Devil May Care Part 5/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimers and notes, see parts 1 through 4.

A/N: I like to pretend that I can be historically accurate but really, who knows what I actually come up with. I tried to recreate some turn of the century criminal slang- if you get curious/confused at their meanings- check the end of the chapter.

Thank you all for your continued support. It tells me it's worthwhile to continue this crazy thing. I think I've lost some of you along the way but please drop a line to tell me you're still interested. Would hate to be doing this for naught.

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"criminals are not limited in intelligence, and it is probable that the reverse is true. Studies of prison populations show that inmates equal the general public in intelligence tests- and yet the prisoners represent that fraction of lawbreakers who are caught." ~ The Great Train Robbery, Michael Crichton

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Marguerite made her way through the grime-covered streets of the East End. It had gotten no cleaner and if it were possible, more disreputable since the last time she had been in England. At all her old haunts, it was business as usual, in wartime or not.

One of the first places she had stopped by on coming into town was the Old Man's pawn shop. No one knew his real name- he could be as old as the hills as no one was quite sure of his age either. But he went by The Old Man and he was no longer young, so it was fitting. Though it was certain he was an Englishman, no one knew from where- some days he spoke in fluent Cockney and others, the Queen's English. He knew if you so much as sneezed in the East End and was as mercenary as they came. Naturally, Marguerite had a soft spot for him.

So after donning the appropriate clothes, she had set out for his shop, a horribly dirty establishment, hidden half in the shadows of a tenement building, with windows so covered with dirt and soot that no one could see the transactions that occurred within.

She entered and as usual, he was nowhere to be seen. All of his regulars knew how to play his game and would abide by the rules. She idly scanned the items haphazardly strewn about the shop. Not much was new; in fact, he never did do a lot of real business. Not any business that could be so prominently displayed anyhow.

With a rustling of the tattered blue curtain that concealed the back room from view, he appeared. He saw Marguerite and nodded, a slight smile forming on his face. She had been a favored customer for years.

"Still mourning, lady?" his raspy voice asked, with the slightest hint of sarcasm. He always called Marguerite "lady" and she had never questioned him. She supposed he meant it as a compliment- he was not exactly the soul of discretion but had never had pressed for a name from her. She was just "lady" to him. A lady forever in mourning, as she would consistently visit dressed completely in black, a veil obscuring her features from the prying eyes that abounded in this part of the city.

"My grief is infinite, Old Man," she replied in kind.

His eyes twinkled and his wry half smile returned to his face. "Is the lady buying or selling today?" He had fenced some of the more valuable and visible pieces that she had stolen, most recently Nigel's pocket watch and his dear aunt's pearls.

"More like browsing," she replied simply. "Jewelry," she added with a wave of her hand.

"Anythin' in partic'lar?" he said, nodding, his gnarled fingers scratching his cheeks thoughtfully.

"Yes. Something in blue, perhaps?" she said obliquely, running her hands along her throat.

"No, lady. Nothing like that," he replied, shaking his head, his brow furrowed.

Disappointed but not yet nonplussed- the necklace was probably the most distinctive piece of the heist and may have been too hot to fence so soon, she tried again. "How about something sparkling?" she queried again, fingering her left earlobe. Maybe she'd have better luck finding the diamonds.

Again a nod no. Marguerite frowned. "The selection has gone down considerably," she said critically, and then continued, "Nothing in red, or gold?"

"I'm sorry, lady," he replied, as Marguerite began to curse in several languages under her breath. She had been depending on him to have some inside information for her.

He seemed to sense her frustration and he met her at the counter. "These things you're browsing for they have been desired long?"

"No- only since last night," she said, the disappointment evident in her voice.

"Do not despair then, lady- perhaps I will have something soon," he said, patting her hand and giving her one of his odd smiles. "I will hold it for you- one of my prettiest customers."

She looked up at him, grateful, fondly noticing that his crow's feet had become more pronounced and his skin sagged heavier than it had several years ago. It pained Marguerite to discover that she actually cared what happened to the old goat. He couldn't keep doing this forever and there had been a time when he wouldn't have bothered about what she was looking for, only if she had enough money to pay for it.

