Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  Jonathan sorted through his gangs takings for that week, marking each item down in a large journal using a special code he had concocted himself. He was taking every care to ensure the truth of the matter would never be discovered by anyone who cared to look into his growing business.

  “Having a bad week?” he asked carefully, hoping not to question Mad Dog's productivity too harshly.

  He knew he was known to be a good thief. In addition, he had heard tales how he often sold out his fellow criminals. A former employee of Charles Hitchin many chose not to trust him as they would others. Jonathan didn't think too hard about their previous allegiances, so long as they stole, and stole well.

  “Yeah,” muttered Mad Dog in his gravelly tone. “Been struggling to find the prey.” Jonathan found it amusing how many often called their victims ‘prey’. They were wild animals hunting for their next kill. Even Mary’s girls referred to the public in this manner. Thieves held no qualms about who they stole from, or how. Mad Dog and unscrupulous men like him, enjoyed injuring the men and women they robbed. It pleased them greatly.

  Jonathan knew there was something being hidden from him. A truth he didn't know. He still felt as if he were a novice in this world. Understanding how men like Michael operated was the key to ultimate success but Mad Dog could kill Jonathan in an instant and he would not risk accusing him. Especially while they were alone in this small room.

  It was a short meeting and Jonathan thanked him, dismissing him pleasantly with a wave of his hand. “Send in the next one, if you please.” He watched as he departed the study, his breath short and pained as always.

  28

  As he strode from the room Mad Dog nodded to the next gang leader who waited in line. This man, Matthew, shook his head, passing the opportunity on to the fellows behind. He had a far more pressing matter to attend to. This was the perfect opportunity to prove his point to Jonathan.

  He followed Mad Dog and caught him as he started to climb the wall to the rear of the house. He pulled him back and pushed him up against the bricks.

  Mad Dog began to sweat as he towered over his head. Matthew was an intimidating force to the common public, but he caused fear to course through the blood of even the most abrasive of thieves. Mad Dog would never allow his fear to show, always aware he would use it against him.

  “What are you playing at?” he demanded quietly.

  Shaking in overwhelming apprehension, Mad Dog gave his answers. He detailed all of his movements and each of his wrongdoings. Matthew listened intently, always attempting to determine how best to release his fury. Such a decision was not hard.

  He released Mad Dog, allowing him to drop to his knees. As his hand moved to the dagger which hung by his belt a most sinister idea collected at the back of his mind. A perfect punishment for such a seedy, malevolent thief.

  Clasping an open hand around Mad Dog’s mouth, in order to silence the screams which would spill free, Matthew stood heavily upon his right arm with his outstretched foot. With his knife wielding hand the intricate blade moved towards Mad Dog’s wrist.

  This was a punishment which would never be forgotten. A reminder the penalties for disobeying Jonathan were severe beyond all reckoning. A point well proved.

  29

  He waited for the others to leave before he entered Jonathan's study. No man could argue profits hadn't risen since he’d taken charge of the gangs, but many did not trust him entirely. Throwing two large sacks on his desk, Matthew stood back proudly.

  Jonathan smiled as he delved into the first bag of loot. “Busy week,” he commented with pleasure.

  “Busy for some,” he returned as he looked around the small study. “Not so for others.” He offered him an all knowing gaze. Matthew’s introduction to the seedy underbelly of London had, in all honesty, been far easier. Jonathan was jumping in at the deep end. Stepping closer, Matthew bore down on him. “I have a gift for you.” He placed an old rag before him. Wrapped in the rag was an item of unknown origin.

  Opening the rag he was confronted with pure horror. Wrapped within was a cleanly severed hand. It had already begun to turn yellow and its foul odour was stark and repulsive. “Jesus!” he exclaimed. “What the hell is this?” he covered the gory gift and pushed it away with revulsion.

  “Me,” he smirked, “making a point.”

