They left Lars snoring in the cabin and were halfway down the gangway when Justy stopped.
“What are you doing?” Kerry whispered.
He pulled the garrote from his pocket. “That bastard had it when he came on board. He’ll have it on him when they carry him off.”
He ran up onto the deck and tucked the wire into Turner’s coat. He went to pick up the watchman’s pistol, but the hammer had broken when it hit the deck, and he left it where it lay.
Kerry was waiting for him on the dock, leaning on the wall in the shadow of the bailiff’s office. She gave Justy a long look.
“What?” he asked.
“What about your deal with Colley?”
He looked her in the eye. “What about it?”
She smiled slightly. “He keeps valuables in all his kips, just in case. He’ll visit them all, if he has time.”
“How many places does he have?”
“Four. Bedlow Street, Cherry Street. A house in Greenwich and the warehouse at Hallam’s Wharf. I don’t know which ones he’ll go to first.”
“And we can’t tear around the city after him. We can’t count on him stopping to rest, either. We have to intercept him.”
“Sure. But where?”
Justy swallowed, wincing at the tightness in his throat. The skin on his neck was tender, but when he touched it there was no blood. He tugged the silk band of his cravat up to cover the chafed skin. He thought of Cantillon, the way the lawyer clutched at his neck when he introduced him to Colley. “How about the Tontine? Do you think he kept anything there?”
Kerry nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that, but aye, more than likely. He was always there. He kept papers and things there. So why not money, too?”
It was a short walk, made even faster by the lateness of the hour. There was no traffic to dodge, and no people to bother with. The streets were dark, the lanterns having long gone out, and the Tontine looked empty.
The door was locked. Justy tried to use the tip of his knife in the padlock, but the blade just brightened the brass around the keyhole.
Kerry pushed him out of the way.
She reached behind her head and pulled out the long hairpin that held her hat in place. She slipped the point into the keyhole and pushed on the steel until she had bent the pin into a thirty-degree angle. Her eyes narrowed as she played the point of the pin back and forth in the lock.
There was a sharp click. The lock fell open. She pushed the door wide and winked at Justy.
The Tontine was still. The huge chandelier in the lobby had been lowered, so that the servants could clean it, and Kerry and Justy had to walk in a long, wide circle around it. The doors to the Club Room opened smoothly. Moonlight streamed through the windows and cast long shadows from the armchairs and tables. The place smelled of damp ash and old leather. Kerry stood by a window, bending her hairpin back into shape, while Justy went to the long cabinet against the wall where Colley kept his sherry. It was full of bottles and stacks of paper. Justy knelt and pulled the papers onto the floor and began leafing through them.
Kerry hissed at him. She cupped her ear. He heard a carriage in the street. It stopped below the window. There was the hollow sound of boot heels on cobblestones, walking around the side of the building, and then silence.
He beckoned Kerry to the middle of the room. “He has a key to the back. We’ll stay here and see where he goes.”
“And then what?”
“We’ll see. It may not even be him.”
They stood either side of the doorway, listening to the muffled sounds of men moving through the building.
“Put it on the table, Mr. Fraser.” Colley’s voice carried through the dark from the dining room. Campbell wouldn’t be far behind. Justy hoped they had left the carriage driver outside.
Two against three, at least two of whom would likely be armed. Not the best odds, but not the worst he’d ever faced. He still had the advantage of surprise. He closed his eyes and thought about the layout of the Tontine. He took the knife out of his boot. And then he walked quietly across to Kerry and told her what to do.
* * *
The moon had fallen far enough in the sky that its light now shone directly through the high windows in the Tontine’s dining room. The long, polished table shimmered like a mirror, except where two black strongboxes marred its surface at the far end. Colley stood over one, separating its contents into two piles. Fraser stood behind him, watching, his pistols shoved into his belt.
It was a moment before Fraser noticed Justy in the doorway. He dragged out a pistol, but before he could level it Colley pushed it down.
“Mr. Flanagan. What a surprise. Come to see me off?”
“Hardly, Jack.”
“No, I didn’t think so. I can only assume you’ve come to … bring me to Justice.”
“Very funny. But you won’t be leaving New York tonight.”
“What about our deal?”
“You lied to me, Jack. And that means there is no deal. Not anymore.”
Colley closed the lid of the box. “I see. And what did I lie about, exactly?”
“About my father. About Drummond. About Cantillon. Turner told me everything.”
“Did he? And how is the good Marshal?”
“Good and dead.”
Colley smiled slightly. “You really are a very impressive young man, Justice. I do wish we had been able to find a way to work together.”
“Do you deny it?”
“Deny what? Killing your father? Of course not. He deserved it. He was a pompous, self-righteous drone. We offered him the opportunity to become wealthy beyond his dreams, and then he turned on us. I gave dispensing with him no more thought than I would a capon, before I wrung its scrawny neck.”
Justy had to squeeze his fists tight to stop himself from trembling.
Colley watched him for a moment. “I wonder, Justice. If you have come to kill me, where are your weapons?”
