Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (19 page)

“And what happened
to pride?”

“Not a damn thing!
You think I
want
to go to the police? To the stinking
militia?
But
if I can't avoid it—”

“All right, I get
the idea.”

“But...” Kitt
said, sulking. “We can't afford protection. Especially if it means paying our
own ransom.”

Gren surprised me
by grinning. “We can work something out later. So are you in?”

“Work something
out,’” I echoed, dropping my brow. “That’s reassuring.”

“Well, tough
luck,” Gren spat. “You don’t really have time to decide if you trust me. Plus,
come on, I’m blackmailing you! This really shouldn’t be a hard decision!”

I looked at the
Doll. “What do you think?”

She carefully ran
her eyes over Gren and put her hands on her hips.

“Mister Spader,”
she said.

“Call me Gren. I
hate that 'mister' garbage.”

“Gren-Gren...”

“Don't call me
that eith—“

“Do you like
cats?”

He cocked his head
to the side and squeezed his eyes.

“What kind of
question is that for a time like—“

“Do you?”

He snorted and
looked at the curtains. “Hate them.”

The Doll hummed to
herself and nodded.

“All right then.
Let's do it.”

“Good!” He hurried
to the window and stuck his head out, checking the surroundings.

“I don't get it,”
I whispered to the Doll. “You don't like cats?”

“No,” she replied.
“I love animals.”

“Then why are you going
along with this guy?”

She smiled wide at
me. “Because he's lying.”

“Hey Pocket.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think
that singer meant by 'repay you with a tune?'”

“You're just now
asking that, Alan? I've long passed her in this story.”

“I just started
thinking on it. Seems kind of an odd thing to promise.”

“Eh, who knows?
Maybe her band would write me a song or something. Or you, actually. I did use
your name.”

“Don't remind me.”

“You should thank
me. It would be a great honor. The Ballad of Alan Dandy. Sounds prestigious,
doesn't it?”

“I guess.”

“Eh, I wouldn't
worry about what it meant. I doubt I'll ever see them again. As it is, I can't
entirely remember the lady's face. It all happened so fast.”

“I guess...but I
better not find carolers outside of my bedroom someday because you thought it'd
be funny to call yourself me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shall
I continue?”

“If you must.”

I followed Gren
out the window and carefully navigated my way down two stories of crates and
piping that he had worked into a ladder. Once on the ground, I urged Kitt and
the Doll, whose heads were poking out of the window frame, to follow.

“And be careful!”
I said.

Kitt went first.
Personally, I would've allowed the woman such an honor. You know, manners and
all.

“But you went down
before she did.”

“I went down,
Alan, to make sure it was safe for her to traverse.”

“Didn't Gren do
that? He went before you.”

“Fine. We both
went first. No sin in double-checking.”

“Of course not.”

Kitt moved swiftly
down the way and hopped from the last crate triumphantly to the ground.

“You're up,
Dolly,” he said.

She frowned as she
peeked out. “It's far,” she said.

“Not really,” Kitt
said. “Not nearly as far as it seems.”

“Just go slowly,”
Gren said. “And for God's sake, don't hurt yourself.”

The Doll's head
retreated back inside the room and in a moment, a stockinged leg pointing out
from the hole.

“Don't look up my
dress, okay?” she shouted to us. Kitt and Gren obediently averted their eyes.

Carefully, she
moved further outside. Her right foot swung around, feeling for the thick pipe
that Gren had pressed up against the window. Her heel caught it, but a little
too hard, regrettably. The pipe teetered and started to fall. The Doll squeaked
and pulled her leg back into the window. The pipe crashed into the stack of
crates, splitting them into boards and splinters. The ladder had been swiftly
demolished.

Gren was frowning
when I glanced at him.

“I spent some time
putting that together,” he grumbled quietly.

The Doll popped
her head back out at us. She was visibly upset.

“I want down.”

“Can you jump?”
Kitt asked.

“From the second
story?” Gren said. “She'll break a bone.”

Bones? Didn't he
know?

“I don't want to
jump!” she called out.

“Shhh! Keep your
voice down!” Gren said. “We'll think of something.”