He seemed to read her mind, with that odd intuition that he would display every once in awhile. His smile disappeared and he shook his finger underneath her nose. "Don't look like that, lady. I know I'm becoming quite senile in my old age. I take it this is important?"

Fighting back a smile, she nodded solemnly. "But we talk too much of me. Perhaps you have had some new customers in the shop of late?"

He nodded his head knowingly. "No one of consequence- however, there was one that was particularly foolish. A young man, obviously wealthy, who came in 'just to look,' he says," the Old Man said condescendingly recreating the young man's accent. "And he proceeds to badger me with questions, 'and how does one pawn something, sir?' Bloody amateurs," he sniffed, professional disdain in his voice.

"No one takes the time to learn the craft anymore, do they?" she commented with a small smile.

"The lady has always been a master," he said, with a inclination of his head. He watched with fond eyes as she began to pull on her gloves. He became serious as she finished, and with a furrowed brow, addressed her in a more tentative voice. "I'm sure that the lady doesn't need me to tell her that certain undesirables are about. With the war over, they have nothing better to do"

"Are you telling me to be careful?" she said, raising an eyebrow. She could hardly believe it- the Old Man seemed to actually care about her. And what had she ever done for him? Nothing. Merely listened to his complaints every once in a while but what did that matter? It should certainly not merit such concern.

His eyes narrowed in response. "The lady can be impulsive but never off guard. Simply a friendly reminder to remain as such," he sniffed, not doing a good job of acting contemptuous.

She couldn't help it; she laughed. Impetuously taking his hand, she gave him one of her rare smiles and said, "Thank you. For everything."

His eyes shone and his lips slowly curled into a grin. He extracted his hand and waved her off, slowly retreating to the back of the store with arthritic steps. "Be off with you now- I can't be pestered with you all day long, have work to do."

Rolling her eyes, she adjusted her veil and exited the shop.

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He watched her from across the street, slowly making her way up the pavement after coming out of the Old Man's place. Ducking from one alleyway to the one directly across from it, one she had just passed, he never failed to keep his eyes on his mark, just like his father had taught him. He had always been rather short for his age and poverty had kept him thin, so he easily squeezed between the people that separated him from her. Only two people now stood between him and his goal: the lady's black purse, swinging from her elegant left hand.

As she came to the corner to stop for a passing produce cart, he sprang into action- ran forward, snatched the purse and made a dash down the side alley. He could hear her yelling out after him and grinned; no flashers dared to come 'round this side of town and no one would be tom-fool enough to chase after one of their own.

He rounded another corner, then another, knowing the twisted streets like the back of his hand, after all his seven years of growing up in a hole in the wall not far off from where he was now. He slowed his pace and in the shadow of a rickety back stairway for a tenement, he extracted his prize from underneath his arm. It felt heavy and he grinned again. He might actually get something decent to eat tonight.

Before opening it, however, he craned his neck around the side of the stairs, making sure no one else was about. In this part of town, anybody with anything was a mark- even if they were a fellow pincher.

Just then, he felt his shirt collar being yanked up skyward, him with it. Another hand shot out and after taking the purse, he was unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Dazed, he looked up and was astonished at what he saw.

It was her! She was not happy and was checking the contents of the purse, her body clearly blocking escape in that direction and her foot firmly planted on his, rooting him to the spot.

"I din take nuthin!" he said indignantly, placing his fallen cap back onto his head.

"You din take nuthin?" she repeated venomously, glaring at him. "You took this," she said, lifting up the purse.

"Nuthin from inside," he said in a poisonously polite voice, as if he was speaking to an imbecile.

"You better not have or I'll have you in Newgate before you can say the Crushers are coming!"

"Naw- I din't! I din't!" he protested.

Seemingly satisfied, she looped the purse string on her hand again and glared at him, releasing her hold on his foot. "You had better watch your marks better. You might not get off so easy next time," she finished icily and turned to leave.

