Chapter Thirty-Nine – In This Life, One Thing Counts

In the weeks that followed Dodger's recovery, not all was as well as he. Bill, having shown a sliver of compassion towards Nancy and even Fagin in the few days Dodger had been unwell, was back to his usual, moody self. This wasn't helped by Fagin's lack of forthcoming when it came to Bill's payments; even when Bill was lenient and gave him a day to sort out the wages, he still got the feeling Fagin wasn't paying him as much as he should for his work.

This feeling grew stronger after a particularly difficult raid on the outskirts of Clerkenwell. It was much closer to home than Bill would have liked, in the city rather than the suburbs, not to mention the fact that the owners were still wide awake, playing at cards in the billiard room on the second floor. Bill had had to be especially quiet and therefore had been unable to swipe anything likely to make a revealing noise, such as a tea set or a heavily laden jewelry box. As such, the pay Fagin had given him had not been much, but even so, Bill thought he deserved more for his trouble.

It wasn't just him being egotistical; he was certain Fagin wasn't paying him his due. He knew, however, that if he went to another fence or to anyone else at all to be paid for his goods, then Fagin would find a way to get him back for it. It didn't mean anything, in that case, that Fagin was afraid of him. If Bill betrayed his trust and took up his business with someone else… the old man could easily have him hung.

But that wasn't to say Bill cared. He knew Fagin was selling him short, he just knew it. And being sold short was something Bill wasn't prepared to deal with. And who was to say Fagin would find out what he was up to? He was a housebreaker; he knew how to get himself out of tricky situations. And even if the old fence did land him in it, Bill would get his own back long before he was thrown into a cell.

He and Nancy needed to eat, to live. Fagin's lack of forthcoming meant that, even with the pair of them filching food from street vendors, there was little in the larder of the Bethnal Green flat. Bill simply had to get his money's worth if he wanted to survive.

It was a particularly dark night, a good night for business, if there'd been any to be done. Sykes, the items from the previous night's crib carefully concealed about his person, stole from his flat and into the growing blackness, on his way to The Three Cripples. There were plenty of fences and the like there, although Fagin was one of the more renowned and well-known.

The Cripples was much rowdier tonight than usual and warmer too as people bustled in to escape the cold outside. The air was thick with the mingled scents of smoke, sweat and the unmistakable reek of cheap alcohol but, for once, Bill wasn't there for a drink.

He made his way towards a shadowy corner, where a group of men sat taking, huddled around a small candle, cradling mugs and glasses in their bony hands. They were receivers of stolen goods, each and every one; Bill had watched them do business often the many times he'd visited the establishment.

The men recognized him, partly due to his frequent comings but also due to his reputation, as everyone in these parts did. Sykes was an imposing figure compared to them; they were scrawny and ragged, faces caked in grime, haunted, mournful eyes staring out from sunken sockets.

"M-Mister Sykes…" one of them croaked, after a brief moment. "Always a pleasure ter see you sir…"

Sykes rolled his eyes.

"'Ang about!" hissed another, squinting at Sykes through the gloom. "You do business with Fagin, don'cher?"

Bill nodded.

"Yer do realize, wiv all due respect, tha' if 'e finds out-"

"'E ain't gonna find out, cos you lot ain't gonna tell 'im. None of yer. Not unless you want yer blabbin' throats torn out."

This was said with such menace and finality that the ring of gentlemen was cowed.

"S-s-so…" stammered the first speaker. "Wot can we do fer yer?"

"Simple. I want this stuff valued. I get the impression the old rat's sellin' me short."

An appreciative laugh was taken up across the board. Sykes must be a fool not to have notice sooner; only if bribed or threatened would Fagin do anything, for the most part. He'd managed to sufficiently give Bill cash and avoid detection for this fault…until now.

"Well then mate, where's the goods?" inquired a third man, pulling a grubby monocle from his waistcoat pocket. "Can you believe this gents, 'ere we are, doin' business with the great Bill Sykes!"

"Shut it," growled Bill as he produced the various items from his pockets. "Get this stuff priced an' be quick about it. I ain't got all night."

The men took up several items each, the majority commenting on how impressed they were with Bill's talent, the others examining the various brooches and candlesticks for damage or disrepair.

