Street Rats
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"A few pence for me, eh? C'mon now, I ain't gonna bite you, mister! Mister!" The haggard old woman refused to leave her latest prey alone. She obviously needed the money – calling her clothing ragged was an understatement, and she looked as if she had wore the dress for years now. Her hair was in tangles and there were several deep purple bruises covering her arms and face. She looked as if she hadn't eaten for days.
"Get away from me, woman!" he exclaimer angrily, trying once more to brush past her. The beggar, however, had other plans, and blocked his way once more. His threats to call for the police seemed to have made no impression on her.
"Mister, y'can spare a few pennies, can't you? For a miserable woman, sir!" She grabbed onto his arm, the pleading look in her eyes the result of obvious desperation.
"Alright!" he dug two coins out of his pocket and handed them to her, her emaciated fingers grasping the money greedily. "Don't spend it too quickly."
For once in his life, he felt no remorse in losing a cent. This time, he told himself smugly, he would receive triple the amount of his losses because this time he had a plan. It was an accident, really, that he had discovered that the man he used to work for had returned to London under a guise. That this man would be a wanted criminal, destined to have his neck in a noose if anyone else ever found out who he really was.
He smiled; blackmail was the perfect solution to both of their problems. He – Danny, now professionally Adolpho – needed money, and Benjamin Barker needed secrecy. He was pulled from his thoughts by another tug on his arm.
"Hey there, mister, need a little something extra from a missus, hmmm?"
"No."
"Aw, now don't be a shy one. You ain't got no ring, you ain't married!" She jabbed him in the shoulder, and he flinched at her touch.
He still wasn't married.
Right.
Well, that was to be expected, you know. A traveling man who slept with young whores couldn't be expected to find a decent wife, if one at all. No sane woman would want him, and no street rat would want marriage. Any type of romantic relationship gets in the way of business – he was always careful never to make a tie with any woman he slept with or wooed for his own pleasures.
"Let's just say, signora, you are quite old enough to be my mother."
The woman huffed and jabbed him again. "Judging by your profession, dear sir, you ain't a picky one 'cept when it comes time for the pay."
He stepped away from her, trying to divert her attention, seeing as he was the only one on the street at the moment. He pulled a small bottle of a reddish liquid out of his coat pocket. "Here." He handed the bottle to the woman, who grasped it in the hand without the coins.
"What the sodding hell am I supposed to do with this shit?" she scowled, ready to drop it onto the street.
"No!" He moved his hand to catch it if she chose to drop the liquid. "When you're feeling ill, just take a little bit. Consider it as…a gift from one street rat to another, signora." In truth, he had actually just wanted to rid himself of the bogus elixir – it hadn't sold. A mixture of red and orange powders, milk, and creek water. Useless, though the bottled concoction was pleasing to look at. The colors hadn't quite mixed when they were added.
"I ain't no street rat. I don't belong out here," she muttered, looking into the bottle curiously. He didn't hear her; he was already walking away and was half way down the cobblestone street, whistling to himself while he thought of future plans.
"Hey, mister!" she called after him. "Guess what I can see!"
He turned slightly on his heel to glance back. There was an enormous foolish grin spread across her face behind the dirt and grime as she held the bottle up, looking at London through it.
"City on fire."