Chapter Five
Meet The Gang
We parked the van a few blocks away from the Tower Bridge and made our way over on foot. I wished several times that Katrina was the sort of person who favored comfortable shoes.
John was standing next to a mailbox, slowly eating an apple. His shoulder kept twitching as if he was trying very hard not to look over his shoulder. The Tower Bridge stopped giving tours in the afternoon, so by now (7:30) the car park was fairly empty. John still managed not to notice us until we were halfway across the lot, and he didn't recognize us until we approached him.
"Joshua and Katrina." Holmes reminded the small man firmly.
John nodded. "Follow me." He strode off down the street, throwing the half eaten apple in a trash can. Holmes and I followed a few yards behind. I tried not to shudder at how obviously suspicious the man was, head twitching in every direction, searching for watchers.
"How does he manage to not get caught?" I whispered Holmes. "For that matter, why does anyone trust him?"
"He always acts paranoid, even when he's not doing anything illegal." Holmes shook his head every so slightly. "It's the best disguise ever thought up. People just assume he's overly paranoid."
Paranoid John led for a couple blocks, almost back to where we had parked the van. My feet were screaming in the brand new shoes, and the nerves were beginning to set in. When John disappeared into a doorway, I took a deep breath, hardened my resolve, and followed Holmes in.
The building had obviously seen better days. The damp smell of mildew hung in the air, penetrating and weakening the wood. The stairs creaked horribly at every movement. The buildings seemed deserted, but for the skittering of vermin. Some sleeping bags lay in the six apartments upstairs, left there by London's homeless community.
Only one door was still on its hinges. It was closed. John knocked, though anyone in there would have been warned of our arrival by the creaky stairs. The door creaked open on its own to reveal an empty room. All that was missing was a ghost. Never mind, there was one of those too.
The head of a thin and immensely pale boy peeked around the corner. "Are you coming in?" He asked irritably.
We went in. The room held three others, the apparent brains of the operation. There was a long moment of silence as we all appraised each other. Aside from the ghostly boy, there were two blond twentish women who were almost, but not quite, identical twins. The fourth was a young man of Oriental descent who wore a muscle shirt to display the tattoos that covered almost every square inch of skin.
"So, you are John's idea of a replacement for Shorty." One of the women finally spoke.
"I'm Joshua. This is Katrina." I flashed a smile fit for a photo spread.
The women exchanged a look, silently communicating. The man with the tattoos spoke up. "You ever stolen a car before?" He asked looking pointedly at my recently manicured nails.
I decided a true car thief would bristle at the challenge, so I did. "I've crossed my share of wires, hon." The words came out in a scarlet drawl. I hadn't known until this moment that Katrina would be from Alabama, but it seemed to fit her well.
It was the pale kid's turn to speak. "You ever work with an organized group?" He paused ever so slightly before the word 'group.'
"We've worked mostly on our own, until now." Holmes replied evenly.
"Any criminal record?" This from the other woman.
"No arrests."
The four exchanged a look. A silent consensus was reached. "All right. You're in. But let me lay out the ground rules." One of the women spoke.
"Number one: Don't steal the flashiest car in the lot. Hondas are worth just as much."
"Number two: You report to us. Don't forget it."
"Number three: We split the profits evenly at the end of the month."
"Number four: You are the temps. Once Shorty gets his arm back, you're gone. Unless you prove that you're not a liability."
"Are you able to live with that?" The woman asked, giving us a look that said we damn well oughta be.
"Yeah."
"Sure."
"Good. I'm Sharon, this is Karen." I repressed a groan. There should be a law against making twins' names rhyme. "This here is Ink." The man with the tattoos nodded. "And he's Ghost." The pale kid smiled faintly, well aware of the irony.
Handshakes were exchanged all around. Sharon and Karen were having one of those silent communication moments. One shrugged, the other nodded.
"Are you busy tonight?" One (Sharon?) asked rhetorically.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.
