Care shakes her head, confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘We can’t make things right until we check all the markers off, now can we, Care?’ His fingers tighten, digging into the boy, but the child holds still, more frightened of his captor than of any pain. ‘Maybe I let things slip once, but I’ve got another chance now, haven’t I? ’Cause it seems that Fat Peter wasn’t the only light-fingered member of our crew working the room.’
The boy whimpers, though whether because of AD’s grip or the threat in his voice I do not know.
‘Is it something Tick lifted?’ Care digs her hands into her pockets. Doubt clouds her face as she tries to remember. ‘He never— He just goes for the small things, AD. He wouldn’t take anything serious.’
AD laughs again, shaking his head as the hand on her arm tightens. Despite his paternal approach he has no love for this girl and is enjoying her discomfort.
She knows this, from long experience, I believe, and fights the urge to pull away from her captors. The rat-faced one rifles through her bag, looks up and shakes his head. A flash of understanding lights her face.
‘Wait,’ she says. ‘I have it. Somewhere.’ She roots through her clothes until she finds the ticket, offering up the battered scrap of paper on her outstretched palm. AD barely glances at it.
‘I don’t want your ticket, my girl.’ His voice is cold with scorn. ‘Though I am curious what you had to pawn. I’ve got coin enough these days, and more on the way. No, Care, I’m looking for something else – something that belonged to Fat Peter that you’ve got.’
Care freezes and then breathes a phrase: ‘The ledger.’ Her exhalation is too soft for human ears but I catch it, envisioning a book, large and leather-bound. Care’s weapon, with which she felled the brute behind her, the one who would have made short work of me. I can still see her standing there, brandishing it in both hands. And, yes, she did run with it, despite its weight.
‘That was an accident, AD.’ She’s speaking fast. ‘I didn’t mean – I took off with it.’
‘Yes, my girl. We know that.’ AD nods and the other thug comes forward, taking her other arm and wrenching it out of her pocket.
‘Wait, no—’ Care protests, too little, too late, as they start to turn her toward the street.
‘Officer, there!’ It’s the woman, the one who walked by. She is leading a uniformed man, a bully in his own right, up through the crowd. ‘Those men!’
Head down, the cop passes her by, his face set on violence. He’s too late. The two goons have stepped back, into the street, their caps low over their faces. AD, meanwhile, has melted away, leaving Tick and the girl on their own.
TWENTY
‘All right, girly.’ The bullish cop stands, legs akimbo, before Care. ‘Now what’s your game?’
She takes a step backward, into the planter, and I dash around to the concrete pot’s far side.
‘Officer, no.’ The Good Samaritan grabs his arm. Not hard enough to dissuade him, but he pauses. ‘She’s the victim here,’ the well-dressed woman explains.
‘Really?’ He turns back to Care. She has begun to sidle away but he extends his billy club, blocking her retreat. ‘Phew, you stink. You want to tell this nice lady here what you’re really about, girly? You and your pimp, bringing your dirty business down to the clean part of town?’ His brows go up as he spies something on her, something I cannot see.
‘Officer—’
‘Hold on.’ He dips his club into Care’s jacket, the pocket she’d been digging in only moments before. When he pulls it out, there’s a cloth on its tip – tan and black and silky. The scarf she had used to disguise her hair. ‘Using that fire as cover for a bit of work, eh?’
‘Is that a—’ The Good Samaritan reaches up to her own neck, as if any of us could have spirited part of her wardrobe away.
‘That’s how they work it, miss.’ The cop turns ever so slightly, eager to explain to a grateful public. ‘One of ’em creates a distraction. Maybe even set that blaze, then – hey, what’s this?’
I am not above the obvious. Although I have no doubt that the officer speaks the truth in a general sense, I do not believe my companion has played that particular game. As he was speaking, however, I saw my opportunity and grabbed it, jumping down from the planter to rub against his leg. It’s a risk, for sure. A man like this one may wear a uniform but underneath he is similar to the minion doing AD’s bidding. The sole of his patrolman’s shoe is thick, his leg heavy with muscle and fat, and I must remember that I am no longer quite as quick as once I was. Indeed, I feel him shift in preparation for a kick and play my final card.