Volume IV: Cecil The Opium Dealer
Gareth wrinkled his nose at the stench of the back alley. He hated this part of London.
Every three to five feet, there lay some poor unwashed bastard strung out on cocaine – it boggled Gareth's mind that opium smuggling had to be kept under wraps, but cocaine was still considered recreational, if rather disreputable. This place was known as Addict's Alley, and every criminal worth his salt knew that this was the place to go if you wanted to buy or sell drugs. Ratigan wanted Gareth there to deliver a message to a Chinese opium dealer named Fanchang. What for, Gareth wasn't sure he wanted to know.
He'd decided to bring along Cecil (so he could keep an eye on the newbie), Morgan (because he didn't trust him alone back at the hideout without someone to keep him in line), and Tells (so Gareth didn't feel like he was babysitting the others the whole time). To tell the truth, Gareth would have preferred to bring Max along rather than Morgan, as the bigger mouse was very large and intimidating, and also very noticeable and easily spotted. Gareth would very much rather keep a low profile in a place this public and prone to police raids.
Cecil Burns, surprisingly enough, seemed to be good at keeping a low profile, despite his distinctive white fur. He kept his head on a swivel, giving every figure in the alley a furtive glance. Strangely enough, they all ignored him.
Gareth wondered if perhaps he was familiar with Addict's Alley – he hoped it wasn't due to an addiction. Ratigan couldn't care less about his henchmens' drug habits, but it could prove a fatal weakness if they needed him to fight.
Gareth put a hand on Cecil's shoulder. "Something wrong, lad?" he asked quietly. "You're lookin' like you got fleas in your trousers."
Cecil shook his head. "I was cornered here once, that's all. Bad memories."
"Ah." That would explain him being on his guard. Good – he should be.
Gareth despised anything that reminded him of opium or narcotics – it was what led to his mother's, and eventually his brother's, death. He had little patience for those who dealt in such substances – and even less for those who indulged in them. He sincerely hoped Ratigan wasn't going into the business of it himself – it might end up being the one thing Gareth couldn't take, and anyone who decided they were finished with Ratigan typically tended to find that Ratigan was finished with them – and the Napoleon of crime was never one to end things quietly.
(The idea that Ratigan could be wanting to actually take the drugs, was, of course, out of the question. The Professor always wanted his mind clear, and his thoughts unhindered – his only mind-altering indulgence was in his precious pink champagne, and even that only sparingly.)
As the four made their way down another winding gutter, Gareth finally spotted a small doorway, little more than a mere mousehole, flanked by yellow and red bead curtains. That was the place – it fit Ratigan's description. As always before undertaking another job, Gareth silently prayed to heaven that this wouldn't be where he died. The Lord had probably long since abandoned him for his life of sin, but he could always hope.
"That's our stop, lads. Morgan and I'll go in – Tells, Cecil, you both keep watch outside. Warn us if it looks like the coppers are anywhere nearby. Got it?" All parties nodded their heads. "Good. Let's get on with it."
They went inside, Gareth keeping Morgan where he could see him. He better not pull anything – especially not here.
The inside was decorated with curtains and luxurious silk pillows and gave an almost relaxing atmosphere – if it weren't for the noxious, suffocating opium fumes floating throughout the place. It was a disgustingly sweet smell – saccharine, almost. It made Gareth want to gag. On every cushion, couch, chair, you name it, there was another opium addict, hookah in hand, vapor streaming from their mouths and nostrils, gaze empty. All of these mice were barely conscious, eyes glazed over, lungs full of the smoke that was slowly killing their minds and destroying their lives...
Gareth briefly shook himself before moving on into another hallway. He could feel Morgan's narrowed eyes on his back. Wonderful. The last thing he needed was for his untrustworthy deputy to think he was feeling off center.
At the end of the hallway was a pile of soft cushions, on which rested an old mouse in a Chinese silk suit, eyes closed and taking a long, hard pull on his hookah – his shoulders were being massaged by two young women wearing little more than their knickers. Gareth grimaced. This, presumably, was Fanchang.
