Chapter Two – Party Trick

When Fagin and Dodger at last regained consciousness, the first thing they were both aware of were the handcuffs; biting silver metal cutting into their wrists. The pain it brought hadn't been felt while they were unconscious, and they winced a little as the metal bonds began to sting.

The sound of laughter.

Suddenly, it all came flooding back…Toby falling forwards, stone dead, a knife glimmering in his back, the traps guffawing with triumph, a pair of them wrestling them to the floor and, undoubtedly, snapping the handcuffs in place…

Fagin cursed.

"Look who's finally awake! 'Ave a good sleep, you two?"

The voice was by no means pleasant or cordial; quite the opposite. Sarcastic would be the best turn of phrase on the whole; it was clear the policemen didn't care a button for the two handcuffed pickpockets at their feet.

"No, actually," snapped Fagin, struggling to sit up the better to infer what was going on. "It was quite unpleasant as a matter of-"

"What're you babblin' about Fagin?" cried Dodger, in a state much more agitated then the former. Then, turning to the traps and endeavoring to stand; "Let us go, will ya?"

Yet more jeers and laughs from Her Majesty's police force.

"We can do many things, sonny, but letting you two go ain't one of 'em. We were just waitin' for you to wake up so we could take yer down to the station; better for you to walk yerselves then for us having to drag yer!"

Dodger was surprised to find that Fagin was laughing along with the police; what was he playing at? Didn't he realize what was happening? Or was he, as Dodger had suspected earlier, really mad? He certainly seemed to be. But then Dodger noticed, even in the dim light of the room, Fagin's laughter didn't meet his eyes. He was planning something; Dodger knew that look…

But what could he possibly be planning? How on Earth were they to escape from this; a nightmare come to life?

"Tell you what," Fagin said, his voice laced with false friendliness and ease. "How about a little drink before we 'ead off, eh?"

The police looked at each other; one confused, one seeming to the like idea, the third suspicious.

"What do you mean?" snarled the suspicious man; the one with the bandage on his hand.

"Simple," said Fagin. "You undo these handcuffs and I get us all a nice glass of gin. I won't 'ave to go anywhere either, no need to fret. I know exactly where the bottle is…"

Dodger felt like smacking his head against the wall. How dumb did Fagin think the traps were? It was only then that he noticed Fagin was rummaging, albeit awkwardly with the handcuffs, in his back pocket. Despite his own frailty, and the handcuff's bite, it was the work of a few moments to procure a small, battered box. Matches!

Dodger bit back a grin. How typical of Fagin to carry bric-a-brac and potentially dangerous items about his person; who knew what else he had crammed in his capacious pockets?

"Well…" said one of the policemen finally. "Perhaps we could-"

"What're you thinking, eejit?" snarled the man with the bandage. "Uncuffing the criminal like that?"

"He ain't gonna do anything! Even if 'e did try summit he wouldn't be able to escape! We're police, ain't we Poole? Or are you just a twit in uniform?"

Dodger hastily stifled a laugh; he didn't want to draw un-necessary attention to himself.

After a few moments more of deliberation, majority won and Fagin, much to Poole's disgust and Dodger's hidden delight, was uncuffed. He scurried over to Toby's gin cupboard as fast as he could, hurriedly pulling a match from the box as he did so, making sure the traps didn't see what he was up to.

He wrenched open the cupboard door (it was old and prone to stick) and at once spotted the bottle. The police, save Poole, didn't suspect a thing; laughing and chatting away like anything. He pulled the bottle towards him and lit the match, clumsily dropping it into the bottle.

Dodger knew what was going to happen a second before it did. He bolted for the door, handcuffs or not, and kicked it open, running down the stairs from Toby's flat as fast as he could. Fagin, having tossed the flaming bottle over his shoulder towards the surprised policemen, was soon at his heels; stumbling over his own feet in his haste to escape. Behind them, the two pickpockets could hear the sounds of surprised yells and hungry flames.

They managed to exit the house before the flames engulfed it entirely; Fagin wheezing with macabre laughter, Dodger unsure what to think. They had escaped, certainly, but hadn't they just murdered three men? With flaming gin?

Once they had reached an alleyway far enough from the house as to avoid suspicion, Fagin sank to the ground in a fit of manic laughter, tears running down his face in his mirth.

"Ha ha ha! Those idiots didn't see it coming! Hee hee hee! They honestly thought I'd get 'em some gin? Well…I did that alright! Ha ha ha!"

"FAGIN!"

The old man abruptly stopped his amused recollections and looked up at Dodger.

"Yes, my dear? Something the matter? Don't see why; we escaped from the tr-"

"I'm still in b***** 'andcuffs, Fagin, that's wot's the matter!"

"So you are, my dear, so you are. I'll get you out of them soon enough, just give me a moment or two to savour my victory; there's life in the old dog yet!"

"Um…flaming gin, Fagin? Flaming gin?"

"D'you have a problem with that?" asked Fagin, still chuckling. "Old party trick, my dear, old party trick."

Dodger nodded wearily. Of course, setting gin on fire was one of Fagin's party tricks.

"Now can you get these flippin' 'andcuffs off me?"

"Of course I can, my dear. Just let me pick the lock…another little trick I've learnt…"

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A/N: How else were they going to escape? XD

It's been far too long since an update; hope you enjoyed it! =) What will Dodger and Fagin do now? Will Fagin be able to pick the handcuffs? Watch this space, my dears, and R&R while you're at it! =P