‘Girl.’ She starts, turns. No, she hasn’t been overheard. ‘Come here. You can go up, see the boss, but not this little brat. He’s filthy, and the boss doesn’t like his things getting dirty.’
I brace myself as the bag sags. ‘Wait for me outside, Tick,’ she says, bending low. Through the loose weave, I see him nod, his eyes large with worry. ‘Around the corner.’ He nods again and opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. ‘Give me an hour, no more. If I don’t come out, bring the ledger to AD. Tell him I wouldn’t let you have it. Use it to save yourself.’
She rises before he can reply, holding me close to her side as much for reassurance, I believe, as to keep me still. Up the stairs then, but then a turn. She’s not heading toward the room of coats, the badly cured furs, but down a hallway opposite. She’s walking quickly but she doesn’t speak. Doesn’t engage the ruffian whose heavy tread leads the way.
‘In here.’ An intake of breath – a reflex as she considers the door, a room, a trap. I think of the room with the coats. The couch. The stench … But then she steps inside and I relax. The light is different here, even through the bag – brighter and more diffuse. An office, then, with large windows. The scent confirms this: tobacco and men. Stale but not rancid.
‘If it isn’t little miss detective.’ Bushwick, his voice full of swagger. Fear, too, though it is faint now, buried beneath the tobacco and the beer. ‘She’s got her own sidekick now.’ From the sound, he’s seated, leaning back. Of course, he wouldn’t rise for a girl like this. It’s not simple courtesy, it’s dominance. ‘And she’s got a delivery for me.’
‘I have information.’ She calculates her speech, doling out words. I do not know what she understands of politics or of power, but she has incorporated the basics. She is asserting herself. My ears prick up, curious more than alarmed. ‘You were seeking some paperwork?’ She pauses before the last word, letting him see that she is aware of his lie.
He laughs too loudly. Too obvious. ‘Paperwork? Come on, girl. You’ve got it or you don’t.’ He licks his lips. ‘Don’t be stupid, girl.’
‘I don’t have it with me.’ She articulates the last two words carefully, emphasizing the distinction. ‘I know where it is.’
A bark. No – a laugh, forced and lacking humor. ‘You amuse me, girl. You’ve got spunk. Maybe you do have a future on your feet. You could run errands, maybe. I could use a trustworthy messenger.’
Silence. He’s thrown her off, as he doubtless intended. I feel her intake of breath, readying her next sally. ‘I’ve been made aware that others want it, too, you know.’
It’s a risk. AD and this slick monster may be in league. But the man before her only laughs some more. ‘You hearing this, Randy? The girl is trying to strike a deal.’
A squeak and a shuffle – and a shift in voice. ‘You don’t know who you’re messing with, do you, girl?’ He has leaned forward. I can almost feel his breath, heavy with meat and his own importance. ‘You really don’t have a clue. Look around.’ I feel her move slightly. She doesn’t dare disobey. ‘Does it look like I have to bargain with gutter scum like you?’
This close to her body, I can feel her tremble as she takes a breath. By the time she speaks again, however, her voice is steady. ‘I have the ledger, Mr Bushwick. The ledger you’ve been looking for. It’s in a safe place, and not—’ A pause. For effect, I believe. The girl is growing more confident with each passing moment. ‘Not in my mentor’s former office.’
He doesn’t respond, not right away. And when he does, his voice is different. Distant. He is leaning back in his chair, but more than that is at work.
‘You thought I was seeking a ledger?’ The laugh cascades out of him like a marble bouncing down stairs: cold and hard. ‘I came by your late boss’s office because I had mislaid something. A trifle, a detail. And while I appreciate your desire to please me, I fear you’ve picked up the wrong idea about what I was seeking – or what your role could be. No, girl, I don’t need anything you may have or think you’ve found. I’ve got everything I need. It’s you who should be asking me for help. I could use an eager young thing like you.’
The last words come out slow, the proposition in his voice as obvious as the implications.
‘I guess I was mistaken then.’ The girl speaks up, and I confess I am proud of her. ‘I had reason to believe you were looking for an accounting, shall we say? But if not—’ She turns so fast I lose my balance. And she stops. I hear breathing in front of her. Blocking her way. ‘I came here in good faith.’ She is making an effort to hold her voice steady, only I hear the slight tremor.