The concept of free time for the Jackrabbits was a rarity. There was always something to do. Deals could be made, the progress of jobs checked and if all that came to nothing, Jack would insist they cleaned. The hideout was hardly spick and span – far from it as the never-ending supply of dust was impossible to clean from a factory environment. Cleaning it was a never-ending nightmare and as such liberties were taken with what could be defined as clean.
In these rare moments, when Jackdaw wasn’t cracking the whip, the group took time to focus on the important things: putting their feet up. They had retreated upstairs and set about playing cards. Alvina stated that it would be good for Cole to play more frequently so as to improve what she called Cole’s bullshitting face. It was suggested that the young blood couldn’t lie to save his life and, as she pointed out, the day would come where he might need to. Each time Cole attempted to bluff, Alvina gave numerous pointers, none of them particularly polite in their wording.
Oddly, Blakestone wasn’t enjoying the downtime as much as the other two. His mind was far from the game, harbouring secretive thoughts, but unlike Cole, his face gave away nothing of his true intentions. After the sixth hand he noticed that his irritation was growing. Every now and again he discovered himself staring at the new recruit. Something just didn’t sit right with him. It had been weeks since he had joined their little band and even now they knew very little about him. They all had their secrets of course, most dirty as those who engaged in what they did were never pristine in character. If he was a threat he was quite good at keeping it hidden, a fact quite at odds with Alvina’s current training.
Cole laughed as he claimed the pot, dragging it into his possession. This time Alvina had no suggestions to give, only a grimace.
‘That’s the fun over with. I suggest we focus on getting back to work. There’s plenty of the day left.’ Blake counted up his winnings, or lack of them and pocketed them.
Alvina raised her brows in surprise. ‘Jack’s been riding us harder than ever and the moment we catch a break you want to get back to it? You were the first one to complain earlier. Are you that keen for work?’
‘Don’t you have something you need to keep your eye on? Somebody to check in on, something to pick up maybe? Anything?’
‘It might surprise you to hear but I’m up on all that. There’s nothing for me to do this afternoon but indulge in some sweet leisure time.’ Alvina heavily leant back on her chair, tilting it on two legs. ‘Another game, Little Fish?’
‘He’ll pass,’ Blake interrupted before Cole could respond.
He was just as confused as Alvina as to where this was coming from. It was Alvina’s turn to speak for him. ‘Yes, he will. Are you his keeper now?’
‘While Jack is off I thought that was down to you,’ he insisted, getting up from the table. ‘Off screwing a damned Rose of all things …’ Blake grumbled.
‘That’s nothing to do with us.’
‘Be that as it may, despite you being in charge, I’m telling you that we’re getting back to business. In fact, I figure given Cole’s recent foray into violence …’
‘Very careful wording, thank you.’ Cole nodded.
‘… he could do with being taught how to shoot to prevent any more situations where he gets his ass kicked.’
‘That was less subtle.’ Cole wheezed, deflated. He placed his own cards down and picked through the coins in his possession. ‘As much as it hurts my ego, he does have a point.’
‘Couple of killjoys, the pair of you. This table was turning sour anyway.’ Alvina spun her cards firmly over the table though her reaction wasn’t risen to.
This just irritated Blake more. The bear of a man pulled himself to his feet and beckoned Cole to follow him. Cole surrendered quickly.
‘There’s no use buying him a new toy and not playing with it. I’m taking him downstairs and won’t come up until he knows how to assert himself.’
‘Fine! Okay! Point taken. Go on, young blood, you’ve been told,’ Alvina whined before pouring herself another drink. ‘Leave me all alone here.’
* * *
The pair took the stairs to the factory floor, the chatter of sewing machines melding into an almost deafening droll. Each one rattled in motion, their operators drawing cloth back and forth in monotony. They passed the rows of workers – who knew better than to look up – until they reached the basement stairwell. Barred by a thick padlock, Blake snapped it open with the corresponding key and struck the light switch just inside. Gloomy concrete steps revealed themselves in luminescence as the lamps’ filaments warmed into light.
‘Why downstairs? Why not outside?’ Cole asked, cautiously descending to ensure that the steep steps didn’t cause him to slip.
‘We don’t want undue attention. The machinery will mask the noise we make. The basement is plenty big enough.’
Cole had never been in the basement before – in fact he had been unaware there even was one. Judging by the lock he assumed that there must be something down here Jack didn’t want snoopers to get their hands on. Though the workers were mostly the poor, the unfortunate, he paid enough of a wage to buy their loyalty. Despite this, you could never be too careful it seemed.
Crates lay stacked in piles, all seemingly well organized, with most nailed shut. Some were labelled in languages that were simply alien to him, no doubt shipped from regions where a different tongue was spoken. Cole’s recent tallying of the books had revealed that there was a complete tapestry of things, things that must be stored down here – from the curious and obscure to the downright illegal. Bags of spice. Antiques. Cole trailed his fingers across the rough oak of liquor barrels while loud squeaking resonated from the walls.
In the corner were a number of stacked bales covered by a canvas. They had each been bound well, with the exception of the one at the bottom which, when dragged along, had revealed its contents. Curiosity dictated Cole to kneel and pull a length from the bale. He turned it in his fingers under the basement light, not quite sure of what to make of it. He sniffed at the rust-coloured plant, dried fragments tarnishing his dark fingertips.
‘You don’t want that, kid.’ Blakestone removed it from Cole’s possession and pocketed it for his own personal use.
‘What is it?’
‘Just the payoff for a deal from a while ago. We did someone over one time and that’s the thank you present. That right there is a contraband the likes of which we don’t talk about. It doesn’t exist, get me? If any of the others operating in this town catch wind that we’re in possession of bales of Red Root, they’ll all come knocking at our door, loudly at that. That stuff is trouble on our heads.’
Cole thought for a second. ‘It came from the Morning Star job, didn’t it? From a few months back?’
‘How would you happen to know that?’
‘I went through the paperwork, remember? One of the many discrepancies I had to sort out. I processed the inventory. Seems like we have a lot more than what was declared to … what was the name … Wilheim something? Hey, seeing that this Donovan guy is in the picture, does he know about all this?’
Blake heaved boxes aside, clearing an area. Dust kicked up causing him to succumb to the occasional cough.
‘We don’t speak his name, remember?’ Blake reminded him.
‘Right. Sorry.’
A row of dilapidated wooden mannequins were rudimentary, but would prove to be great targets. Blake had hauled each from the wall and dragged them into position, placing them a couple of feet apart in space. When happy with the set-up, he called Cole on over and the teaching began.
‘Little Fish!’ he called, quite proudly. On Cole’s approach he took the Bastion from its holster and offered it, handle first. ‘Today you gain some teeth.’