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Talen Blackstone walked into his office, rolling up the white sleeves of the lawn shirt he’d clearly just thrown on, still loose around his middle and hanging over askew trousers. “This better be worth pulling me out of the naked arms I was just in, Hoppler.”
Pissed, as he should be.
Strider couldn’t blame him, for if Blackstone showed up at the Den of Diablo, demanding he be seen immediately, he couldn’t say he’d be as gracious as Blackstone was at the moment.
Strider stood straight from leaning against Blackstone’s desk, his arms crossed over his chest in an effort to keep his fingers from tapping in impatience. He flipped a hand out to wave in the air. “You could have finished your business. I would have waited another few minutes.”
Blackstone paused, his light blue eyes slicing Strider in two. “Minutes? Now you truly go too far.”
Strider hid a smirk. If anything, Blackstone appreciated a good barb when he heard it. He lifted both of his hands in front of him. “Apologies. I meant I could have waited hours.”
Blackstone nodded, continuing to the opposite side of his desk. “That’s better. Now I might actually listen to whatever wild hair has tickled your arse. What’s sent you to thisside of Broad Street?”
There was a very distinct line on Broad Street. Strider had his streets. Blackstone had his. After a rough start between the two of them years ago when they were both scrapping for control, they’d long since come to an understanding of which streets belonged to the other. And they hadn’t killed each other in the process—something no one would have bet on. The perk of their particular arrangement meant that when one of them was out of London, all of their people knew who to go to—the other man. It kept everyone in line. An odd code of honor amongst cutthroats, but it somehow worked between Strider and Blackstone.
Blackstone sat and Strider did the same on the opposite side of his desk, leaning back and throwing his right ankle atop his left knee. No need for pleasantries between them, Strider got directly to the point. “I need one of your men—well, not actually one of your men. I need the one that refuses to be your man.”
Blackstone’s lips pulled to a tight line, his head cocking to the side. Strider had piqued his interest. Blackstone reached to the right side of his desk and picked up a decanter and poured drams of brandy into two glasses.
He pushed one toward Strider and took the other, swallowing it in one gulp. “Who’s that—not the Bow Street Runner,Gorton?”
Strider nodded. “Mr. Gorton’s reputation is unimpeachable—never taken a bribe, never even stooped to pick up a lost coin, cannot be blackmailed—he’s exactly what I need.”
Blackstone’s eyebrows stretched high. “What in the hell could you possibly need him for?”
“I have an errand I need someone of his station and reputation to do.”
“Ahhh.” Blackstone poured himself another swallow and then leaned back in his chair, his fingers twirling the glass in his hands. “You need honesty?”
A half smile came to Strider’s face. “I hate to even think the thought, but in this particular instance, yes, I do. I’ll pay him for his time, of course.”
“An honest exchange?”
“The most.” Strider took his glass and swallowed the contents. “Do you think he’ll go for it?”
“It depends on what it is—and whether he smells something afoul about the request.”
“He won’t. It’s a simple request. Just one that needs his reputation attached to it.”
“Then I imagine he’ll do it. Word has it his sister is with child.”
“She is unmarried?”
Blackstone nodded.
“The man?”
“None fessing to it yet.”
Strider sighed. “You thinking of using his sister as leverage?”
Blackstone shrugged. “Maybe. She’s enough of a mess it wouldn’t be hard. But that’s a ticket I don’t want to cash unless it’s something worthy of him.”
“You admire him?”
“Respect.” Blackstone lifted his glass to Strider. “That is much different than admiration.”
“That it is.” Strider set his glass onto the desk. “Let him do this task for me before you corrupt him. Send him to the Willows. I’m leaving for there tonight.”
