Ahead of me the hired thugs were walking at full speed. I needed a way to bypass them. As dense as the architecture appeared in these parts, I'd come to find that no city wall was truly inscrutable. I scanned my internal map of England - quite useful to have these things memorized in case of unexpected inconveniences - and recognized the alleyway the bullies were turning into up ahead; it had low stairwells that I could use to reach the roof and skip expediently over the entire community. But that was no longer an option. They'd be watching their heels, and I couldn't let them see me.

The second best route was through the employees only section of the thrift store on the next block. I jogged to the front of the store and, on the way toward the back, borrowed a cowboy hat and flung a scarf around my neck, trying to ignore the disturbing fragrance of stale warehouse and old people that wafted up from it. The accessories were not strictly necessary, but they would throw any sort of investigation off-track if a senile employee happened to file one on me.

"If you're here to make a donation, the table is right next to the cash register..." one said as I was shoving past, but when I shouted an apology in a cheerful Scottish accent and hurried in the opposite direction of the cash registers, she gave no further signs of caring.

I emerged in the housing lot just beside John's community and gave myself two seconds to lose the accessories and look around. The trio of thugs passed right in front of me, arguing about something involving whores and sandwiches, so I tried not to take it personally and sprinted across the street toward John's back window, jumping the very wall he'd judged as too ambitious for me last time. I reached the window with half a minute to spare before the thugs reached his front door. It had been left unlocked.

John gave a violent start when I shoved it open and tumbled through onto the floor of his room. "What, for heaven's sake, are you-!"

"No time to explain. Just answer the door and act natural."

"There's no one at the-"

He was interrupted by the muffled sound of fist on wood coming from the front of the flat, and looked at me incredulously. I gestured for him to answer it, throwing in a smile just for good measure.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack," he mumbled as he straightened his overturned chair. As soon as he started for the door, I began the task of wrenching open his drawers. It took much longer than I would have liked to sift through the excess of jumpers I found and finally extract a hoodie, which I paired with sweatpants and the casual loafers beside his bed. The right sort of personality for this occasion could not be achieved in dress pants and button-downs at ten in the morning; as tempting as it was to play the suave business associate, it would ring far less alarm bells to play the shady mate with connections. More ambiguous. More believable, in John's case. I didn't expect the bullies to have been told much about their job, other than that they had an unassuming little man to intimidate.

When I arrived near the door, stretching as if I'd been sitting in a chair in front of a computer all morning as was my daily agenda, they seemed to just be finishing their introductions.

"Look, I'm not sure what you want, but I'll gladly give it to you if I have it, which I probably don't. So you are most likely wasting your time," John was saying, in cheeky monotone, and to use the word cheeky was generous. Sassy seemed more like the right term. I wondered if his previous beating could be owed more to his attitude than to the thugs' actual instructions.

"Sounds like the little shit's forgotten his lesson," spat the one who hadn't noticed me yet, turning to his accomplice. "Think we should give him a reminder?"

"I wouldn't recommend that," I uttered with an influence of the low town drawl in my voice, leaning over John's shoulder. All three of the ugly mutts glared at me as if I'd just stamped horse manure on their foreheads with an old shoe. It seemed probable to me that part of the disgust in their expressions could be attributed to their own perpetual ugliness. No wonder they chose the life of petty crime.

"I'd recommend keeping those brass knuckles in your pocket, too," I continued, glancing at the hand he had stashed in the inside of his coat. "My father taught me Krav Maga when I was growing up. I've got a great memory. I could disarm you in seconds."

Knuckles didn't appear pleased. "We haven't been introduced," he stated, in his most gruff and intimidating voice, making him sound like a complete idiot.

"Avery Talbot, at your service," I said, slipping past John into the front entryway and holding out my hand. He shook it with brusque reluctance.

"That's not your real name, is it?"

"No," I responded, smiling. "I could give you my real name, but I think you'd eventually figure that one's fake as well."

"Mr. Nobody from Nowheresville, eh?" scoffed one of his buddies, who had a neat little scar draped above his eyebrow. He probably thought he was being clever. "I think it's about time you realize that you're poking your head into something that's none of your business."