“I didn’t say I was going to kill you. I mean you to hang, like the gutless, murdering pimp that you are.”
“Of course you do.” Colley’s face snapped shut. “Well, you should have brought more than that pathetic knife of yours. Mr. Fraser? Shoot him.”
Fraser was quick. His arm swung up and there was a loud crack. The doorjamb disintegrated. But Justy was already gone.
He ran to the doorway to the Club Room and stood in the moonlight, listening to Fraser’s boots, hammering on the floorboards. He waited until Fraser saw him, and then he stepped back into the dark.
Fraser followed, running across the expanse of the lobby. There was a strange moaning sound. He felt a breath of wind on his face. He stopped. He screamed.
* * *
Justy had drawn all the curtains in the Club Room except one, which he had torn down and cut into strips. He had fashioned a makeshift rope, then taken it to the lobby. The chandelier hung from the ceiling, its hawser attached to an iron hook on the wall opposite the dining room. He and Kerry worked quietly, aware that Colley was in the dining room, only a hundred feet away. Justy had pushed the massive wheel of oak to one side, and Kerry had secured it to the hook with the velvet rope. The chandelier became a pendulum, halted in mid-swing. The only snag was, both the rope that suspended it and the strip of velvet that held it to the side were now tied around the same iron hook in the wall.
“It’s dark, so be careful. If you cut the wrong one, you’ll bring that thing down on your head and Fraser’ll be free to plug me any way he pleases,” Justy whispered.
“I wish you’d stop treating me like some totty-headed moll.”
He grinned. He handed her the knife. “I’m not. I’m trusting you with my life.”
* * *
The chandelier was made of solid oak and banded with strips of iron. It weighed more than a ton. When Kerry cut the strip of velvet, releasing the huge wooden wheel, it swung through the still air, faster than a man could run, making the slight moaning sound that made Fraser stop. When he saw what was bearing down on him, he barely had the time to open his mouth before the edge of the chandelier caught him square in the face. His scream was abruptly cut off as his head was torn from his shoulders.
The impact did nothing to slow the chandelier. It carried on and struck the far wall with a splintering sound, like a tree being felled. Kerry dropped to her knees and crawled towards Fraser’s body as the wheel swung back over her head. She grabbed the pistols and squirmed across the parquet floor to the Club Room.
It was pitch-black inside, the only light coming through the door that led to the lobby. Justy took his knife from Kerry and pushed her towards the window. He sniffed the pistols to see which one Fraser had already fired, then gave her the loaded gun. “Get behind the curtains. There’s only two of them now, but they’ll both be armed. They won’t want to come into the room, but I’ll try and draw them in. When I say, throw the curtain open and shoot whoever you see.”
He went to the center of the room and knelt behind one of the big leather chairs.
He felt, rather than heard, them. There was a slight thickening of the darkness around the doorway. He ducked his head down. He was confident the overstuffed chair would stop a ball, even at close range, but his guts were still churning.
“I’d tell you to run, Jack, but you won’t get far!” he shouted. “Not now that the Bull knows what you did.”
“That’s if you had the time to tell him.” Colley’s voice floated across the room. “If I was bent on exacting revenge, I’m not sure I would make a detour to Dover Street first. I think I would come direct to the rendezvous.”
Justy closed his eyes and cursed himself for a goddamned hotheaded clunch. If Colley killed him, there would be nothing to stop him from getting out of the city. And even if Colley didn’t kill him, if he ran now, he would likely still make it out. It would be impossible for Justy to get to the Bull first.
He felt the thud of his pulse in his crushed throat and his cut hand. He imagined himself sitting at a green baize table opposite Colley, cards facedown in front of them. “Perhaps you’re right, Jack. Perhaps I did come direct. Perhaps not. But if I did, don’t you think I’d have sent word with one of his water rats first?”
Silence. He imagined Colley weighing his options. He could kill Justy or run, but if word had already made it to Dover Street the Bull would catch him and give him a long, slow, painful death. And was Justy such a fool, to make such an elementary mistake? The odds were long, and the stakes were high. Which left Colley with just one option: to capture Justy and exchange him for his life.
There was a shuffling sound in front of him. Justy crawled backwards and to the right. He hid behind another chair.
“That was a nasty trick you played on Mr. Fraser,” Colley said. Justy could tell he was still beside the door.
“A face like that, I did him a favor.”
Again, the shuffling sound, off to his left this time.
Justy took a deep breath. “Now!”
Moonlight flooded the room. Campbell was crouched beside one of the chairs, his pistol in his hand. He spun towards the source of the light, firing at the shape in the window. Kerry fired at the same time, and Campbell’s head snapped back. He crumpled to the ground. Kerry was gone.
The room stank of gunpowder. Justy glanced around the chair, but Colley was no longer by the door. He crabbed left. He needed to get to Kerry.
He crawled to Campbell’s body. The ball from Kerry’s pistol had entered above the right eye and blasted out the back of his head. There was no second pistol in his belt. Justy kept moving left, listening for Colley.
Kerry screamed.