Taking notice of their presence, the old mouse opened his filmy eyes and let out a puff of cloudy opium in their faces. Morgan faintly growled – Gareth was inclined to agree, but it wasn't the place nor the time.
"You're Mister Fanchang?"
The elderly mouse looked over them with disdain. "Yes... And, you are?"
"Messengers. From Ratigan." That got his attention. Fanchang set aside his hookah and leaned forward to take the offered note from Gareth's hand.
He slit open the envelope with one of his claws, unfolded the letter, and sighed dramatically. "English. I am new to this country, not used to reading the language – and my old eyes are so, so tired. Qin," the old man said craftily, his eyes sliding over to the younger of the two girls and a lecherous grin creeping onto his face. "Read it to me, will you? And, whisper it in my ear."
The girl took the paper, and Gareth couldn't help but feel his heart go out to the poor girl. From the looks of things she'd been taken from China, and shipped off to England - God only knew what horrors she'd been made to witness. From the looks of it, the one on Fanchang's other side might be her sister; she seemed to be of a tougher, fiercer sort, with a keen, calculating look in her eyes as she surveyed Gareth and Morgan, so he hoped she had been able to shield her sister from the worst.
As Qin whispered the message into Fanchang's ear, a sneer crept onto the older mouse's face. He tore the letter from her hands and crumpled it in his fist. "Bah! Your boss, tell him he can – eh, what is it you English say? Go to hell. If he want to know the name and location of my suppliers, then he should start trading opium himself. I don't care who he think he is – tell him opium is where the money is now, and if he want London to be rid of it because he think it interferes, then he is a fool." He waved his hand at them. "Get out."
Gareth couldn't help it anymore. He snickered.
Fanchang narrowed his eyes at him and snarled. "What is so funny?"
"You really must be new to England if you think Professor Ratigan is going to take that as an answer. You'll be dead by the end of the week."
The elderly Chinamouse scoffed. "Your Ratigan is nothing to me. He is one mouse in England – I have many friends, in many places. What can he do to me?"
Gareth would have continued to argue the point, were it not for Tells pacing hurriedly into the room. "Gareth, we've got a wee problem. There's four coppers in uniform outside, headin' straight for us. Cecil's still out there to fight them off in case they come for us -"
"What? That idiot! What's the boy thinking? He can't possibly -"
There was shouting from outside, then a crashing sound, accompanied by the sound of smashing glass, and then finally a gunshot. Cecil came stumbling into the room with a bloody dead policeman slung over his shoulders and a smoking gun in his hand. He slumped over and let the body drop to the floor, breathing heavily. By now several of the addicts, hazy as they were, had screamed and run – to where, Gareth had no idea.
"They jumped me – I managed to get this one with my sword; I shot another in the shoulder and ran. The mousehole's been barricaded – for now." Cecil hefted himself up as he spoke.
Gareth's eyes narrowed. "This is all wrong – why's there only four of 'em? This can't be just a raid..."
"They were shouting for 'Morgan' last I heard," Cecil said pointedly, sidling the large mouse with a suspicious glare.
Gareth's spine suddenly got a chill as he turned to his deputy, a nasty smile slowly creeping onto Morgan's face. "'Ey boss," the giant said softly, teeth bared in a vicious grin as he looked down at his commander. "Did ya' know there's a warrant out fer yer arrest? Reward and everything – big one, too. They said they'd triple it if I told 'em everything I knew 'bout Ratigan an' his men. Yer' a wanted man, boss. Now how d'you feel 'bout that?"
He could feel his chest tightening and his shoulders shaking – rage was slowly but surely consuming him. There were a lot of things you had to turn a blind eye to as a criminal, but betrayal was never tolerated. You never turned on your partners, you watched your partners' backs, and you never, ever, ever chose the coppers over the men you called friends. Especially not for money. Even as a henchmouse thug, you just never sunk that low.
