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Post by Idris on Apr 22, 2009 21:45:18 GMT
At Nic’s words, the man dropped his hand and smiled, which somehow made him look more dangerous, like some predatory animal.
Why din’tcha say? he asked Nic. Mister Carver is always on the look-out for likely lads such as yourself. E's upstairs right this very minute doing a bit of business.
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Post by aagon on Apr 23, 2009 2:12:22 GMT
Solomon felt sorry for the young man, who obviously was getting into something way over his head. For a moment he considered going with the man, to see if he could infiltrate the organization, but it occurred to him that they may be targeting the cleanly dressed man for his likely relative inexperience with the street- something that Solomon's current disguise would not allow him to replicate. When Solomon heard his name, he glanced up and quickly identified the speaker. Was this his source? If it wasn't and Solomon approached him, he could have serious problems. I hate it when the contact sets up the meeting. Solomon decided to wait a few minutes more to see what the man did.
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nick60
New Member
Better than 50 Cent
Posts: 4
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Post by nick60 on Apr 24, 2009 10:15:28 GMT
Nic wasn't sure he wanted to go anywhere this man told him to go. While thankful for any work presented to him (even if it was in the underworld of this seedy city), he was hesitant to do that which was presenting him this opportunity. He told himself that any work was good work, and quickly moved upstairs. He saw a man seated at a table of men that were just a muscular as the man that had accosted him at the bar. Gripping his pint tightly, taking a long drink, he moved towards the man, still ambivalent, not sure who to approach. "I...I understand you need people to work," he said.
He reminded himself that the very reason he was even here was to find his parents, the people that gave life to him, and that nothing could lead him off his mission...
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Post by Idris on Apr 24, 2009 23:07:04 GMT
As Nic headed for the stairs the man grasped his arm.
Not so fast my lad. Didn't I say 'e was doing business? Mister Carver is a busy man. You'll stay 'ere till 'e sends for yer, and be mighty respectful when you attends 'im. You may say Wrecker 'as spoken to yer.
The man took his beer with a nod at the landlord and disappeared into the crowd.
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nick60
New Member
Better than 50 Cent
Posts: 4
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Post by nick60 on Apr 28, 2009 11:22:21 GMT
Nic sat there, not sure what to do. He decided to just sit, enjoy the ale, and look at the scenery. Not much to look at. Dirty men playing (and doing) dirty games with people he would much rather not meet.
Mmmmmm, that beer is quite good.
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rip
New Member
The Silent One
Posts: 5
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Post by rip on Apr 29, 2009 4:01:11 GMT
Downstairs, Rip finished his milk before it had a chance to sour on him. The lady of accommodating morals, now sitting on his lap, had refused his offered drink and asked for sherry, instead. In the minutes of chatter (she was as vocal as a drunk starling) he had learned that her name was Mattie, and that she had used to be a seamstress. He had stopped listening at that point. Behind him, the bar was getting as crowded as his stool, and it was to them that he turned his attention.
It was a rough and tumble crowd. It was a mix of men: sailors, drunkards, and workers from the spikes. Not a malicious crowd--there was a Spaniard flopping on a table like a happy seal--but Rip realized that it wouldn't last. The sharps at the card tables had yet to begin to ply their trade, and the no one had run out of money. But they would, and when they did, Rip knew they would look for other entertainment. It was time to find his contact.
"Wait 'ere jes' a tic, dove," Rip said to the girl. "Don't budge a button." From the very bottom of her cup, she murmured assent. He picked her up under her arms and set her down on the bar stool, then moved off into the sea of elbows and sweat.
His contact wasn't too hard to find. A man sat by himself at a table, scowling at his drink like it had insulted his mother. He was apparently taking no interest in the room around him. The man wore the agreed upon attire: hat, moustache, and a single yellow button. He prepared his smile and slid into the seat across from Solomon Hawkins. He gave Solomon his most honest grin.
"Top o'th'evenin', Mr. Murphy. I do 'ope you 'aven't drank too many lushes as waiting 'ere," Rip said, and listened as Solomon returned the greetings, and then continued. "I 'ad thought you said we'd be meetin' at the bar," and he turned his head to look at the exact bar stool that he meant. Sweet Mattie had found another drink, this one in the lap of the Spaniard. "But I s'pose nothing's where it ought be, then, is it?"
He continued. "Lissen, Guy, I 'ave got a lot to show you in a short night, so I think ye'd best finish off your cup." Rip sized the other man up: the rumpled clothes and and scruffy moustache were good, but his eyes were still unblurred by drink. "In truth, ye'd better order another, mate. It's best iffen you 'ave some spir'tual fortifications in you for this ev'nings pleasures."
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Post by aagon on Apr 29, 2009 5:45:08 GMT
Solomon's nervousness was only increasing as he played out possible scenarios in his head. Eventually he forced himself to focus on what was happening around him, unobtrusively observing, as he did best. Still, he was considering getting up to leave when his contact appeared. The man approached him quickly, startling Solomon. When the stranger spoke, Solomon caught on quickly. He responded to the man's greeting with a smile, It's about time you got here you luggard. I'd about given up on ya." When the man finished talking, Solomon thought Let's just get out of here you bloody fool.
"I spent my last pence on this drink so unless you're buying, ya stingy bastard, we'd best get on with it," Solomon replied with a chuckle.