  He sat back in his chair, attempting to put some distance between the severed hand and himself. “If you're trying to tell me you're a cruel bastard,” he said. “I already know this.” Stories how Matthew had attacked those who angered him spread across the great city as easily as plague ridden rodents. His viciousness was a thing of legend, his temper easily fragile. To remove another's hand was only proof of his dislike for even the smallest of wrongdoings.

  Pulling up his own chair he sat. “You have a problem,” he stated. “People don't respect you. They don't trust you… Not completely.”

  Jonathan appreciated his honesty. Although he didn't see what the detached hand had to do with his point. “And you do?” he asked, slightly afraid of the answer. If he was capable of such a thing, what would prevent him from performing such punishment on him?

  “I do,” he replied happily. “I respect what you've done for us. I respect how you've done it.” He sat back in his seat, cracking his knuckles as he did so. Jonathan winced at the sound, “but people are lying to you. They're not being honest about themselves or their thieves.”

  “And I imagine this,” he pointed to the covered hand, “belongs to one of them?” Why he would punish one of his own in such a manner escaped him. To Jonathan it seemed far too brutal.

  “It did.” he confirmed. “Used to be attached to Mad Dog. I saw the opportunity to make my point.” A point to both Mad Dog and Jonathan. He watched him carefully. He was quiet and thoughtful. Unsure as to where he was going with this.

  “And what did Michael do to you?” Jonathan asked, somewhat afraid of the answer.

  “Nothing,” he stated, “but he and a few others, were doing much to you.” He stood in an attempt to put more distance between himself and the hand. He paced the study, still in a state of some distress and horror. “They're only giving you half of what they take each week,” he continued. “The rest they’re taking to pawnbrokers outside the city.”

  This confused Jonathan. Pawnbrokers wouldn't give them nearly as much as he did. “Why?” he asked. “It doesn't serve any purpose.”

  “They don't care the payment is less than you'd give,” Matthew explained. “It's a question of power. They don't like not being in control of their own gangs.”

  He found himself admitting he could understand their fears. It took years for any gang leader to earn the trust of his thieves. He was attempting to do it in mere weeks.

  “And I imagine you have a solution to this problem?” He was a little nervous to hear what he had to say. He knew it would be harsh and unforgiving.

  “You have a perfect opportunity here, Jonathan,” he said as he continued to pace behind. “There's you, with all of the gangs placed about you,” he used his hands to explain the point. “What you need is you in the middle of one huge gang, and you don't have that.”

  His point was clear. The gangs of London didn't answer to him, they simply used his services. His operation would work much better if they considered him their leader. “How do I get it?” he asked, discovering the prospect of unadulterated power appealed to him.

  “Respect,” was the simple answer. “They need to respect you. That's where the hand comes in.” he passed his gaze to the severed hand which still lay on the desk. “They respect me, because I'm always ready to do what needs to be done. They fear me.” Jonathan still didn't quite understand. He was a child being lectured by his domineering father.

  “And you think that's what I need? Fear?” Jonathan asked warily.

  “That and respect,” was the obvious answer. “Thieves are simple creatures, Jonathan. If you want to rule, you need to allow people to fear you. If you can do
that, they'll respect you much more readily.”

  It made sense. He knew all those in power, be they men like Hitchin, or Matthew, lived by fear alone. He wasn't like them. He was scared of these thieves, more than they were of him. “That's not me,” he said. “I'm not the type people cower in fear for.”

  Matthew pointed at the severed hand reaching forwards to remove it from the desk. He sat, now the horror had been safely taken from his sight.

  “That's where this proves the point,” he waved the rag covered hand in the air. “They fear me. And they can fear you, through me. I can be your muscle.” Jonathan rubbed his chin with thought. “Together we can bring control. Together we can create the largest gang London has ever seen.”

  He was only speaking sense. Jonathan had developed this scheme to help the woman he cared for. To assist her friends in avoiding the harsh repercussions of the law and he now saw it could all stand for something far greater. His earnings were higher than he ever imagined, but with his own gang almost anything could be achieved. He’d never considered the possibility of being a gang leader. It now appealed to him.