Justy risked a look over the chair he was hiding behind. Colley was standing by the window, his pistol resting on his shoulder, pointed at the ceiling. He looked relaxed, like a man out for a walk in the country.
He shifted his weight, and Kerry screamed again.
Justy stood up. Kerry was lying on the floor by the window. Her coat was dark, but it was darker still around her shoulder, where Colley’s boot rested, pinning her to the floor.
Colley grinned. “It’s a bad one, Justice. The shoulder. You’ve seen wounds like this, haven’t you? All those blood vessels coming together in one place. A long, slow bleed. And then there’s the nerve endings. So many. So much pain.”
He pushed down again with his foot. Kerry’s scream seemed to go on for minutes, before ending in a tearing, retching sound.
“Enough!” Justy shouted. “What do you want?”
“The same arrangement as before. Safe passage out of the city. A day’s grace.”
“The Bull will never let you go. Not when he finds out what you did.”
It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. Justy felt the blood thump in his temples.
Colley smiled.
“So he doesn’t know yet. You haven’t told him. You were so caught up in your own vengeful thoughts that you failed to send word. That changes things, doesn’t it?”
Slowly, he straightened his arm and brought his pistol to bear. Justy watched it come, his heart like a trip-hammer as the barrel leveled at his chest, yawning like a round grave.
“Any last words?” Colley asked.
Justy said nothing.
Colley shrugged and pulled the trigger. There was a loud click.
Justy grinned.
“Half-cock, you cunt.”
The blade of his knife snapped into place and he hurled himself at Colley, his left hand going for Colley’s eyes, the blade in his right aiming for his neck. Colley staggered backwards, flailing with the pistol. He was lucky. The pistol hit Justy’s hand and the knife spun away across the room. Justy ignored the pain in his fingers and kept coming, ploughing into Colley, grabbing his coat and hammering his head forward.
His forehead smashed hard into Colley’s nose. Colley screamed as the cartilage gave way, and blood spurted over his face and into his mouth. He spat in Justy’s face, smashed the butt of his pistol into his temple and drove his knee upwards into Justy’s groin. He clawed at Justy’s eyes and snapped at his ear with his teeth. It was like grappling with a cornered wolf. Colley was more than twenty years older, but he had muscles like a ship’s hawsers and he used everything he had to fight.
Justy felt a spike of fear. He threw an elbow at Colley’s head and rolled away, reaching for his knife, but Colley was on him instantly, his knee in Justy’s stomach, pinning him to the floor as they both scrambled to get their hands on the weapon.
Justy’s fingers felt metal. The blade of the knife. His hand closed on it, and then he screamed as Colley pulled the knife away, the blade slicing deep into Justy’s palm. He writhed, one hand trying to push Colley off him while the other held the knife away, but Colley squirmed on top of him, belly to belly, and held him down. He pressed himself as close as a lover, jamming his knees into Justy’s thighs, pinning him to the floor. Then he rocked back on his knees and brought the knife to his chest with both hands. Justy went with him, trying to sit up, using one hand to punch at Colley’s face and then wrapping both hands around the knife, trying to push it away.
Colley pushed forward again, the blade pointed down. Justy’s back hit the floor. His arms were locked. He dug his fingernails into the backs of Colley’s hands, trying to push him left, then right, but everything was slick with blood and sweat, and Colley’s weight was like a wall above him.
The blade was smeared with blood. Colley’s face was a bleeding, sweaty mask. He was panting like a dog. And then he chuckled. He leaned harder, and Justy felt his elbows buckle.
Colley grunted. His eyes bulged and he slid sideways, dropping the knife, one arm reaching behind him. Justy pushed him away, grabbed the knife with his left hand and struck hard. He felt the blade go deep, and then he rolled away, dragging himself to his feet, the breath like fire in his throat.
Colley was on his knees, his forehead pressed to the floor, one hand clutching at the knife wound in his side, the other reaching behind him, groping for something. Justy stepped closer and saw a glittering inch of silver hairpin sticking out of his back.
Kerry was slumped in one of the Club Room chairs. Her face was gray, and her right sleeve was soaked with blood. He undid her coat, then stripped off his cravat, folding it into a wad that he pressed against the wound in her shoulder before buttoning the coat tight.
“Is he dead?” Her voice was slurred.
It was an effort for him to speak. “Not yet. But soon.”
He leaned over Colley, took hold of the end of the long silver hairpin and pulled it out. Colley moaned and fell onto his side.
Kerry’s lips moved. He leaned close. Her eyes were dull, and her skin was clammy. He knew he had to get her to a surgeon, and quickly.
“You should finish the job,” she whispered.
He looked at Colley, lying on his side, his head lolling on the soft blue carpet. Blood trickled steadily out of his mouth and he was breathing in short hiccups, without exhaling. Justy knew the signs. Between them, he and Kerry had cut an artery and punctured a lung. Colley was drowning and suffocating, all at the same time.
He wiped his knife on Colley’s coat, folded it and tucked it into his boot.
“Let him bleed.”