"Actually, it is my business." I paused, and then leaned close enough to where only Knuckles could hear me, and possibly his companions, who inclined toward me in badly-concealed curiosity. Instinctively, he tensed, indicating that he had almost knocked me out right then and there. "Just between you and me, I know who sent you here. I know the flashy arse - not on a personal basis, mind you - and I know how he works. I know that he wouldn't take kindly to any harm being sent his way on behalf of a bunch of insects like you." I pulled the difference between Thomas Hambleton's most recent payment and the amount he usually paid - a sizable amount that, nevertheless, wouldn't be missed - out of my pocket and held it up between us, shifting backward to put a comfortable distance back between us. "So this should take care of any debts my mate here owes, whatever they may be. Just tell the arse what he wants to hear and all our troubles will be gone."

"Why should I believe you?" he barked, again in that moronically pseudo-threatening voice.

"I have no other proof, so feel free to try your luck, but I don't see why anyone would choose that gamble when they could take the money and get off easy. After all, he's got badder friends than I do. People who'd have no qualms about, say, deleting unneeded history from their record books."

After a severely suspenseful period of time in which the thugs pretended they had enough brainpower to consider their options thoughtfully, Knuckles snatched the money from my hand and turned around, cocking his head as a gesture for the other two to follow. Then he stopped, turned halfway toward me, and held two beckoning fingers up. "Come here a minute. I'd like to talk to you in private."

I glanced at John, who was already shaking his head at me. "This is my problem. I won't have you-"

"I know how to deal with this better than you do."

"That is absolute no-"

"Please. One minute. Trust me for one minute."

"It's not you I don't trust-"

"Please."

I don't believe he would have done it for anyone but me, but at that moment he bit back the rest of his complaints and just stared at me disapprovingly.

"Stay here," I told him softly, before following the trio out. "Please." I closed the door behind me, watching as we moved further away, but the four of us made it around the block, out of sight, without anyone else emerging from the flat. As soon as they stopped in the alleyway, I had a good idea of what they were planning to do.

"I came here to use my fists," Knuckles announced, pulling his brass-clad hand out of his pocket for the first time. "And since you're so eager to save your little friend, I figured I'd offer you the opportunity to switch places with him. It's this-" He took a couple steps toward me, holding his fist up as if it would scare me. "Or no deal."

I didn't react. Scarface swung at my side and I instinctively threw my arm out to divert it. Then he grinned, revealing a set of teeth that was half-yellow, half-missing. "You think you're allowed to fight back?"

"Oh, come on," I retorted, not surprised in the least. "You don't even fight for sport? Just sadistic pleasure? It's a bit pathetic, don't you think?"

If I had chosen to, I could have ducked and escaped as the lesser two reached for my arms, but instead I did nothing. I already knew that it would have been a better move to let Miss Ginny's plan run its course, to let my punishment fall on John so that our usual routine could continue unaltered. I'd known that all along, and I was interfering anyway.

The man swung, and then there was pain; a white hot bolt of pain across my face, and the flame trickled down my cheek until I tasted the metallic tang of blood on my lips. He dug his grimy fingers through the roots of my hair, yanked my head up, and hissed, "Do we have a deal?"

The decision was thoughtless, because at the time, John was the only thing on my mind, my only motivation to endure, no matter what they decided to do to me. I was so used to being in control, so used to fighting back, that instead of staying in character and giving them a simple yes, I said, "So long as you keep your disgusting breath to yourself and hit me already."

The pain was renewed just below my ribs, and I lurched forward but refused to let anything out of my mouth except blood. I wouldn't give them the pleasure.

"Careful. We don't want him dead. He'll last longer if you use bare fists," the third one said. I safely judged him to be the most intelligent of the group, which wasn't saying much.

The next time he hit me I felt flesh, and the pain wasn't white hot but a mild yellow. He kept moving. There was an apex of pain and after that it was easy. I estimated a minute and a half had passed, maybe two. They carried out their work efficiently.

