Chapter Twenty-Four – Midnight Meeting

Seven o' clock the next evening; not too light, not too dark. A perfect time to catch out unsuspecting pedestrians foolish enough to wander where Bill did. Having thus acquired three pocket watches, six wallets and a snuffbox, Bill made his way towards the Cripples, in search of a well earned drink.

The pub was unusually quiet this evening; there weren't as many men playing cards, nor as many who'd popped in for their evening meal. There was, however, a man sitting at Bill's usual table; seeing the housebreaker approach, however, he scarpered. Bill didn't have to say a word; he had reputation enough.

It was around ten minutes later when Fagin arrived, looking furtively about as if on the lookout for traps, although he and Bill both knew perfectly well there would be none.

"I don't see why you wanted to have a little chat with me here, my dear," Fagin said, eyes still darting about nervously as he took his seat opposite Bill. "Why not back at the flat? Here we may be overheard…"

"Better 'ere than at the den Fagin," Bill said curtly, taking a large swig of gin. "I don't want…them all to 'ear about it…"

"Explain."

"I'm goin' to leave the flat Fagin."

The old man's reaction wasn't what Bill had expected; he could have sworn he saw Fagin grin before re-arranging his features into a look of appropriate concern.

"Leave? What d'you mean leave, my dear? You mean you want to cut off from the gang, you've done your sentence, eh?"

Bill chuckled.

"'Course not; y'think I'm stupid? Wot I mean is, I'm going to find myself a house-"

Comprehension dawned on Fagin's face.

"-I feel there's no point stayin' with yer if I don't pick pockets like the rest, y'know?"

"Oh really?" Fagin said, his tone pointed. "What's that then?" He indicated Bill's pocket where, if one looked close enough, one could just see the end of a pocketwatch chain protruding, glinting in the dim light of the candle on the table.

Bill cursed. Clearly Fagin was as sharp eyed as he'd ever been.

"It's noth-"

"It most certainly is not nothing, my dear. Hand it over, and anything else you've got crammed in those pockets of yours."

With a scowl, Bill did as he was told. He handed Fagin the pocketwatches, the wallets and the snuffbox, Fagin's eyes widening with each new item set on the table.

"My my…you haven't lost your touch at all, with pickings like these!" he crowed. "You can still pick pockets as well as you ever did, I see no sense in you leaving!"

Although Fagin needed his elder boys to leave and pursue other career paths if he didn't want them to get caught, he was loath to part from them.

They had become like the family he never had.

Irritating as Norman and Frankie could be, they were also fun-loving, full of laughter. Ezra and Archie were very quiet, to be sure, but they always brought back plenty. And Bill…cowardly as Fagin became in his presence, there was something about him that made the old man desperate to make him stay. He was a prime pickpocket and an even better housebreaker; if he let him leave…

Suffice to say the gin cupboard would never be the same again.

"Wot you thinkin' of?" said Bill, his voice breaking into Fagin's worried thoughts. The old man had gone quiet, biting his lip and fingering the snuffbox, enough evidence to suggest to Bill that he was worrying about something.

"I'm simply reviewing the situation, my dear," Fagin said, replacing the snuffbox on the table. "I don't think you should leave…not yet at least. You've proven to me here that you can still pick pockets; there's no reason to leave until you're certain housebreaking is the only option. Even then I think you should get a house quite close by; that way you can still bring the goods to me and I'll get you your cash…Not only that, but I'm sure the gang'd like you to visit 'em once in awhile…"

Bill nodded without pause for thought. Fagin was right. True, he wasn't technically picking pockets anymore, but did the technicalities matter? (He was amazed that Fagin wasn't more suspicious about his methods of getting the stuff; it was nearly eight o' clock!) Besides, he himself didn't want to leave the gang; what had he been thinking? They needed someone to look up to, and Fagin wasn't up for the job. And then there was Nancy…

"It's agreed then, my dear," Fagin said with a grin. "I'll tell you this, Bill…if you keep this up-"

"-you'll be the greatest man of all time." Bill finished for him. "I know Fagin, I know."