Meet The Gang
We parked the van a few blocks away from the Tower Bridge and made our way over on foot. I wished several times that Katrina was the sort of person who favored comfortable shoes.
John was standing next to a mailbox, slowly eating an apple. His shoulder kept twitching as if he was trying very hard not to look over his shoulder. The Tower Bridge stopped giving tours in the afternoon, so by now (7:30) the car park was fairly empty. John still managed not to notice us until we were halfway across the lot, and he didn't recognize us until we approached him.
"Joshua and Katrina." Holmes reminded the small man firmly.
John nodded. "Follow me." He strode off down the street, throwing the half eaten apple in a trash can. Holmes and I followed a few yards behind. I tried not to shudder at how obviously suspicious the man was, head twitching in every direction, searching for watchers.
"How does he manage to not get caught?" I whispered Holmes. "For that matter, why does anyone trust him?"
"He always acts paranoid, even when he's not doing anything illegal." Holmes shook his head every so slightly. "It's the best disguise ever thought up. People just assume he's overly paranoid."
Paranoid John led for a couple blocks, almost back to where we had parked the van. My feet were screaming in the brand new shoes, and the nerves were beginning to set in. When John disappeared into a doorway, I took a deep breath, hardened my resolve, and followed Holmes in.
The building had obviously seen better days. The damp smell of mildew hung in the air, penetrating and weakening the wood. The stairs creaked horribly at every movement. The buildings seemed deserted, but for the skittering of vermin. Some sleeping bags lay in the six apartments upstairs, left there by London's homeless community.
Only one door was still on its hinges. It was closed. John knocked, though anyone in there would have been warned of our arrival by the creaky stairs. The door creaked open on its own to reveal an empty room. All that was missing was a ghost. Never mind, there was one of those too.
The head of a thin and immensely pale boy peeked around the corner. "Are you coming in?" He asked irritably.
We went in. The room held three others, the apparent brains of the operation. There was a long moment of silence as we all appraised each other. Aside from the ghostly boy, there were two blond twentish women who were almost, but not quite, identical twins. The fourth was a young man of Oriental descent who wore a muscle shirt to display the tattoos that covered almost every square inch of skin.
"So, you are John's idea of a replacement for Shorty." One of the women finally spoke.
"I'm Joshua. This is Katrina." I flashed a smile fit for a photo spread.
The women exchanged a look, silently communicating. The man with the tattoos spoke up. "You ever stolen a car before?" He asked looking pointedly at my recently manicured nails.
I decided a true car thief would bristle at the challenge, so I did. "I've crossed my share of wires, hon." The words came out in a scarlet drawl. I hadn't known until this moment that Katrina would be from Alabama, but it seemed to fit her well.
It was the pale kid's turn to speak. "You ever work with an organized group?" He paused ever so slightly before the word 'group.'
"We've worked mostly on our own, until now." Holmes replied evenly.
"Any criminal record?" This from the other woman.
"No arrests."
The four exchanged a look. A silent consensus was reached. "All right. You're in. But let me lay out the ground rules." One of the women spoke.
"Number one: Don't steal the flashiest car in the lot. Hondas are worth just as much."
"Number two: You report to us. Don't forget it."
"Number three: We split the profits evenly at the end of the month."
"Number four: You are the temps. Once Shorty gets his arm back, you're gone. Unless you prove that you're not a liability."
"Are you able to live with that?" The woman asked, giving us a look that said we damn well oughta be.
"Yeah."
"Sure."
"Good. I'm Sharon, this is Karen." I repressed a groan. There should be a law against making twins' names rhyme. "This here is Ink." The man with the tattoos nodded. "And he's Ghost." The pale kid smiled faintly, well aware of the irony.
Handshakes were exchanged all around. Sharon and Karen were having one of those silent communication moments. One shrugged, the other nodded.
"Are you busy tonight?" One (Sharon?) asked rhetorically.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.