“Wait a minute…maybe…”
I said. “Okay, Doll. Listen to me. Go to the door and put your ear to it. Tell
me if you hear music.”

“Okay. Hold on.”
She left and reappeared. “Yes. Someone's singing.”

“Good.”

“Good?!?” Gren
snapped.

“Shut up. I've got
this figured. Dolly, listen to me. I want you to leave the room and go down the
stairs as quickly and as quietly as possible. Don't stop to talk to anyone.
Don't even make eye contact. There's a performance going on down there. If you
blend in well enough, no one will notice you. Come out the front door and meet
us around the side here. And please hurry!”

“All right,” she
said, a little unsure. “Here I go.”

In a moment, she
was gone. The three of us rolled our heads and looked at the crowds.

“She's an
interesting one, isn't she?” Gren asked.

“Very much so,”
said Kitt.

Casually, my eyes
drifted off down the street. A pair of black boots walked into my gaze and
shook it up.

“Gentlemen,” I
muttered. “I believe we have a bit of trouble approaching.”

“Eh?” Gren said,
looking over. “Oh. Yes we do.”

The telltale
insignia of a red crown marched our way and before we had a chance to hide, the
Magnate had seen us.

“You there!” he
barked at us. “Stay put!”

“What do we do?”
Kitt whispered.

“Leave this to
me,” Gren whispered back. He strode ahead and met the officer with a confident
handshake.

“How are you,
sir?” he said. “Gren Stanbrook.”

“Mmm...” the
Magnate said, uninterested in pleasantries. “You boys want to tell me where
this mess of wood and pipe came from?”

Gren shrugged and
pulled out a cigarette.

“No idea. I was
just out for a smoke.”

“Can't you smoke
in the bar, Mister...”

“Stanbrook, I
said. And, yes. I could. But it was getting a little loud in there. Music show
or something. So I stepped out.”

“Mmm...” The
Magnate looked over Gren's shoulder at me and Kitt, who were trying very hard
to look nonchalant. No need to panic, I told myself. This exchange was going at
least momentarily well.

“These your
friends?” he asked Gren.

“Them?” he said,
looking back at us.

“Them.”

“Nah,” Gren said,
taking a drag on his cigarette. “That's Will Pocket and Kitt Sunner. The wanted
ones. Couldn't you tell?”

“What?!?” the
Magnate snapped, turning red.

“That's right,”
Gren said, leisurely flicking ash. “I think you've been looking for them,
right?”

That utter
bastard.

“St-stay where you
are!” the Magnate yelled, scrambling for his weapon. “Don't move an inch!”

“I doubt they
would,” Gren said. “They're pretty terrible criminals.”

I'll kill him. So
help me God, if I got out of this alive, I swore I would kill him.

“Are they armed?”
the man demanded of Gren.

“Just this,” Gren
said, yanking the wrench from Kitt's hand. “Watch.” He smacked his elbow
against the tool and watched the blade spring out. “Not bad, right?”

“Stay where you
are!” the Magnate repeated, shaking his firearm at us.

“So about the
reward—” Gren began.

“Are you sure they
aren't concealing another weapon? That green stuff, it could be some liquid
explosive.”

“Probably,” Gren
said. “You should call for reinforcements.”

“Right!” He turned
his back to us and shouted. “Men!”

Gren tossed the
wrench about in his hand. “Oh, and by the way...” He swung and knocked the
officer in the back of the skull with the blunt end of the tool. The Magnate
grunted a goodbye to consciousness and hit the ground.

“That's better,”
Gren said, taking the man's weapon, a hair-triggered pistol. “You two want
anything off of him?”

We just stared at
him.

“What?” he said.
“I told you, I hate these guys. Complete pack of jackasses.”

“Is he dead?” Kitt
asked.

“I doubt it. Let
me check and...yeah. Definitely alive. You can see him breathing. You don't
want anything? Here...”

He checked the
man's uniform and found a few bills.

“Classsy,” I
muttered.

“You're welcome,”
he jeered back.

Someone else
approached and fortunately for us it was the Doll.

“That lady singer
was interesting,” she announced.

“I told you not to
talk to anyone,” I said.

“She told me to
get on stage. She said she liked my dress.”

