The Black Hand by Will Thomas Read Free Book Online

this comes along and proves how deluded I am. Where did Barker learn the language of horse traders?
    “Done,” Hooligan finally said, “providin’ I can convince the lads. I’ll send word by the end of workin’ hours. Pleasure doin’ business with you gents as always—Mr. Barker, Mr. Llewelyn. I’ll see myself out.”
    “This entire Sicilian situation reminds me of the condottiere, the mercenaries that the old city-states of Italy hired when they were at war,” I said after Hooligan had left.“They prospered enough from the killing to purchase large villas and become a threat to everybody else.”
    “Exactly,” the Guv replied. “There is nothing more dangerous than a mercenary, trained in the art of war, who is cunning enough to use the political situation to his own economic advantage.”
    It occurred to me that Cyrus Barker was something of a mercenary himself. Trained in the art of war, yes. A cunning foreigner, aye, laddie. Economic advantage, certainly, the last I looked at our bank account. And as for using the political situation, it was something we did often in our work, though I’ll say in his defense that he genuinely had the Empire’s best interests at heart. A reformed mercenary, then.
    “What are you thinking, lad?” Barker asked gruffly. Sometimes I swear he can read minds.
    “I was wondering if there is a Sicilian political group here in London,” I went on, “or an Italian one. Is there an Italian newspaper published here?”
    “No, there isn’t. They’re not as large a group as the Jews with their Chronicle . It’s a good idea about the political group, though. You must ask Gallenga about it when you see him again. How did the blade fighting go?”
    “You’d have to ask Mr. Gallenga about that, sir. Do you really think it necessary?”
    “Aye. My blade has saved my life half a dozen times. Why? Don’t you like the dagger?”
    “If you must know, it worries me a little. I can pull out a gun and shoot a man if I know he’s trying to kill me, and I have no trouble defending myself with a stick, but a blade … to gut a man as if he were a mackerel, it makes me pause.”
    “Don’t pause too long, lad,” Barker said, crossing his arms, “or he’ll be the one gutting you.”
    “Being stabbed would be terrible,” I went on. “I’d rather be shot. There’s something about that sharp blade that sets my teeth on edge, even to think of it.”
    “There is,” he admitted. “I think most would agree with you, even though the gun is more fatal. I’ve suffered both wounds, and the former is more clearly in my memory than the latter. Let us be off, Thomas. One more stop before we go home. I want to visit Clerkenwell.”

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15

    I T IS MY HUMBLE OPINION THAT IF ONE HANDS OUT enough money to keep a solicitor on retainer that said solicitor should have the decency to be prompt and not leave a poor fellow wasting away in prison with nothing to do save watch his nails grow. After four hours, I’d managed to dredge up all my old feelings and insecurities about prison life. At least the solicitor Thad Cusp was able to get us off completely, which only went to prove the Yard had had no evidence to hold us in the first place.
    “None the worse for wear?” Barker asked when I saw him again. I found him oversolicitous, but then, I was in a foul mood. Did he think I would climb the walls or try to swallow my pillow?
    “No, sir,” I replied. We were standing in the corridor of the Criminal Investigation Department. “Did you have an interview with Commissioner Henderson?”
    “Aye. ’Twas like facing down a nor’easter. But it was all bluff and bounce, nothing he hasn’t threatened me with in the past. It was Poole who tried to get under my fingernails.He wanted me to tell him everything based upon our friendship.”
    “But you have told him everything.”
    “Precisely. It’s all a matter of public record. I didn’t give him my