Jack

  Jack watched as sunlight fell from the room's only window, perched high on the brick wall. As the hours wore on, the rays slumbered across the earthen floor until they met the wall on the other side. At a snail's pace, they scaled it, illuminating the green mold and critters that plagued its surface, reaching the blanket of white cobwebs and cracked wood that formed the ceiling. The day was ending, and he still remained here, trapped and alone, in this decrepit basement room that stank of old urine and putrid wood. Hours had passed since he was abandoned there—without food, water, or any contact with the outside—by a dull and drunk host. Jack wondered when he would go back to the room he had rented at an inn eight blocks down the road. He had booked it in a remote location as a precaution against the authorities or anyone curious about his shady business; however, he now regretted it.

  The chair he sat on was shabby; his back and buttocks hurt from sitting on it. He had tried the two other chairs in the room, yet they were the same useless pieces of furniture. He had thought of lying over the table placed between the chairs, and having a nap until his host finally decided to come down for him. The table, however, seemed fragile: the legs were gnawed and moldy, and the boards looked as though they needed only a slight touch to break on him. It was a stupid idea to sleep on it. There was the floor, or the large pile of straws at the corner to try as well. But he wouldn’t smear his fine clothes with dirt, and the straws stank of piss and feces. The chair was the best the room had to offer, unfortunately.

  Jack could no longer hold back the urge to take a piss and went for the door. It was locked. He banged it several times, calling for someone, yet no one came. “That bloody cocksucker locked me up,” he grunted. The room's only window was too small and placed too high for him to attempt to use it for escape. Besides, it had thick iron bars the size of three fingers clamped together. There was a bucket in a corner by the window, with a dead rat inside. Jack plodded to it and took a piss. As he relieved himself watching the square of orange sky the window gifted him, he wondered what the room was used for. Observing the battered furniture and state of the walls, ceiling, and floor, he assumed it was used to hold prisoners.

  “Did I let myself be kidnapped?" he asked himself. “I should’ve brought Cole with me.” Jack returned to his seat and waited, hoping he was mistaken.

  It was getting dark, and his host had not left him anything to light up the room. He was starting to regret having agreed to wait in that place. Jack touched his coat, feeling the musket-pistol and dagger underneath. He knew the people who owned the basement where he was locked. They belonged to the same organization as him, and had been working together for more than three years. However, no one is immune to betrayal. He looked at his pocket watch and decided to give his host another half-hour; otherwise, he would cancel the meeting. The problem was how he would get out of there.

  He began to rap the table with his fingers, as he recalled his motive for being in such a dreary place. It was for business. Adam, his leader, had ordered him to travel there and supervise the work of their associates, as well as exchange news. Besides the usual business, Adam and his associates were working on a little project with a third party, something that could bring them great profits and new contacts, and might even change the fate of the people involved, but only if the project was successful, which Jack doubted highly. However, he kept these thoughts to himself.

  The project was of an illegal nature and extremely dangerous, so as expected, Adam wanted to remain at the margin of it. He put Jack at the front while he gave the orders in the comfort of his home in Candstone. Same as usual. If the police caught wind of what they were doing, Mr. Jack Stevenson would be the man on whom all the charges would fall. The fame, the gaol, and the gallows would be exclusively for him.

  “Screw this!” Jack hopped out of the chair. “I don’t care what Adam says, I’m leaving. If he doesn’t like it, he can come and deal with this shit by himself. Now I just have to find out how to burst that—”

  ?The door suddenly opened, startling Jack. Two men entered and closed the door behind them. Jack recognized one of them. It was his host, though now he looked cleaner and better dressed. His new clothes seemed novel and refined, better than the rags he had worn before. His black hair and long beard were now brushed, oiled, and tied in knots. It would not have been wrong to imagine that the man had bathed and dressed while Jack rotted in the basement.

  Jack's host crossed the room and sat in one of the two free chairs by the table. He saluted Jack with a low grunt and a nod, then gestured to the second man to sit next to him.

  The second man stood still by the door, watching the room and Jack with a silent scrutiny. He seemed to be hesitating, perhaps thinking of leaving. He wore a grey wool cloak that covered his whole body, with the hood way over his head. Although his face was hard to see under the hood, Jack noticed the white cloth that covered his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes exposed.

  “What’re you waitin’ for? Come and sit down.” The host barked at the cloaked man. “And you too, sir,” he said to Jack.

  The cloaked man turned to the host. He mumbled something that Jack couldn’t hear, then stomped towards the table and plodded down over the chair, making the wood creak. He looked at Jack without saying anything. He smelled of perfume, and Jack noticed that the cloth on his face was made of silk. His right hand boasted a gold ring with an inlaid ruby, and on the other hand he wore a silver one on his ring finger. His exposed eyes told that he was a young man, like Jack.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “What took you so long… What’s your name, again?” Jack asked his host as he sat down. He didn’t know his name. It was another person who usually received him.

