Chapter Forty-three: Two and a Half Thousand

Smoke hung like city smog between tabletops and ceiling, obscuring the patrons of the Griffon Public House, making distant figures no more than looming shadows. The four columns that formed a square in the centre of the room stood like sentinels. The smoke somehow even seemed to dim the noise.

There was a table in the far corner, positioned so that Darby Sabini could watch both bar and door as he held court, but all he could see were dim shapes and dangerous currents ahead. He wondered if this was what it had been like being a watchman on the Titanic.

“So with the final count, what with the diamonds added in, and the Carter-Smith necklace and bracelet, and all the gold from the three workshops,” the master jeweller on the other side of the table looked nervous, and was absolutely not getting to the point.

“I won’t shoot the messenger,” Darby reassured the man.

“Well, given everythin’ what were counted, as it were, then the final count was, uhh, two and a half thousand pounds.”

Darby blinked, then glanced to his brother on his left, between himself and the jeweller. “Harry, shoot him.”

Harry set his pint on the table. “He’s joking, Marco,” he assured the worried man. “No one is going to shoot you. I swear. Now, you said given everything you counted. Was there more you didn’t count?”

Surprisingly, the man had only shown nervousness about the diamonds, gold, and very expensive set of jewellery they had been repairing for an aristocratic family, but now Darby saw hints of anger creeping in. “Aye, that. Bastards stole my lunch. What kinda demons steal a man’s lunch? It was half-eaten.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Darby replied, as if it were the only matter of import.

Marco, the jeweller, must have caught something in Darby’s tone. “Ah, Mr. Sabini, it were only a jacket potato with fish paste spread on it, nothing really important for all that. Well, uh, I’ve told you what I was asked to come tell you, so do I just go, or…”

Darby nodded and the man knocked over his chair as he stumbled to his feet. He fixed it and practically ran from them, a half-drunk pint of Bitter left on the table.

“You know, you could buy 445 tonnes of jacket potatoes for two and a half thousand pounds,” Harry said, then took another sip of his pint.

“Did you really just do the maths?”

Harry shrugged. “I like numbers. It’s fifteen years of wages for a skilled tradesman like Marco, almost fifty years of rent on Ma’s flat.”

“I’m gonna punch you again, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “As long as you’re not blaming Frank.”

“This is Frank’s fault,” Darby replied, getting to his feet. “I’m going for a slash. Clear the mess,” he indicated the forgotten pint, and his own empty glass, “and get me another drink.” He headed for the far door, blinking as he stepped out into a sunlit street. It was easy to forget in the dimness of the bar how early in the afternoon it still was.

The toilet wasn’t far away, a slick set of stairs heading down to a tiled room below ground. It smelled of urine and disinfectant, and puddles of both mapped the craters of the floor like a wetlands’ cartographic survey.

He took care of business and was leaving as another man came down the stairs. “Gerout my way,” the drunk slurred.

Darby Sabini did not get out of his way.

Two. And. A. Half. Thousand. Pounds.

He realised he was muttering the words over and over when his mind was released from the rage that had clouded it moments later. Below him lay the shattered remnants of a man. The puddles of urine and disinfectant were lakes of blood now. The broken thing before him was wheezing as it tried to breathe.

Ah, he’d live. Darby had been a boxer in his teens, a very good one until he was paid a lot of money to take a fall, and he might be older and slower than in his prime now, but he was only thirty-three and he still knew how to throw a punch. He’d been aiming for pain by the looks of it. The man would survive, though he’d never quite breathe as he once had, and he might have difficulty chewing. There looked to be six teeth on the floor.

Darby washed his hands and shook the water off as he returned to the pub.

“Who’d you kill?” Harry asked. “Wasn’t Marco was it?”

“I’m not going to kill the messenger,” Darby told him, accepting the lager Harry slid in his direction. “No one would ever tell us anything if we did that.”

“Charles, your face is covered in blood.”

“Ah.” He sipped his lager, feeling the slightly warm drink loosen some of his tension. “Well, I’m a bit less angry now,” he admitted. “I still blame Frank for getting all the Hatton Garden guards arrested and leaving an opening for the Forty Bloody Elephants to parade through.”

“Come on, Charles,” Harry argued. “Most of them were already out the jail before the robbery. It’s as much our fault as anyone’s for deciding to lie low for a bit and not have many men on the street.”

“I’m putting a bounty on the Forty Elephants, and the Elephant Boys.” He set his finished lager on the table. “And I’m heading home for the day.” Elsie could help with the rest of his anger. Maybe they’d get Bess a little brother this time.

“And the tentacle monster?” Harry asked as Darby walked away.

“There is no tentacle monster!”