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" he said, bolting up from the ground to walk at her side. " 'Ow did you know?" he asked curiously. He hadn't figured her for a local girl.

"How did I know what?" she replied nastily, still keeping a brisk pace and weaving her way through the alley with skill.

" 'Ow did you know where Aye was goin'? Cuz Aye knows yous weren't behind me when aye nipped your purse."

"I know a dub buzzer when I see one," she said cuttingly, moving across to an adjacent alley.

"Ey! Aye be one of the best matchstick dippers 'round!" he said indignantly. He worked off and on for a match manufacturer and as a result, had very nimble fingers. He was quick and had a light touch- which is why his father had begun to train him in the fine art of stealing, before he died a month ago. It was a well known fact that the best of the dippers in the legal sense became the best of the dippers in the not so legal sense by the time they were grown.

"You barely made away with my purse- you managed to half knock me over as well as the produce cart. That your idea of a soft touch on the fly?"

"Aye's can be very suttle if aye's like to," he sniffed.

"I seriously doubt that." They had reached the end of the alleyways; the only recourse was to reenter the main street. "Now go away, before I find a nice constable to talk to."

"Yous into snow then, aren' ya?" he said, knowledge dawning on his face, thinking he had figured it out.

"I'm nobody, brat, but I'm better than a bloody clean-starcher," she said haughtily.

He gasped. Only someone well-skilled in the trade would have been insulted by that remark. "Yous a cracksman or aye be the biggest flimp in all the East End!"

"So you are," she said, baring her teeth and with a swirl of her skirts, swept into the crowd. When he appeared by her side again moments later, she seemed surprised. "What are you doing?" she hissed at him, barely turning her head. "I thought I told you to go away!"

"Aye snuck up on ya, din aye? This flimp's got some talent, eh?" he replied, grinning conceitedly up at her only to receive a glare in return. "Not til you tell me 'ow you did it."

"You're going to keep following me until I tell you how I caught you?"

With a martyred sigh, she grimaced and said in a low voice, "Fine. If you use that alley to get anywhere fast, you have to make two turns- one that curves with the pub and one that follows the back of the tenement. Not very hard to track you down- especially if you go through the Teashop." The Teashop was a local brothel that specialized in exotica for the upper classes, with most of their business done in code for extra privacy. It had a back door that opened on the street just before the tenement building.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and he shook his head, unwilling admiration on his face. "Coo, Aye never would'a guessed."

She shot him a look that seemed to say she was well aware of that fact.

She had reached a dilapidated apartment building and had stopped, more desperate to shake him off. "Now go pester someone else, brat."

"Look 'ere, yous can tell me- Aye won't turn nose on ya- yous are a cracksman aren' ya? Or a magsman? Smasher?" he asked rapidly, practically skipping with excitement.

She sighed again and tapped her foot impatiently, acting as if she was looking in a neighboring shop window.

"Aye can see a professional when Aye sees one," he said confidently, his voice getting louder with his glee.

She turned on him, grabbing his collar again and yanking him closer to hiss into his ear- "Why don't you scream a little louder- I don't think the militonians on the Strand heard you."

He smiled up at her and plucked her hand from his collar. "Oh, Aye's can be real quiet-like- if yous promise to teach me."

"Teach you? You're a street-urchin sweeper-"

"And Aye want to be a dipper that does ream flash pulls."

"Why me?" He didn't know if she was addressing him, as she muttered it under her breath, considerably annoyed.

"Me dad was gonna do it but he went lavender and now Aye's need someone to show me," he replied softly.

With a scowl, she turned from him to enter the apartment. "What's your name, brat?"

"They's call me Spring Heel Willy."

"No they don't," she said wryly, knowing he was lying through his teeth.

"Well, they's called me pop dat!" he said frustrated. Shuffling his feet, he said without looking up, "Tom."

"Fine. Tom. I'll show you how to pull one or two tricks, but that's it- do you understand? And if you bloody turn nose on me, I'll shove a barker under your nose and you can say hallo to your daddy for me. Clear?"