Suddenly I was aware of my back hitting a wall. I felt dizzy; so dizzy that the wall could have just as easily been the ground if not for the fact that the ugly bastard was still in front of me, pounding me into the bricks. I was not consciously aware of when the assault stopped, only that I was reeling over with black spots swimming through my vision when I heard John calling me. There were footsteps: the thugs leaving, and John running toward me.

"Right, and don't come back!" he was screaming, almost incoherently. "Because if you do, I'll sodding murder you!"

Then he had his arm around my waist and his other hand holding mine over his shoulders and he was asking me if I was alright.

"Yes, just, frazzled," I answered, trying to regain my footing as he led me back the way he'd come.

"For god's sake, you're a bit more than frazzled. In fact, you're covered in your own blood and I should not, I should not have let you go, I should have known-" He cut himself off with a final swear, seeming to know that if he let himself continue, his speech would have deteriorated into a string of unintelligible curses.

"It's alright," I muttered as we stumbled along. "It wasn't your fault. I'm alright."

When we reached the flat he led me straight into the bathroom, seated me on the closed toilet, and removed my upper garments. There was a loud clatter which I presumed to be medical supplies transferring from the cabinet onto the counter. He brushed my hair back and re-lit the flame on the side of my face, and I cried out because I wasn't prepared for it this time.

"What the hell have I done to you?" he uttered, mostly to himself, as he patted that particular wound clean.

"Nothing. They did- ...It was entirely worth it," I mumbled, just as a wave of vertigo pushed me off my seat into the side of the tub. He kept saying things, comforting phrases, as he tried to set me upright again, but when he realized it wasn't working he placed his hands on my shoulders, straddled me, and waited for me to meet his eyes.

"Are you sure you're all right? Did they hit you in the head at all?"

"I don't...think.."

"Alright," he asserted, realizing that speaking was still a difficulty for me. "Must have been the wall." His brow strained as he grabbed a different ointment and tended to my other cheek, and then the gash just below the right side of my ribs, which flared in agony the moment in came in contact with whatever he was using. If my assailant had aimed any higher, he most likely would have cracked something. "They did a lot more to you than they did to me," he said, his voice pained.

"You know what you're doing," I stated, hoping to bring his attention away from that fact. He humored me, but somehow I didn't believe he would forget.

"My sister and I got into a lot of trouble when we were kids. I paid attention when Mum took care of us."

"Most children don't."

"Well, I'm glad I did. Especially now." He watched me as he wiped the remaining smudges of blood off my face, careful not to irritate anything further. "I always found it interesting."

I remembered the pamphlet on his kitchen table the first night we met; it made sense now that it was his sister's suggestion to learn at Bart's.

"Will you answer something for me honestly?" he asked, setting down the washcloth. I felt reasonably conscious enough to hold a conversation with him now.

"I'll try my best."

"Do you have something to do with those bastards?"

"No."

"How did you know they'd be here today? At this hour?"

"I didn't," I answered, honestly this time. "I was walking to the grocery store when I saw them headed your way."

"You've never seen them before," he stated firmly, and for a moment - just a moment - there was suspicion in his eyes. Suspicion that I, for whatever reason, was plotting against him. I hated it more than I could understand.

"No, but I knew what they would look like. Ugly, falsely intimidating, about the same age as you, and more than one. I also knew that one would be left-handed, and he had his left hand fingering the brass knuckles in his pocket the entire way here."

"How?"

I brought a trembling hand to his waistline and pulled up his shirt, revealing the fading traces of black and blue scattered across the skin beneath. "More on your right side than your left."

"Right," he conceded, after a pause. "Almost forgot that you're a bloody genius."

I smiled, letting the fabric fall down to its proper place. "Comfortable?"

He remembered that he was sitting on me and quickly slid off, holding his hands out a moment to make sure I was stable before moving away. I watched as he braced himself on the counter, gazing downward as if there was something more remarkable than blood swirling down the drain.

"Something is still bothering you," I said. "My condition, obviously. But something else as well."

He shook his head as if to deny it, but gave in after a pause. "I can't shake the feeling that you're trying to hide things from me. I know that you're a prostitute, so I shouldn't care. I know that whatever relationship we have is..." He drew a slow, miserable breath. "For the most part, fake. I know that. So why would you do this for me?"