Morgan suddenly lunged for him, and Gareth didn't have any time to draw his sword or his pistol – but Tells' fist was quicker. The giant mouse was out cold on the floor in seconds, and the ginger Scot was shaking out his hand. "Feh! His skull's thicker than me Aunt Mary's fruitcake."
"Thanks for that."
"Anytime, mate."
There was a crashing sound reminiscent of splintering wood down the hall. Cecil's ears swiveled towards it. "That'll be the police." The three mice readied themselves for a fight.
"Just one moment!" Gareth turned around to find Fanchang standing up behind him, looking absolutely furious. "You do this to my establishment! You bring down police on me! I kill you! I kill you now!" The more angry he was, the worse his English got. "Qin! Mei!"
The two girls' stances suddenly became hard, lean and dangerous. They drew out daggers from God-knows-where. Qin looked especially apologetic. "Sorry about this," she said quietly. The other one – Mei, presumably – simply looked impassive. The two launched themselves at them, ready to strike -
Just as the three policemen burst in through the other end of the hall, guns at the ready.
For a solid second, Gareth thought they were all completely screwed. And then a miracle happened.
Cecil dashed towards the Chinese sisters -
Tells launched himself at one of the coppers -
Gareth drew his pistol and raised it up -
And in the next few seconds, Fanchang's throat was run clean through on Cecil's blade, Tells had dashed an officer's brains out on the arm of a wooden chair, and the other two coppers were down on the ground with bullets in their skulls. The two mouse girls still had their daggers in hand, looking very surprised and perplexed.
Gareth breathed. He'd never shot so well in his life, and thank God he had. His gun had saved his life once again. There must be at least one angel still watching over him.
And for a lovely, terrible moment, there was silence.
Then chaos broke out as the younger of the two girls started screaming, the elder started demanding an explanation, Tells was yelling at Qin to stop it with her screeching ("You sound like a banshee!"), and Gareth's head was still swimming from the opium smoke in the air, the betrayal, and the miracle of those two lucky shots...
"All of you, quiet!" Cecil's voice rang out (he has a lovely voice, Gareth thought vaguely. Just like a church bell.) and the other three shut up at the sound of the sharp reprimand. Cecil looked right at Gareth, his determined bottle-green eyes catching his attention. "What do we do now, sir?"
His voice cut through the fog in Gareth's head like a knife through butter, and he shook himself. "Ah, right." He looked around, taking in the scene. Three – no, four – dead coppers on the floor, an unconscious traitor, a number of potential witnesses, and all in a well-known opium den – and oh, right, the dealer was dead as well, and his two concubines were still very much alive and had definitely seen everything. Wonderful. Might as well sign his own death certificate here and now, and hold an early funeral to boot, because Ratigan was going to kill him. Kill him, stuff his head, and hang it on the mantle in his study as a gruesome warning to all of Gareth's successors.
Gareth rubbed his brow. Think, think, think...
"So... The main problem, lads – and lasses," he added for Mei and Qin's benefit (Cecil jumped, perhaps as if he'd forgotten the two of them were there), "is that we killed the dealer the boss was negotiating with. We'll have to find a way to cover that up from the Professor, but that'll be nearly impossible, so, we're dead. Not to mention Morgan mucked things up and we just murdered four coppers, which'll get us hanged for sure. So...yeah."
"He might not be terribly upset that we killed the dealer." Gareth turned, and Cecil was holding up the note Ratigan had sent with them, inspecting it thoughtfully. Tells sputtered.
"Are yeh mad?! 'E'll draw an' quarter you if 'e finds out yeh read 'is letter!"
"It says here that Ratigan wants Fanchang to back off from the opium trade and get out of England – it apparently 'interferes with his other business and enterprises,'" Cecil read aloud, pointedly ignoring Tells. "He might actually be happy that he's out of the picture. We can just blame everything on Morgan, and we will be fine."