Fagin chuckled.

"Well you will! Don't you forget it!" He stuffed Bill's loot in his pocket, intending to go and sell some of it so there'd be enough food for a half-way decent breakfast in the morning. "What're you going to do now, my dear? Surely you can't spend the evening sitting here all by yourself?"

Bill rolled his eyes.

"'Course I ain't gonna spend the evenin' just sittin' 'ere; there's gin back at the flat I ain't gotta pay fer!"

Fagin chuckled.

"Whatever you say, my dear, whatever you say. I'll see you later."

With that Fagin swept from the tavern, his coat billowing behind him even in the light breeze. Bill leant back in his chair, quietly reviewing his own situation.

--

Twelve peals from the steeple clock indicated that midnight had fallen on London. Bill was making his way back to Fagin's; the streets were still alive even at this hour with beggars, paupers and thieves.

He turned down a familiar alleyway, the shouts, screams and sobs of the streets dying away as he walked. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, making the narrow street darker than ever, so much darker that Bill slowed his walk to ensure he was going in the right direction. Unseasonable night-time weather for spring, usually the streets were only this dark in winter…Bill sighed. This would've been a good night for a break-in…

"Watch it!"

Bill looked down to see who had the gall to reprimand him, only to see that same boy he'd seen the previous day, eccentrically dressed as ever, a frown on his wide eyed, impish features.

A look of recognition filled the boy's face as he stared at Bill.

"You again, my man? Sumfin' tells me it ain't coincidence tha' we keep bumping into each other, eh?"

Bill rolled his eyes again. This kid was crazy.

"Wot you doin' on my turf then, eh?" the boy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Your turf?" Bill repeated incredulously.

"Mmhmm," said the boy proudly. "This is my patch, where I kip an' all. An' you're on it!"

"I ain't seen you round 'ere before."

"That's cos I just found this place, innit? Runnin' away from the beak an' all."

Bill nodded. This boy, whoever he was, on the run from the magistrate! He didn't look much like a hardened criminal…

"You pick pockets then?" he asked, matter of factly.

"No! Well…maybe….possibly…probably…positively…yeah, that I do. Wot of it?"

Bill pondered this. The kid was evidently a superb hand, on the run from the beak at his age. Fagin would surely appreciate another pickpocket to bring in the cash, especially since he had changed technicalities. Not to mention the old man would appreciate him and dote on him even more for bringing the kid back…

"I'll tell ya wot. I know a gent wot could use a pickpocket like you. Lodgin's, money, all of it you'll get fer free, s'long as you give 'im wot you pick up."

"You'll take me to 'im?" The child's eyes sparkled, he was evidently eager to get off the streets, and Bill's prospect sounded to good to be true to his young ears.

"Tha's where I'm 'eaded." Bill paused, pleased that the boy had taken the bait so easily, recalling how Fagin had enticed him with the same offer nine years ago.

"Wot's your name anyway?"

The boy sounded a little wary, but still eager as he had been at the offer of bed and board.

"Shouldn't I be askin' you tha'?" Bill quipped back, the same question he'd asked Fagin during their first encounter. Strange how it all seemed to be coming back.

"My name is Jack Dawkins!" the boy said proudly, bowing low. "An' you are…"

"Bill Sykes."

Jack's eyes widened.

"You gotta be kiddin'!"

"Wot d'ya mean?"

"You're Bill Sykes? The Bill Sykes?"

Bill was taken aback. Clearly his reputation had preceded him.

He nodded stiffly.

"C'mon then, let's be 'avin ya."

Jack nodded eagerly and scampered after his new acquaintance, pelting him with questions about housebreaking and pickpocketing all the way back to the den. Bill answered what he felt like, hating how the boy reminded him of his old friend in his younger years, now buried crudely beneath sodden soil.

--

A/N: Just for you my dear Katarina Sparrow. ^^

Here's hoping everyone liked this little chapter; please R&R!

Today's the second to last day of Work Experience, updates will be back to normal soon! =)