The low canopy of trees cast shadows across the path, leaves swaying back and forth in the brisk winds of winter as Robin leaned against the side of his building. The Sherwood was hidden in plain sight. So easy to walk straight into that nobody ever did. Even so, Robin had his office on the top floor; the main reason being to keep every man and his dog who worked in admin from knocking on his door every five minutes, rather than the thought of a rival stumbling in.
His right hand rested on his cane, where an elegantly carved silver lions head sat at the top of the black varnished wood. The forward tilt of his head meant his eyes were cast in darkness from the brim of his fedora and the rain dripped in rivulets down his exposed neck.
"You're late." Even though Robin couldn't see the figure behind him, he could sense the tension crackling. If Robin had learnt anything from being in this game so far, it's that tone of voice is everything. He wasn't the strongest physically, but that didn't matter when you could get a man to break every bone in his own arm.
"Locksley, listen to me," and this fella's tone left much to be desired. The quiver in his voice irked Robin, made him swivel on his heel to face the scrawny man. Robin wasn't exactly tall, but he loomed over Isaac with a stare cold enough to freeze over the East River. "I-I can get you your money,"
"That's funny," drawled Robin, humourless smile playing on his lips, "If i recall correctly, that's what you said to me last week. And the week before that." He stepped into the alley towards Isaac with every word, backing him further and further away from the lamp light of the main street.
"Please, Locksley, I-I have a kid!" He was shaking now, cowering like a dog to his owner.
"I don't believe you."
So quick that Isaac couldn't register the movement, Robin had him pinned up against the wall with one arm, cane pressed to his neck. "Now you listen to me. Okay?" Robin's voice was low, hissed, and he waited for Isaac to nod before carrying on. "I'm not going to kill you for two reasons. Number one, I have plenty of people to do it for me." He glanced up at the building behind him to emphasise his point. "Two, I want that money. And you're going to get it for me. Understood?" Isaac gave another frantic few nods of his head before Robin roughly shoved him back into the wall then let him go. The man bolted, holding onto his hat as he ran back to wherever he crawled from.
Robin took a breath, brushing off his sleeves and straightening his tie before he strolled back into The Sherwood.
The ground floor of his building was a bar, steady business in the day, but crammed from wall to wall at night with the scum of the earth. Street rats, mobsters, the filth that had outstayed their welcome at every other place in the city. He weaved his way through the smoky room, past card games and hushed conversations swallowed by the louder ruckus of the large room, to where Will Scarlett was leaning on the bar with a crystal tumbler of whiskey.
"Sorted it then?" asked Will, swirling the amber liquid round his glass before taking a sip.
"I won't be waiting much longer, let's just say that."
Will gave him a long look, his lips curving into a boyish smirk.
"What?" Snapped Robin, not bothering to look back across at him. The other man was unscathed by the barb, taking another pull on his drink before he spoke.
"You've got a visitor. A lady," that got Robin's attention. "John sent her upstairs."
"Well what the bloody hell did he do that for?" Whispered Robin, eyes scanning for the man in question but knowing John he was already too drunk to stand. A dull pounding was starting in the back of Robin's head, the patter of rain before a storm. He swept from the bar and slipped behind the door leading to The Lion's Den. Will had given the building that nickname once and it stuck, spreading between his men and his enemies like wild fire. Like a warning.
He shucked his trench coat from his shoulders and hung it on the coat-stand in the hall. The stairs leading to the upper floors were old and narrow, so Robin made sure every new member of his gang knew where to step to avoid the creaking. He took that route now, silently making his way four floors up to his office at the end of the corridor.
His fingers brushed along the wall, snagging on the loose paper as he slowly approached the door, senses on high alert, listening for any noise inside. Nothing. But Robin knew better than to trust a silence. In this business, anyone could shoot you in the back. Cool brass touched his palm as he twisted the doorknob and the low yellow lamplight flooded the landing.
A woman sat, back to the door, on one of the two seats facing Robin's desk. Her delicate arm hung over the side of the chair, a cigarette in a holder clasped loosely in her gloved fingers. She brought the jade tube to her lips and took a drag, smoke billowing around her dark hair in a swirling plume as she let it out.
"Can I help you?"
The woman jolted a little, her cool composure fizzling slightly then reassembling in a second as she stood from the chair. Her red dress hung from her body, clinging in a way that was classy rather than scandalous. It was her lips that were the scandal – coloured a shade darker than her dress, pursed as she lazily looked him over, her eyes dark like fresh brewed coffee, and a glint that screamed trouble.
"I don't know, can you?" Good god, that voice. Robin found himself smirking at her before he realised what he was doing, the sensuous raise of her eyebrow only serving to pull him into her bubble further. "Are you Locksley?"
"Who wants to know?" He rested his hands on top of his cane, the silver lion warm under his palm.
The woman slipped from behind the chair and crossed to him in two gliding steps, her dress flowing side to side with each sway of her hips. He couldn't help but give her a glance up and down – when he lifted his gaze her eyes were already on him, her lips tipping up into a smirk. She lifted her cigarette to her lips, the black lace glove covering her hand beautifully intricate and fitted like a second skin. She opened her mouth so the smoke curled into the air between them, distorting her smooth skin before drifting away.
"Regina,"
"What can I do for you Regina?" He dropped his voice a couple of octaves, stepped closer to her than would have been considered proper on a first meeting but she didn't seem to mind, her body instinctively arching towards his.
She tapped her cig into the ash tray on the mantelpiece without taking her eyes off him, "I want something taken care of. And I heard that you," she pulled a stray thread from his sleeve and discarded it on the floor, "take care of things."
"Oh?" Her hand lingered over his jacket, and he felt the flames of attraction burning in his chest. People had told him before and he'd denied it, but he really was a flirt. He loved to watch as his comments brought a flush of pink to cheeks, girls giggling as he walked passed and grinned at them. But this one, Regina, she would be harder to crack. And how he loved a challenge. "And what is it you want taken care of?"
They were inches from each other, so close that Robin felt himself deflate a little when she moved out of his reach to put out her cig in the ash tray on his desk. She leaned back and perched on the polished wood.
"A man actually," she crossed her legs, hands pressed to the desk on either side of her legs. "Blanchard. Leopold Blanchard."
"And what could such a man have done to deserve your wrath?" He questioned, cogs turning in his head as he tried to fit the pieces of this woman together. Her eyes glazed over briefly, brow pinching in the middle before she blinked and the playful glint returned.
"I'm not paying you to ask questions."
"You haven't paid me at all yet."
She slid off the desk, reaching into the fur lined coat resting on the chair she'd been sat on when he entered, and pulled out two slips of paper. Draping her coat over her arm, she moved back over to him where he leaned against the mantle. Robin never dropped her gaze, even as she slipped the papers into inside pocket of his jacket, her fingers grazing over his chest.
"Think about it," she said, "it's an offer you can't refuse."
And then she was gone, giving him one last glance as she pulled the door shut behind her. Her depthless eyes swallowing him whole and not letting him go even when she must have been long gone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the papers. The first had her name on it, and a telephone number, her elegant cursive burning into his retina. The second was a cheque. For $25,000.
Robin raced downstairs and into the bar but the woman was nowhere around.
"Someone's got you all riled up," said Will, still sat on his stool at the bar.
Robin shook his head in mild disbelief then turned to his friend, "You don't perchance know a man named Leopold Blanchard?"
Will swigged the last of his drink. "Looks like it's your lucky day."