“Two and a half thousand pounds,” the man in the flat cap said. He was one of the Sabinis, but he was outside their territory right now. Taking a walk, as it were. Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.

Hildy slipped him two shillings as a thank you and sprinted towards Fleet Street. Her editors were going to need to hear this.

“Two and a half thousand pounds?” DS Northwoods asked, his voice grim. That was the kind of money gangs went to war for. Worse than war.

“Darby is putting out a bounty,” the man opposite him said, which wasn’t surprising. “Forty Elephants and Elephant Boys are gonna bleed for this.”

Northwoods sighed. “What does he want me to do?”

“Exactly what you’re paid for, Northy. Keep your damn coppers outta the way.”

The robbery had only taken place a few hours ago, but the rumours flew across the city. It was the Forty Elephants. It was the Elephant Boys. It was an actual elephant, escaped from the zoo, and the two and a half thousand pounds was how much damage it had done.

Someone had robbed the Sabinis. The Sabinis had robbed someone. The Sabinis had robbed the Tower of London. The Forty Elephants had robbed the Sabinis. The Forty Elephants had stolen an elephant from London Zoo.

Tom laughed when he heard that rumour in the pub, because he knew it wasn’t true. No one would be stupid enough to do that. Not twice, at least.

“We’re gonna be rich, we’re gonna be rich, we’re gonna be rich,” the girls were chanting, jumping up and down in a circle. They were trying to drink as they jumped, but ending up wearing more alcohol than they swallowed, and none of them cared.

“It’s over the whole city,” Kitty said to Diamond Annie.

“They know we’ll get less than that from the fences, right?” Annie asked.

“They know. They don’t care.”

The diamond queen of the Forty Elephants shrugged her massive shoulders. “Let them enjoy it. And good work, Kitty claw.”

It was exciting. It was life-changing. It was jealousy-inducing. It was fear-inciting. It was blood-boiling. It was too massive, really, to comprehend. And in the end, it didn’t matter.

Not to her.

She didn’t care.

It was just money.

Money was good because it solved problems, like what to eat, what to wear, where to sleep, but there were other ways to solve those problems. She’d eaten a rat, once. She’d slept on rooftops. She’d stolen clothes.

She’d helped steal two and a half thousand pounds of gold and diamonds, and she couldn’t bring herself to care.

It was just money.

She had real problems to deal with.

No, not problems, she thought, as she turned and wandered down another street, with no real idea of where she was going. She just had to get away.

Not problems. Complications? Charlie was not a problem, but the whole thing was complicated.

She’d known Charlie Cassidy her entire life. They were best friends. Practically sisters.

Sisters don’t do that, her mind screamed at her.

Sisters definitely didn’t enjoy it.

That was the problem, Magpie decided. Not Charlie. Never Charlie. But the enjoyment problem, that was the real issue here. She had enjoyed the kissing, but she’d never kissed anyone before. Did she like kissing, or did she like kissing Charlie?

Did she like Charlie?

Obviously, she liked Charlie. She loved Charlie. Charlie was her best friend. They were like sisters.

Sisters didn’t do that.

Magpie came to a realisation so suddenly she stopped dead in the middle of the street. She had been kissed, which was where her mind had dwelled for the past several hours, but Charlie… Charlie had kissed her.

Charlie didn’t think of her as a little sister.

Charlie thought of her as… something else… not a sister… hopefully still a friend… as someone to, maybe, kiss.

Why the Hell would Charlie think that?

Magpie started walking again, trying to work out why anyone would want to kiss her. Was it because she said Charlie was a pirate? Maybe she just really liked pirates. No, that was stupid. That was stupid, wasn’t it? Was that stupid?

Yes, that was definitely stupid.

Maybe it was all the excitement. They’d finished the robbery. She had a bag full of gold and Charlie had a bloody bit of wood. It was exciting, and heady, like being drunk. Magpie didn’t like being drunk, it made her too vulnerable, but she’d tried it once, in a Forty Elephants’ safe house.

Charlie hadn’t tried to kiss her then. Maybe it was the excitement.

The road she was on reached the river and she turned and walked back the way she had come, then headed into a side street that ran parallel to the Thames.

So, Charlie had gotten overexcited after the robbery and kissed her. Actually, that sounded like exactly something Charlie would do. It was practically an accident. Nothing really had happened and she mostly didn’t need to worry about it and Charlie clearly didn’t like her in a kissing way.

She wiped some tears away from her eyes with a handkerchief, and tried to focus on the relief she was sure she should feel.

Unless…

Unless she had liked kissing Charlie?

That would be unfortunate when Charlie clearly didn’t want to kiss her.

Oh no, did she like Charlie?

