Despite his caution, Rupert stepped over the threshold, two nights later, with a sense of nostalgia. Ethan, upon hearing that the pub's name referred to a temple of Janus, had claimed it as their new watering hole. Rupert suspected that Ethan had been put off by how much of a dive the bar had actually turned out to be, but if so he hadn't let it show. Ethan's enthusiasm, whether feigned or real, had dragged their circle back to The Portae Belli at least twice a week.
George had been a regular then and Rupert was willing to bet he still was. It was a bet Rupert would have won. Only a scattering of the tables were occupied. Men sat together, in groups of three or four, to get down to the serious business of drinking. George, scrawny and disheveled, sat alone at the bar. Even these dregs would have nothing to do with him. Rupert could wish that his own friends had been either more principled or less naive but that was behind him now. For this job, George was exactly what he needed.
Rupert settled down next to George and grabbed the bartender's attention. "Bottle of Jack and another of what he's having." Glancing over, Rupert saw George was drinking a Stiff Tart and hid his disgust. Paint remover tasted better. "And a Guinness."
"I'll take a Guinness," George interrupted, "if you're buying," Rupert nodded and they sat in silence as they waited for the drinks. Rupert took his time pouring the Jack out into two shot glasses, aware of George's unwavering gaze. George downed the offered shot in a flash as if afraid it'd be taken away. "What do you want?"
Rupert pushed the second shot over, picking up his Guinness and the empty shot glass as George downed the Jack. "Not here," Rupert said gesturing toward an empty corner. Once settled at the table, Rupert poured out another shot and pushed it over toward George. "I need someone who can fit through a window."
With the shot glass just shy of his lips, George paused. "A job?"
"Something like that." Rupert watched as George downed the shot. "Too many ears here but there's no rush. Let's have a few more rounds and then we'll find somewhere quiet to talk."
He sat, watching George drink more than drinking himself, until the pressure from his bladder told Rupert he'd had more than the one beer. Damn. That hadn't been part of the plan. He slapped his hands on the bar as he got to his feet. "Back in a bit."
"S'not my fault." George's words were slurred. "The guy came outta nowhere."
"The mishap at the bank? Could have happened to anyone."
"No one'll work with me. My fault they say." Leaning onto the table, he looked over one shoulder and stared up at Rupert. "How come you wanna work with me?"
Damn. "Because no one else will. I'll get to keep more of the dosh with you than with someone else."
George looked more resigned than happy with Rupert's response.
"Buck up," Rupert said. "Time to head round to yours and work out the details."
Rupert waited until they were alone in an alley. One sharp kick to George's ribs and the git was already crying. Rupert kicked him, again and again, lost in the fierce joy of making someone else bleed until the crying stopped. Rupert dropped down, close to the body. The pulse was strong and steady if a bit on the quick side. Good. Rupert cast a spell to keep him that way, alive but unconscious, until Rupert was ready.