Tells sputtered and tried to protest, but Gareth held up his hand. "Now that's actually not a bad idea. In fact," He eyed a few broken lanterns on the floor. "I have a few ideas as to how we can cover this mess up even further."
~~~oOo~~~
About an hour later, Gareth, Cecil, Tells, Qin and Mei all stood outside a burning building, with Morgan lying unconscious at their feet.
The version of events that they'd decided to tell Ratigan was that Morgan had betrayed them to the coppers, the police rushed in, killed Fanchang when he tried to flee, and the place caught fire when a stray bullet knocked down a lamp – they had barely escaped with their lives. Fairly close to the truth, but just far enough away to shift the blame away from Gareth, Tells and Cecil, and with the fire destroying much of the evidence, it would be harder for anyone to say otherwise. Ratigan would deal with Morgan when they got back to the hideout, and they (hopefully) wouldn't be punished for bungling the job.
Which left them with only one problem left.
"What about us?" Mei turned to them, a serious look on her face. "Qin and I – we are working women." She leaned forward, gazing at Gareth through half-lidded eyes. "Do you want us to come back with you?"
It took all Gareth had to be able to look down at her with a straight face. "Young lady, I am old enough to be your father. There is nothing you could do to make me want to take you back with me, especially not to my men."
"Well then what do we do?" Qin said, brushing a lock her hair back in annoyance. "We have nowhere to go, no place to stay."
Cecil stiffly cleared his throat. The two girls looked at him. "Er, well, actually, I know a woman a few streets away – she runs a tavern with her beau. Her name's Madame Coquin – just tell her that Cecil Burns sent you, and she'll take care of you. If you stay with her, you'll always have work, room and board, and with any luck, you won't have to walk the streets - or do anything like that - ever again. Hold on, I'll write down the address for you."
As the white mouse dug a paper and pencil out of his jacket, Gareth suddenly found himself realizing that now that Morgan had betrayed them, he needed to find a replacement for his deputy.
Who among his men stood out to him as a good candidate? His thoughts at first leapt to Tells, but no, he didn't work very well with others without someone else around to keep him in line, and just didn't command enough respect with the others.
Leslie? Gareth shivered. Heavens no – that mouse scared him, and while Gareth did trust him, and didn't doubt he could keep others in line, he was just too quiet, too unnerving. A friend, yes, but a friend best kept at arm's length.
And then an unlikely option presented itself to him – Cecil. He worked well with others, he could make them listen to him -
But no, he was new to the crew. Too new. It surely wouldn't be a good idea...
Max was almost as new when you promoted him, a small part of his mind reminded him. Morgan always gave you a bad feeling, but you needed muscle. Cecil's only been around a few weeks, and you already feel like you can trust him with anything. Can't you just go with your gut on this one?
His thoughts continued churning long after the girls left, and they bound and gagged Morgan to drag back to the lair. If Gareth seemed unusually quiet to the other two, neither mentioned it.
~~~oOo~~~
Ratigan had no facial tics to show when he was supremely irritated or annoyed. No twitching eyebrows, no bulging veins, no instinctive glare.
Many of his henchman wished he did have these, because the alternative was far more unnerving. Somehow, his simple, cold, blank stare as he loomed over them, arms folded, was ten times more frightening than if someone were shouting at them out of frustration. (Not that they would rather Ratigan be angry enough to shout – when he lost his temper, mice tended to die.)
As such, (as they explained themselves as best they could) all three mice were very, very glad that (almost) everything really was Morgan's fault.
(Not to mention the fact that Morgan wasn't really helping his own case, foaming at the mouth and shouting obscenities at everyone within sight, including Ratigan, cursing them all for separating him from his reward.)
When they were done, Ratigan raised an eyebrow, as if he knew there must be more to their story. But he simply turned away, an exasperated expression on his face. Oh well – everything went about as well as could be expected, anyway – it was a forlorn hope that Fanchang would go quietly. At least the traitor was exposed before he could do any more damage, Ratigan thought with an irritated sigh.
"I would advise that you stand back."