  “I’m Bottle,” the host responded. “I delayed ‘cause I went to pass on what you told me to our partners.” He pointed to the man next to him.

  “That’s really your name?”

  “Everyone calls me that. I like drinkin’,” he said with a shrug.

  “Sure, I believe you,” Jack said. The man looked like a drunk before his transformation. “You had me here rotting for hours, mate. You could’ve at least left me in one of those comfy rooms you have upstairs.”

  “Sorry, can’t do. The less here you’re seen, the better. Boss orders.”

  “Is your boss the man who usually receives me?”

  “The one and only.”

  There was a pub upstairs, a fancy one. Jack saw it empty when Bottle took him down to the basement hours earlier. He was counting on enjoying a few drinks as they talked business, as he had done before with Bottle’s boss. Unfortunately, his dull host had other plans for him.

  “And which drunken daft is going to notice me? I'm not that cute to be getting eyeballs on me,” Jack said, laughing at his own joke. “Your boss didn’t mind having me upstairs.”

  “Sorry ‘bout it. Maybe in another time,” Bottle said.

  “Nah! Forget it, mate. Anyway, who’s our new friend?”

  “He works for the Devlins. Call him Grey.”

  “Just Grey?” Jack threw the question at the man, but got no response.

  Bottle and Grey. Are they stupid? What’s wrong with them? Do I look like a mug? Jack sighed. He decided to ignore the two idiots before him and continued the talk. “I hope you told him about me—and why I’m here,” Jack said, looking at Grey.

  “Aye. He came just for that. But he first wants a talk with you ‘bout something, some problem they’re having,” Bottle said.

  Jack knew well what kind of trouble, though he wanted to hear it from Grey’s mouth. The man had been watching around him since he sat down, while keeping his hands stuck to his body, as though he was afraid, or disgusted, of touching anything in the room. He seemed more concerned about his surroundings than what was being discussed.

  “What problems?” Jack asked.

  “It’s ‘bout one of their partners. They’re makin’ trouble.”

  Jack frowned. This was unexpected for him. “I can’t follow,” he said.

  “They’re a merchant family. We’ve been using their routes to move our merchandise around. They want to ditch us.”

  “That sounds bad. Have you tried to dissuade them?”

  “They tried.” Bottle said, pointing at Grey. “But the bastards don’t want to listen. The Devlins think the motive may be money. They’re merchants. Maybe they want a bigger slice of the pie.”

  “If we lose them, we lose their routes,” Jack said, shaking his head. Adam had not prepared him to deal with this situation. He had only instructed him about the Project. Perhaps he was also unaware. “Can we work without them?”

  “The Devlins say it’s possible. But they know too much. It could harm us in the future.”

  “Has anyone else decided to make trouble as well?”

  “No, it just this group.”

  “I see. But, please, what do you want me to say? The Devlins assured us that they would take care of this area. We blindly gave them our trust on this. To me, this seems like it was their fault. They have to fix it.

  “Well, he wants—”

  “Hold it, mate. I want to hear it from our friend.” Jack said, looking at Grey. “Don’t tell me he’s only here to warm up the chair.”

  “I am not here to waste my time, Mr…”

  “Jack.”

  “Mister Jack,” Grey said crudely. “I came to this… location by virtue of our patriarch and the consideration he has for your group. He imagined that it was proper to let your people know what was happening. He was being cordial.”

  “And now we know, Mr. Grey,” Jack said with a patronizing smile. “So please, enlighten us—how is your family going to resolve this issue?”

  “Our partners argued that the risk they take with the merchandise is not proportional to the income they can earn. They want more.”

  “How much?”

  “They expect a lump sum of money in advance for each delivery if we desire to continue the partnership. We are talking in the hundreds of pounds.”

  “And I presume that they’ll still want to keep the profit margin we agreed upon, right?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Cocksuckers. We are barely making a profit with them, and now they want a bonus.” Jack laughed. “What is your family going to do? You know we can’t pay them.”

  “I don’t want to bore you with the details. Just know that when all is done, we shall let your people know how it went.”

  “These aren’t more empty promises, are they? Because your people have been lethargic with your duties as of late.”

  Grey glowered at him under the cowl. “This is just a minor setback, one we will amend in the forthcoming days without fail. We are efficient with our work, Mr. Jack. Despite what you have wrongly thought of us, we shall solve this difficulty without your assistance.”

  “I hear, I hear. I apologize if I have offended you, Mr. Grey,” Jack said, smiling cynically. “Now, if you allow me, I'd like to discuss the motive for my visit. Tell me, any progress on the little task entrusted to your family? Have you managed to get in touch with the Austin family?