Joe came out of the NFPD building chewing hard on his cigar. The autopsy report had nothing new to add to what Joe already knew. The police’s door-to-door enquiries had come up blank, even their narcs had heard nothing, or so they had said. To be fair Joe’s own men weren’t having any luck either. And this was despite their more ‘persuasive’ approach to asking. So Joe climbed back into his car and drove the fifty yards to the ammunition factory. Hopefully, his enquiries from further afield; Hope Springs, Diesel Town and even that den of inequity Embry Crossroads way down in the south of the province. Joe’s mind was turning towards Fat Eric in Diesel Town being the most likely villain. He stopped halfway up the stairs to his deserted office. Of course there was always Miss Brown. Joe shook the thought from his head and stomped the rest of the way up the stairs. No, after that affair with Tuki and Hyle Troy, Brown had gone to ground God knows where. Reaching his office, Joe sat at his desk and worked through the envelopes and scraps of paper that had been left for him. Even Aunt Lucy was behaving herself he thought, screwing up another dead lead. That evil bitch was still holed up in some roadside diner flipping burgers or something. His fingers closed on an envelope… an envelope with something firm, but soft inside. Joe stared at it, a cold and clammy hand twisted his guts. “Fuck… Oh fuck no.” Stealing himself, Joe opened the little envelope and tipped the contents onto his desk. The suddenness of the relief made him gasp and blink back the threatening moisture in his eyes. Then his face hardened; it might not have been an ear or a finger like he had feared, but it was still bad. It was a tatty piece of dark red cloth tied in a bow. What confirmed it as belonging to his favourite pupil were the few strands of long ginger hair caught up in the knot. Joe scrabbled for the note that had fallen with it. ‘The Golds are the ones that will not be blamed for nothing.’ Joe stared at it. Read it again. Read it a third time. He knew those words, he’d read them before… somewhere. He shook his head, it would come to him. For now he concentrated on two words in particular. ‘The Golds’. Of course it was the Golds. The facts dropped like Tetris blocks. The Golds wanted to seal a deal with Joe, to consolidate what they had taken. They wanted their little lad… Patrick or whatever his name was to actually be ‘betrothed’ to Finny, like some ancient blood arranged marriage. Some Traveler tradition or something bloody stupid. He’d said he’d think about it, never intending to actually do it of course, until he had come up with a plan for getting the Borough back under his control. Joe’s anger was building like a thunderstorm on his face. Fucking Golds! His hand moved slowly upwards to his collar. The message went out to his lieutenants in words of frightening calm. “I want everybody back at the factory, now.” Casper’s little band, meant to blend in with the squalor of The Borough, was attraction the attention of everyone on the square. Trader’s stopped stacking shelves, Union guards moved to the rails of their watchtower, bankers became alert and formed a cordon in front of the vaults… and normal punters out for some early shopping checked their pockets. Basically, all eyes were on them because they actually DID look just like a little gang of pickpockets from The Borough. Lucas pulled on Casper's sleeve. “Why is everyone looking at us?” But it was Plastic Micky who dropped his head to the younger boy’s ear. “Just be ready to run.” Casper had a choice. He could either face it all out and lead his troops through the suspicious crowd of mostly frowning adults, or he could turn around and go back the way they had come. The second option was the easier of the two, less distance and it would make the hostile crowd feel like they had won, but it would then mean them having to take the long way around to where Micky wanted to go. The first option was a much more direct route, but that meant going three-quarters of the way around the pond through a mass of people used to chasing Borough kids off with curses, kicks and even stones. Any other day, Casper would have turned immediately and avoided the whole situation; but this day, THIS day Finny was likely all tied up somewhere with some guy stroking a cat and being all ‘mwhahah’ about it. So, this day, Casper was going to do something definitely Finny-ish. “Peg it!” Like greyhounds out of the traps the four boys took off as one, even Lucas who was still learning the ropes of being an eight-year-old gangster. Onetooth let out a ferocious if somewhat high-pitched war cry, immediately backed up by the others, as they charged into the crowd. Taken by surprise, the ‘seen it all’ grown-ups, finding themselves faced with what appeared to be a feral and possibly rabid pack of hardened Borough kids, fell back. The sea of traders and shoppers opened up before them and the four screaming boys crossed to the promised land… which, in this case, was the gap between the post office and the ‘Happy Slappers’ leather-goods shop. With the troops on their way; Joe took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the peeling veneer of his old desk. A little finger-walking across the minute buttons on his collar and his call was answered by the smooth Irish lilt of Moira Gold. Joe put a smile into his voice. “Moira! How the hell are you doing?” The reply held surprised confusion. “Joe? Joe Spivey?” There was a noisy silence interrupted by unintelligible whispers and Joe could almost imagine the mime conversation going on at the other end. When it ended, Moira spoke again, but this time it was all pure suspicion… as it should be when two criminals talk to each other. “And what might you be wanting?” “Moira, I think we both know what I want, eh? So why don’t we have a face to face somewhere that is safe, that serves a nice drop of beer and we’ll talk it out before the bullets start flying?” There was another long silence, unbroken this time which suggested to Joe that Moira was doing some deep thinking. “Now, just to be sure Joe… What is it we might be talking about at this safe place with the nice drop of beer?” Oh, we’re playing that game are we? Joe thought. “I thought we might be talking about you returning Finny, all smiling and swinging braids, safely back to me.” “And what makes you think…” “Beau’s Tavern, thirty minutes. Usual routine.” Joe severed the connection. Moira Gold stared across the room to Danior sitting on the sofa. But her brother was looking every bit as perplexed as she was. “Did you get that Danior, did you?” “I did Moira.” “What the Feck was he on about?” Danior called out for a lieutenant. The Finny Stories In chronological order: 000 Finny Intro 001 The Locket 002 Rats 003 A Christmas Finny 004 The Secret Adventurer’s Club 005 The Secret Adventurer’s Club: Second Adventure 006 Finny’s Birthday 007 Union Candy 008 Then There Were Three 009 Then There Were Four Again – Sort Of (WIP)