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rip
New Member
The Silent One
Posts: 5
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Post by rip on Apr 29, 2009 23:48:51 GMT
Rip barked a laugh. "Well, 'ave a gander! Already tradin' insults like we was mates. I's bad luck, though, to discuss 'a'pennies afore we discuss fardens. But as you 'ave made mention, I propose a modest fee of five 'alfcrowns. Lord knows i's worth more, but it tugs me heart-strings to ask for six. I 'ope you was jestin' when you said you 'ad spent your last."
From the card tables one of the dockworkers stood up, face livid, and shoutingly accused another player of cheating of which he was very likely guilty. His friends held the angry man's arms and spoke soothingly although that might have just been a bit of a drunken slur. In any event, the man soon calmed down, and retook his seat at the table.
Rip turned his attention back to Solomon. "You can pay me after. I think i's time we went."
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Post by aagon on Apr 30, 2009 2:11:04 GMT
This man talks too freely in a place he should not, Solomon thought with annoyance. Yes we should leave. Solomon stood to accompany the man out.
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Post by Idris on Apr 30, 2009 22:23:55 GMT
Some of the crowd had already drifted out of the bar and up the stairs. While Rip and Solomon were talking the front door swung open and a group of large men entered – all quite sober. They looked about, scrutinising the persons filling the bar, then also headed for the upper room.
A few minutes later a sudden commotion broke out upstairs, and they came clattering down again. This time they had with them a young man, well-muscled and finely-proportioned but with a face like thunder.
“You’re finished in this business Rico,” a voice echoed behind them. It came from a bulldog of a man, who stood at the top of the stairs smoking a cigar. “You won’t be welcome anywhere. No one walks out on one of my fights!”
“Signor Bertelli cares nothing for your little empire,” one of the men said dismissively. His accent was strong but his words clear. “He can swallow it whole any time he likes. But he will not have his son involved in your fixes.”
And then Rico was hustled away, and the door slammed. The man with the cigar spat on the ground with an oath.
“Fuckin’ Italians!” He looked around aggressively. “Gartner? Find me another fighter! These people have come to see some sport and we are not going to disappoint them.”
“Yes Mister Carver. Consider it done.” The man called Gartner was a skull-faced individual who made up in height for what he lacked in width. As Carver disappeared upstairs, he scanned the crowd of drunks and doxies, and his eye fell on Rip and Solomon.
“Well blow me sideways, I knows that face!” he exclaimed, staring at Rip. “Can’t recall the name but that doesn’t matter. Maybe you got another one now anyway eh? But I never forgets a face, not one I seen in the ring. You still any good?”
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Post by Idris on Apr 30, 2009 22:40:08 GMT
The crowd around Nic had thinned out a little and he was able to sit on one of the benches and watch the spectacle around him. The beer was very strong, and he began to feel its relaxing effects.
Then the episode with the Italians erupted. Men shouted and swore but Nic heard the name Carver – he must be the ugly hard little man smoking a cigar who had gone back upstairs.
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rip
New Member
The Silent One
Posts: 5
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Post by rip on May 12, 2009 10:32:49 GMT
Rip turned around at the voice. "You must 'ave a mind like a steel trap, mate. I 'aven't slipped on a glove in ten-so years." Rip walked back to face the man. He looked him straight in the eye, right before giving another smile. "Rings is for wearin', an' punches fer drinkin'. So no, I don't rightly box ennymore. Boxing 'asn't the money, an' I 'aven't the time fer it, least of all this e'en."
And with that, Rip touched his hat and gave a nod as a token gesture of respect, and moved to leave.
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Post by Idris on May 15, 2009 23:32:06 GMT
Gartner favoured Rip with a smile, a cold affair which only added to his death’s head appearance. “You bin out of the game a long time mate, if you think there’s no tin in it. Go upstairs & you’ll see where it comes from.”
The smile vanished and he leaned forward with a confidential air. “This ain’t a match with the gloves on. Nobs’ll pay a hundred times more for it. But if you ain’t interested in earning fifty cooters, I’ll find one who is. And of course Mr Carver has a very good memory for who helps him out, and for who don't.”
Gartner turned away, and headed towards the bar.
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Post by Idris on May 15, 2009 23:47:45 GMT
Solomon recognised that the skull-faced man was talking of bare-knuckle fighting, a sport which had been outlawed for twenty years.
The purse of fifty guineas – that was astonishing money for an evening’s work. On the other hand it made sense - no Queensberry Rules pertained here, but he had heard rumours that illegal matches were attended by some of the highest in the land.
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Post by aagon on May 25, 2009 3:22:46 GMT
When the discussion had first started, Solomon had winced internally at any attention being drawn to his table. Still he listened closely - his potential informant had once been a boxer? How intriguing. Still, he was glad when the man turned down the offer. Better to get this business over and done with.
Then the man... Gartner was it? mentioned bare knuckle fights. Suddenly Solomon's interest piqued. The possibilities of this story were even more interesting. Criminal masterminds was all to the good, but this story...this story had illegal intrigue, blood, and political scandal. The only element missing for the perfect story was sex! Solomon turned to his new found friend and spoke quietly. He said "Sounds like a good price. You still have the fight in ya?
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