I didn't answer. I didn't know how to answer, because I didn't fully know the answer myself.

"The man who called you last week... Who was it?"

"What?" I asked, even though I'd heard him.

"Who called you last week, when we were at the club? Was it your boyfriend?"

As soon as I understood his train of thought, I started chuckling. It wasn't a demeaning chuckle, but one of amusement, relief, adoration, all of the above. "No," I answered, quietly. "I don't have anything like that."

"Who was it?"

"Long-time customer. He's ridiculously rich. It wasn't even him that called me; it was the chauffeur."

He visibly relaxed, and for a while he paced around the bathroom. Then he turned abruptly toward me, setting his hands on his hips. A nervous gesture; I'd never seen him do it before.

"Would you, erm, want to go somewhere with me? Spend the day together, maybe the night, and have a bit of fun?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere you want to go. I was thinking of visiting Wales, if that appeals to you."

"I've heard it's a popular tourist destination," I said, hiding my aversion to the fact. "When are you going?"

He shrugged. "Anytime you have a day off."

"I would have to charge more than the usual wage."

Suddenly I saw an inexplicable desperation in his eyes, the type a man gets when he's been searching and searching for something he wants and the moment it's in front of him he realizes he can never have it, and then the desperation turned to hardened melancholy as he turned to leave the room. "I'm sorry, I'm...I'm being silly. Forget it."

I hadn't even remotely considered that John was trying to ask me on a date until that moment.

It was too dangerous. I knew how to throw off Miss Ginny's surveillance for a day, but the methods were not foolproof. It was dangerous for him and it was dangerous for the sake of our continued association. It was utterly nonsensical to accept the offer.

Yet I couldn't let him walk away thinking he didn't mean something more to me. I couldn't risk his heartbreak, and I couldn't risk the possibility of him not coming to see me again. I jolted upright to grab his wrist.

It was possibly one of the most selfish things I'd ever done.

"Forgive me. I misinterpreted the question." My lips felt dry, my voice weak. "I'd love to go."

"Free of charge?"

"Of course. Would next Sunday be favorable?"

"Should be."

I let go out of his arm and held my palm out, ignoring the bolt of pain that shot through my shoulder. That would be gone in a day or two. "Let me see your phone."

"What for?" he asked, extracting it from his pocket and handing it over anyway. I pressed a dozen buttons, waited for the device in my own pocket to vibrate, and then shut his off and handed it back to him.

"I'll call you if I find out there are any conflicts. Things are...erratic, at the club. To say the least."

Suddenly he was smiling ear-to-ear. Smart enough to realize that I didn't give my phone number out to anyone.

After a couple seconds he headed out of the bathroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I was following him out, and the damage didn't look as bad as I'd thought it would. Part of that, I figured, could be owed to John's expertise, and I was grateful.

"Is there anything I can do for you while you're here? Food, tea, coffee?" he asked, turning to me.

"No, but thank you for the offer. I've actually got to get going."

"You sure?"

"I've served my purpose here." I started changing back into my original clothing, trying not to flinch as I did so. He watched me absentmindedly, as if he was wondering why I'd changed in the first place, but didn't question it.

"I'm sorry, about..."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm just glad I was here to divert them. That should be their last visit, by the way."

"Thank you," he said, grudgingly. I stood up straight and for a moment we both stood silently, unsure of how to behave in a non-business setting. Then I breached the gap and pecked his lips, and it seemed to be exactly what he had been waiting for. He rested his hand on the back of my neck, pulled me back in, and didn't let go. I got the point that he didn't want me to leave. He didn't want me to have to leave. I admitted to myself that I preferred his home much better than my own. But like all goodbye kisses, it came to an end, and with my reckless choices hanging over my shoulders there was no guarantee of a next time.

I started on my way to the pharmacy rather than the grocery store when I left, since it had become necessary to buy makeup to cover up the mess I'd made. There would be no way to take a break from the club, so I would have to keep my distance from Miss Ginny and hope for the best.