"Crystal," he said gulping audibly.

With that, she disappeared within the apartment building. He sat outside until dusk without seeing her leave before he knew that she had gone. While knowing that he couldn't trust her to come back, he had an odd feeling that he would be seeing her again and he hoped that he could impress enough to be taken on as an apprentice. And so he would return, and wait until his time came as he knew it must.

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The Same Day, across town, Nigel Wainwright's Apartments

"I don't believe it!" St. John was saying for the third time, and pacing to and fro across the room as was his wont.

Nigel looked up from the sofa, his expression conveying that he was clearly bored with his friend's disbelief. "It is done, old bean. Nothing to it."

"I mean, I told you I'd help you out but I didn't think you'd do this!" St. John exclaimed again, shaking his head which was now sporting quite a large bump on its right side.

"I don't see what you're so worked up over," said Nigel, cultivating a blasé countenance.

"You don't see? You wouldn't!" St. John spat, flopping down into an armchair. "You can't go around stealing from Lords of the Realm. It- it- it just isn't done!"

"Oh, but it is, and I have, and come this time tomorrow, Marguerite will be so pleased with me," Nigel remarked, smiling to himself.

"Marguerite? This is about her?" St. John looked at his erstwhile friend in shock. "What the devil--?"

"She's dying, the poor thing," Nigel said in all seriousness, his voice becoming soft. "I must try to help her anyway I can."

St. John was at first nonplussed at this revelation, which he had no reason to not assume as true. But he continued with trying to convince Nigel of his wrongdoing. "First of all, I'm sure she has quite enough money of her own, the reputation of an heiress"

"I owe it to her to see that she's comfortable in her last six months," Nigel sniffed, offended, as if it should be clear to any simpleton that this was not only a gentleman's duty and a labor of love.

"Well- then- fine, but what about your own money? Or even asking your aunt for an advance on your allowance?" St. John reasoned, his chin getting ever so much more damp with his growing consternation.

"After I lost my pocket money for the month, you think the old bat would condescend to supplement my extra expenses? Ha!" Nigel laughed bitterly.

"But stealing? What if you get caught?" St. John supposed, lowering his voice.

"I won't get caught. They probably won't even notice that it's gone," Nigel said complacently.

St. John got up from his seat and began to pace again, extracting his handkerchief from his lapel pocket and running it over his face. "I'm an accomplice to robbery," he muttered to himself wearily. "We could go to prison!" he said louder for Nigel's benefit.

"For goodness sake, man, pull yourself together! No one will find out."

St. John stopped in his tracks, suddenly remembering his previously throbbing head. "But someone knew!" he said mournfully, pointing to his evident bump.

"You tripped, you silly fool. That's what the butler thinks anyhow and he's all that matters. No one else saw your hurt." Sighing, Nigel rose from his seat and motioned his friend to the writing desk. He extracted a bulky folded cloth and showed St. John what he had taken.

"What do you think? I know of a pawn shop where it can fetch a pretty good price- maybe I might have some money left over to go towards that automobile," Nigel said triumphantly, covering it and placing it back in the secret compartment of the desk.

"What- with my cut too?" St. John questioned him skeptically, still worried and now not at all sure that he would be receiving any kind of monetary compensation for his aching head.

"Of course, of course! Old school tie, noblesse oblige, and all that. Wouldn't let you down, old man," said Nigel, smiling wide and leading his friend away to dinner.

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TBC Confrontations galore next time 'round and a few plot twists g

Crusher police officer

Dub buzzer a snatch pickpocket / low grade thief

Into snow stealing rich folks' laundry off the line, a lower echelon of the criminal class regulated to young girls

Clean starcher girl who works in snow (see above)

Cracksman burglar

Flimp a dub buzzer (see above)

Magsman con artist

Smasher counterfeiter

Militonian police

Sweeper ruffian, petty thief

Ream very, considerably

Flash pull large robbery

In lavender dead, missing/on the lam

Barker gun