Well, obviously she liked Charlie. She loved Charlie. Charlie was her best friend, and so strong and competent and funny and she always looked out for Magpie and explained things to her. Some of the things Charlie said were clearly nonsense, probably, like the tentacle monster stealing a goat. She was sure there weren’t any goats in the city. Maybe in the zoo, she’d never seen one there, though she had only been one time, but the rest of the city had to be goat free.

But some of the things Charlie said weren’t nonsense. She was the one who explained to Magpie that women could like women the way men liked women, sometimes. Not all women, apparently. She supposed some women just didn’t like anyone, or something like that.

Some of the Forty Elephants liked each other. Kitty and Bethany were very close. Best friends, maybe. She’d never seen them kiss. Just… best friends and roommates. They had a small flat they shared.

They were totally together, weren’t they?

It was a one bedroom flat.

Oh my God, she was an idiot. Had she ever said anything to either of them… no, focus, Magpie. What was she thinking about again? Charlie. Charlie’s silly grin.

The way she’d saved her in that robbery.

Her muscles were so big, no wonder she was so good with the wood.

Her lips had been soft though, and warm. Slightly wet, smelling of spices.

No, that was not what she was thinking about. She had to think about… she had to… Kitty would make a plan, right?

Kitty liked women, she’d make the wrong plan.

Alright, Magpie just had to do the opposite of whatever Kitty would do. No plan.

That was a terrifying idea. She needed a plan. What would Charlie do?

She’d just go for it. She was always so confident and brave and whenever she wanted something she just went for it. She’d always been like that.

Magpie couldn’t do that.

When she returned home, the party was so wild it had spilled onto the streets. The Boys were here, and someone was playing an accordion. Maggie Hill loomed before her and Magpie gave a squeak and nearly peed herself, but Maggie just pressed a bottle into her hand, smiled at her, then jumped in amongst the dancers, her legs going wild, as if she was kicking the shit out of invisible enemies. She was in a good mood.

She’d gotten a Sabini’s eyes this afternoon.

Magpie looked at the bottle in her hands. It was Guinness. Maybe that would help.

She took a swig and nearly spat it out. That was foul. How did anyone drink this stuff? She sniffed it, and it smelled as bad as it tasted. Although, she was probably exaggerating, right, building it up worse in her head? And Maggie had given her it. She’d be angry if Magpie didn’t drink it, wouldn’t she? Would she? Maybe she would be.

Magpie took another drink. It was still foul, but at least Maggie was less likely to kill her.

No, Diamond Annie didn’t let Maggie hurt the Elephants. Well, she wasn’t allowed to kill them, or blind them.

Magpie wandered through the party. It wasn’t all Elephants here, some of the people that lived in this street had joined in. Some of the kids that slept on nearby rooftops were wandering the edge. One enterprising butcher had a tray of hot pies, good man.

She bought a pie. Somehow, it made the Guinness taste better.

She wandered some more. She didn’t know enough of the elephants yet. She only really knew a few and too many of them were the leadership. She couldn’t stand around with the leaders, and that only left Charlie.

No, this was her family now. She just had to meet them.

She set the empty Guinness bottle down by the wall, and moved into the crowd, saying hi and trying not to be hurt whenever people ignored her. One of the Elephant Boys pushed a drink in her hand, and she took a swig of the dark, bitter alcohol before looking to see what it was. Porter.

“Wanna fuck?” he asked.

“I’m Magpie,” she replied.

“Alright. Wanna fuck?”

“No.” She wandered away, his drink still clutched in her hand. It was quite nice, better than the Guinness.

Maggie Hill bounced in front of her and Magpie screamed. Maggie grabbed her wrist and dragged her out amongst the dancers and Magpie repeated to herself that she wasn’t going to get stabbed.

At least she’d been kissed before she died.

That was nice.

Magpie had no idea how to dance but the music was fast and she sort of moved about a bit. Maggie was gone, unless she was sneaking up behind Magpie to stab her, but that was fine. The alcohol had left a funny warmth in her chest.

She took another bottle of Guinness away from someone and went in search of another pie.

The crowd opened before her somehow, as if everyone had been pushed to one side or another, as if this was an aisle in Church for a bride to walk down, and there standing at the end of it was Charlie. Magpie felt her breath hitch in her throat at the sight of her best friend, with those wonderful muscles and that silly grin, and the best and worst thing of all…

Charlie was wearing an honest-to-God pirate hat.

Magpie turned around and headed back the way she’d just come. No pie was worth dealing with that.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Forty-two

Next Chapter: Chapter Forty-four

Author’s Note

Today’s queerguide is about strippers and feminism.

No, seriously.