“You went up
there?!? In front of that entire crowd?!?”

“For a moment. I
didn't like all the attention so I left as soon as the woman stopped cheering
and hugging me.”

“Why was she doing
that?
”

“I told you.
Because she liked my dress. What happened to him?”

“He was
dangerous,” Gren said. “Now he's not.”

“Okay.”

Gren knelt down
and wrapped his fingers around the collar of the Magnate's coat. “Give me a
hand,” he said.

“What are you
doing?” Kitt asked.

“I'm trying to get
his clothes off, what do you think?”

“I think you
should buy him a drink first,” I suggested. Gren scowled at me and kept pulling
at the coat.

“Hilarious,” he
said. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“I think you've
lost us.”

“God, for
so-called master criminals—”

“
Master
criminals?”

Gren stopped and
stared at us. “Right. Master criminals.”

“We are?” Kitt
asked.

“Yes...” Gren said
slowly. “That's what the posters say. Master criminals working under the guise
of guttersnipes. Deadly dangerous.”

“Deadly
dangerous,” I repeated. “That's flashy.”

“Yeah, well, not
that you've shown it yet, but it's nice to be working against the Crown with a
set of professional anarchists. Why do you think I picked you out?”

I looked at Kitt
and the Doll. He shrugged and she frowned.

“Sure. That's us,”
I said to Gren, biting my cheek a little. “Uh, so, just between us anarchists,
then. The undressing?”

“Don't you think
getting out of the city might be a little easier if one of us was dressed as a
Magnate, Pocket?” he said, returning to the coat.

“Oh. Huh. I
suppose it would.”

“Yes! You suppose
it would!” He grunted as he pulled at the lapels, very much in the same
laborious fashion as he had earlier tugged at the lodged knife. “Damn, how
thick is this man?”

I leaned down and
helped, but we were ultimately unable to turn the heavy man onto his back.

“Now what?” Kitt
asked.

“Do we take him
with us?” the Doll asked.

“Are you joking?”
Gren said. “We can't move this chump an inch. We have to leave him.”

The Doll frowned.

“He'll be fine,”
Gren continued. “Probably wake up in an hour or so and stumble away, make a
report to his superior or something. Go off for a drink.”

“Admire his
concussion,” I suggested, a little sour.

“Well, think what
you want, we need to leave,” Gren said. “It's a little secluded here, but not
enough that we can sit around for long with an unconscious officer and go
unnoticed.”

He was right. So
we gathered some of the debris from Gren's makeshift ladder and carefully
covered the sleeping man with boards and piping. Gren concealed the pistol he
picked up and we took to the streets once again. We spent awhile winding our
way through the crannies, sliding one way then hurrying the next. Kitt finally
broached the question.

“Where are we
heading, exactly?”

“My place,” Gren
said. “It's not far. You three are staying with me until we come up with an
escape plan.”

“You get into
situations like this a lot?” Kitt continued, hopping a puddle.

“Nothing quite
like this, but I keep on my toes. Doing what I do, you get into a few tight
corners. Hence the boiler plating.”

“What exactly is
it that you do?” the Doll asked.

“Cards, mostly.”

“You're a
gambler?” I asked, a little surprised.

“Mostly,” he said.
“A few odd jobs here and there, but nothing that pays like the cards.”

“Explains that ace
of spades,” I said, referring to the card in his leather harness.

“Spades...” Kitt
said to himself. “Hey, is that why you became a gambler? Because your name is—”

“No, that's not
why I became a...Christ! What's with people in this world? How many times do I
have to hear that question?”

“It's a neat
coincidence.”

“Oh, and I suppose
we all should do what our names tell us. What's yours? Sunner, right? Why don't
you get a job warming the earth?”

“Fine,” Kitt
replied. “Forget I said anything.”

“You boys play
nice,” the Doll piped in.

“Eh...sorry,” Gren
uttered. “It just...it gets old. I don't know who would be dumb enough to take
up career gambling for such a reason. I mean, look at the dents in this metal.”

“Pretty rough,”
Kitt agreed. “Where'd you get that bump on your arm piece?”

“That? Some ass
threw a marble off of a zeppelin at me.”