Tells and Gareth did so hastily, Cecil following them in confusion. Gareth grabbed the younger mouse's arm and urged him to stand against the wall. As Ratigan rang his bell, the older two closed their eyes out of habit – Cecil, not quite knowing what this meant, couldn't help but watch in awe and terror as a massive cat lumbered into the room.
There was a scream.
There was the sound of crunching bones.
And then there was silence, and a patch of blood on the floor where Morgan had once lain. Ratigan stroked the fur around Felicia's neck as her purrs filled the room, dismissing his henchmen now that the matter of the traitor had been taken care of.
Nothing else could have made them run out faster.
~~~oOo~~~
When they were safe and sound in the hideout's kitchen, Gareth made a decision.
Leslie, while reliable, was not trustworthy. And Gareth was certain that he had no desire to be his new deputy. Tells, while trustworthy, was hot-headed, and not always reliable. And that mouse was more of a follower than someone who could command. Gareth knew from his (brief) time in the Royal Navy that a reckless officer could spell disaster. The only other experienced mouse that he trusted with the work of a deputy was Max, who had already accepted the position – and he couldn't make do with just one. Which left only one option...
"Cecil," he said quietly, "I'd like a quick word with you."
A puzzled look crossed the younger mouse's face as Gareth led him to a more private tunnel.
"You've been a great asset to us so far, lad – you're a brilliant fighter, you're reliable, you're smart, and you keep your head in a crisis. And with Morgan now...gone...I could use a mouse like you."
"What do you mean?"
"What I'm saying, lad, is that I need two deputies. You've only been on a few jobs with us so far, but you already stand out as a decent bloke with your head on straight – young men like you are hard to come by in this business.
"This may come as a surprise, but – I'd like to have you try at being Morgan's replacement for a while. At least a month, just to see how you do. What do you say to that, eh?"
The white mouse had a stunned look on his face for a moment. He blinked, once, twice, and then a few more times. "Really?"
"Really."
"But – I'm new. You can't possibly trust me enough to -"
"Max was only here a week longer than you've been when I made him deputy, and he's been fightin' by my side three years now. He's yet to let me down. And if I'm right about you, lad, then you're already loyal member of the crew, even if the circumstances weren't the best when you came to us. Now, do you accept, or not?"
Cecil still had a perplexed look on his face, and indeed, the whole situation was strange, Gareth had to admit. But if he didn't name a replacement before tomorrow, he risked incurring Ratigan's ire, and Cecil looked to be a solid choice.
"It's just a trial period?"
"Aye."
"And if I'm not right for it?"
"So long as you don't do any permanent damage, then I'll just demote you. Mind you, your reputation'll take a beating if so, but little harm should come of it if you're careful." It went unsaid that if he made an irreparable mistake, his future would be very short.
Cecil bit his lip. "Hm. I don't know – what would I have to do?"
"Well, you'll have to lead teams and take my directions – I'll depend on you to act for me in my place, if I'm not there – you'll have to get familiar with Max and work with him – you'll have to help deliver the weekly chore rotation – the list goes on, but you'll be learning firsthand, mostly." Gareth paused, seeing the still-reluctant look on Cecil's face. "There are perks, too, of course. You would be allowed to sit in on certain meetings and such, and Ratigan will discuss his plans with you, Max, and me before telling the rest of the men. And," Gareth said slyly, "You get a room all to yourself."
Cecil perked right up at the mention of the room. The lad had likely rarely had the luxury of a bed, much less his own room. "Hm. It's just for a month?"
"Aye."
"And I'll be learning from you while I'm trying it out?"
"Certainly."
"Then I'll do it." Cecil's face had assumed a determined expression. "I'll try to do you proud."
"Me and Ratigan," Gareth corrected with a smile.
"Right!"
Gareth held out his hand. "It's a deal then? You would start tomorrow."
Cecil took it. "Yes, sir."
"Good lad."
Next Time! - Volume V: Cecil Goes to the Opera!