The ragged group made quick work of Bill's assortment pronouncing the total worth to be at least seven pounds, ten shillings. Naturally Bill accepted their deferent offer of the sum and, having stowed the grubby banknotes carefully in his waistcoat pocket and re-concealed the goods about his person while the men were distracted by the appearance of one of the serving girls, made a swift exit.

At least seven pounds, ten shillings.

At least.

What was it Fagin had paid him after the last break-in? Three pounds, two shillings and a few small pennies?

Oh, he would have hell to pay for this.

Bill would make sure of that.

He directed his feet towards Fagin's den, a hurried walk at first which soon turned to a run…he wouldn't come straight out with it, he'd lead up to a climax, really make Fagin suffer for how badly he'd treated him over the years…

"Bill?"

Bill skidded to a stop, glancing about him to find the source of the voice. Eventually he spotted her, Nancy, coming down the steps from the bridge, like an angel descending from heaven with her radiant smile and her sparkling eyes.

"Bill, wot's wrong? Wot's 'appened?"

Nancy made her way quickly down the remaining steps and hurried to Bill's side; the look on his face was mutinous, showing her clearly that something was not right.

Bill was not readily forthcoming in his answer. Instead he gripped Nancy's upper arm, digging his nails into her skin.

"Where've you been tonight?" he snarled.

"W-Wot d'you mean Bill?" cried Nancy, startled at the sudden, painful pressure on her arm.

"Don't you back-answer me! Where 'ave you been?"

"Jus' 'ere!" Nancy replied, trying to keep her voice calm and steady, in attempt to make Bill so. "I came round to check on Dodger…"

"You ain't been anywhere else?"

"No!"

Bill cursed. That explained it all…this was why the pair of them were living on such meagre rations… It wasn't just because he was being distracted by thoughts of Nancy on the job. It wasn't just that Fagin wasn't paying him nearly enough. Nancy herself was doing nothing to help the situation of income.

"'Ow long 'as it been since you went to the Cripples?"

Nancy was stunned at the question; what was Bill getting at?

"Few weeks ago," was Nancy's honest reply. "Wiv you, after you came to see Fagin when Dodge wos sick!"

"I mean on yer own," snapped Sykes. "'Ow long 'as it been since tha'?"

Did Bill mean what Nancy thought he meant?

"A long time, Bill…" she said hesitantly.

If she were truly honest, the last time she'd been at the Cripples plying her trade had been just days before Bill asked her to live with him. 'Where had that Bill gone?' she wondered. The man gripping her arm wasn't the Bill she knew…he was violent, a bully, a monster. Her Bill wasn't like this; her Bill would never do something like this…

No sooner had she thought this when she felt herself being pushed roughly away, the iron grip on her arm suddenly gone. She hadn't expected this and stumbled, just managing to stop herself falling onto the muddy, icy ground.

"Get goin'," snarled Bill.

"W-wot?"

"You 'eard me! I risk my neck providin' for yer, an' it never occurs to you to return the favour?"

"Bill-"

"You expect me to do everythin' for yer? Give yer a house, food, a bit of cash in yer pocket? Well, tha' ain't me! I'm Bill Sykes, woman, I look out for myself an' myself only! If you want to stay wiv me, you'll get your sorry self down to the Cripples…even if I 'ave to drag you there myself; you're goin'!"

During this exchange, despite his pushing her away, Bill had advanced upon Nancy again, so much so that she was backed against the worn wooden steps, knowing that if she tried to climb them Bill would tear her back down.

"Please Bill…" she said, her voice hardly rising above a whisper, laced with unshed tears. "Don't make me do tha'…don't make me go back there…"

"You'll do as yer told!" Bill yelled, hitting Nancy around the face with such force that she staggered backwards, tripping on the step and bashing her head, hard, against it as she fell. She let out a cry of pain, but this only served to incense Bill further. He leant down and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to her feet before turning and pushing her in the opposite direction of the den.

"You 'eard me Nance," he said, coldly and with great finality. "Get goin'."

If Bill had known that Fagin had been watching this exchange from the window of the den, alarmed by the sudden shouting, perhaps he would have behaved differently.

Then again, perhaps not.

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A/N: I'm sorry if this was a blatant rip off of your story Katarina Sparrow m'dear! D: But it sets the scene so brilliantly for my next chapter. XD

Also the internet crashed last night so I couldn't get this up sooner. DX

Please R&R!