girl and timed it so that she crossed the alley just as he was about to walk past her. Nettles threw out the blunt, weighted end of her chainblade, striking the girl in the temple. Red was there to catch her before she hit the ground. He quickly moved her into the alley where Nettles waited. Nettles put on the girl's ragged scarf and hat, then took the small purse of coins meant to be transported to the butcher's.

“Better not take any yet,” said Red. “They'll expect to see it when they open the safe.”

Nettles looked doubtfully down at the unconscious shopgirl. “Tell me true, do I really look like her?”

“Sure you do, Nettie. Except prettier.” He winked.

She frowned. “Let's find out just how full of piss you and this plan are, then.”

Nettles walked the rest of the way to the butcher's with Red trailing cautiously behind, staying in the shadows or blending in with small clusters of people. The sun was setting and the imp patrols who lit the street lamps hadn't reached that part of the neighborhood yet, so there was plenty of dark to hide in. Red was pleased to see that Nettles had adopted the same leisurely pace as the shopgirl. He knew it wasn't easy to act relaxed when you were about to pull a job like this.

Finally they reached the butcher shop. Nettles knocked on the door with the rhythm Red had observed the shopgirl use, and a tense minute later, the door opened. A tall, thick man wearing a bloody apron looked down at her.

“Where's the usual girl?”

Nettles only hesitated a moment, probably to silently curse Red in her thoughts. “Burned her hand on the oven today, so they sent me instead.”

The man looked at her a moment and Red held his breath, ready to jump in and pull Nettles out if things went leeward. But then the man just nodded.

“Yeah, alright.” He stepped aside and motioned Nettles to come in. As she passed, he said, “Tell the boss he should send you more often,” and swatted her rear.

Nettles paused, and again Red held his breath. She might gut the tom right then and there. It was certainly in her rights to do so. But it would foul the whole job.

“Yeah, alright, maybe I will,” she said and smiled at him. He seemed pleased by the smile, but Red recognized it immediately as the
not only will I kill you, I will make it painful
smile, and shuddered. He made a mental note to leave that one to her.

Once they were inside, the man pulled the door closed. At the last second, Red threw one of his new two-sided blades, keeping the door slightly ajar. The man pulled the latch to lock it. He might normally have noticed the additional resistance in fastening it, but his eyes were now locked on Nettles.

Once Red could no longer see them in the window, he moved swiftly toward the door. The blade left a small crack between the door and the lintel just wide enough for him to get one of his slim lock picks through to pop the latch. As the door swung open, he retrieved the throwing blade stuck in the lintel and slipped inside.

The front area where customers ordered their cuts was dark. He could hear voices from a doorway on the other side of the counter. He crept forward cautiously, following the sound. The doorway opened into the back room, where sides of meat hung on hooks. There was a big table in the center, stained with years of blood, and buckets with congealed blood beneath. The safe was all the way in the back. In addition to the tom with Nettles, there were two others just as big.

“What's your name, molly?” one of them asked.

“Ell,” she said, giving her best attempt at a shy smile. It didn't look very convincing to Red, but the toms seemed to buy it.

As Red waited for them to open the safe, he became aware of a stinging pain in his hand. He looked down and saw his palm was sliced open, a trickle of blood coming out. He must have cut himself when he threw his blade. Clearly his technique needed some refinement.

Finally, the toms stopped flirting long enough to open the safe.

“So, what are you doing later—” one of them began. But then a thrown blade embedded itself in his neck. He grabbed at it, which only made him slice up his hands as well. The one on the other side went down a moment later. That left only the one from the entrance. He stared in shock at his two fellows, who lay choking on their own blood.

“You treacherous slice!” He took a swing at her with his big fist. She dodged to one side and threw her chain so that the blade embedded itself in his wrist. She yanked hard, pulling him off balance as the blade came loose. He stumbled, and she kicked him in the side of his head. He reeled back, swinging wildly with his good hand. Nettles waited for an opening, then threw the weighted end of her chain at his cock. He gave a feeble whimper and dropped to his knees.

Nettles loomed over him. “I'm going to let you live so that you can tell every tom you meet the important lesson of never touching a molly's ass without her say-so. Keen?” Then she grabbed his head with both hands and slammed her knee into his face. He flopped to the floor, unconscious.

“Nicely done,” said Red.

As they scooped the contents of the safe into a sack, Nettles said, “Why are your hands bleeding?”

“I haven't figured out how to throw my blades yet without catching myself,” Red admitted.

“Well, until you do, you might want to wear some gloves so you don't bleed out before the end of a job.”

Red shook his head. “Wouldn't be able to get gloved fingers through the rings.”

“So cut off the fingers. That would still protect your palms, wouldn't it?”

“Good idea,” said Red, looking at his sliced-up hands.

“So was this,” said Nettles, nodding to the safe.

He beamed at her. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Good haul, minimum risk. Who knew an artsy ponce from Silverback could work the Circle so well?”

Red chose to view that as a compliment. Nettles was usually extra leaky after a successful job, so he didn't want to ruin the mood.

The top floor of Slice of Heaven was where the employees who weren't whores lived. Nettles shared a room with the cleaning woman, Ipsy. Ipsy's tom was a sailor and often out on the water. When he was in port, she always stayed with him at the Sailor's Mother, which wasn't a crimp house anymore, just an inn. She'd been gone the past week, so Red and Nettles had the place all to themselves. This led to a great deal of sex, and that night was no exception.