  “You're a clever man, Jonathan,” he continued. “If you don't want to resort to violence, that's fine. Let me do it for you. Use your intelligence to instil this fear in others.”

  Matthew was a large, usually terrifying man. He had never considered he was vastly more intelligent than he appeared. He was beginning to understand what he was trying to do. Why Mary favoured him so. “Use my intelligence...,” he pondered. “I could inform the city marshals as to the pawnbrokers which they’re taking their goods to. The gang leaders who are using them would be arrested and probably hanged. Thieves would see my anger at being disobeyed,” he was starting to get it. “And the courts would see me assisting in the capture of criminals.” It would bring order and elevate his standing. It truly was an almost perfect solution.

  “That'll do nicely,” he congratulated. “Show them you’re not a man to be disobeyed.”

  He sat forward with interest. “I imagine this is some kind of audition. You're showing me you are the perfect man to guide me through it.”

  He waved the hand once more in the air. “I would have thought I'd proved that already. Trust me, Mad Dog and his friends will be fearful of your fury. They'll know I now stand by your side.”

  Despite his initial reservations he understood his gruesome point. He would handle the rough stuff if Jonathan dealt with the running of what would soon become the largest gang in the history of London and Great Britain. He soon moved into the little house on Cock Alley so he was always ready to assist him in whatever way he needed.

  Those gang leaders who were using the pawnbrokers outside of the city were either arrested and hanged or transformed into far more trustworthy thieves. The first steps had been taken in Jonathan's rule.

  30

  Jonathan spent his days meeting with those who answered his newspapers advertisements and those who wished to find their lost and stolen items. Matthew's help was greatly appreciated and quickly established the Thief Taker as the most fearful and respected gang leader in London and beyond.

  Mary enjoyed his fame and success. Finally she had found a man who lived up to all of his talk and wild aspirations. His relationship with Matthew pleased her greatly and seeing them together only increased her feelings of pride and devotion.

  Jonathan managed the thievery of her girls and she saw a great rise in profits. No man wanted it known they had been consorting with prostitutes and she enjoyed the increase in revenue.

  Her days were usually spent at home entertaining the men who came for her services. The evenings were usually when she would visit Jonathan's little house to be in the company of her wonderful love. Taking a back seat to the matters of her thieves did not bother her at all and she found the pleasures of her uncomplicated life were more than acceptable.

  She did, however, worry Charlie Hitchin hadn't been seen for some time. There were those who told tales of him copying Jonathan and his methods and she hardly knew whether to believe them or not.

  31

  A young thief knocked at Jonathan's door in the evening one stormy night. He respectfully demanded his attendance at the Nag's Head Tavern so he could meet with Charles Hitchin.

  He agreed, not due to the fact he wished to know how his former master was coping in this vastly different world, but out of curiosity and hilarity. He often chuckled to himself as he sat alone, in his study. Hitchin's business was suffering as all attention flocked to the Thief Taker and his ways. Even his alter-ego as the riverside killer had dwindled of late.

  Charles Hitchin sat in the Nag's Head, two drinks set out before him. He twitched with excitement each time a person entered through the doors. He had dreaded this moment for months now, but felt he had no other option.

  He had discovered his fierce and rough demeanour no longer had the effect he hoped for. The patrons of the tavern didn't fear him as they once did. He wasn't the image of horror he once was. He sat nursing his second flagon of ale, always keeping a close eye on the entrance.

  Finally he stood as Jonathan entered, Matthew following closely. Dismissing his protector to the bar he approached Hitchin. The city marshal bore a smile of false friendship which made his features ugly and distorted. “Charles,” Jonathan greeted calmly as he sat.

  “Jonathan,” he responded. “I'm glad you came.” He gestured to the drink he had bought and relaxed in his chair. He hoped his buying him a beverage would be a sign of friendship and affection.

  “I must say,” he laughed. “I am a little intrigued as to why you called me here.”

  He pointed to the full flagon of ale once again. “I bought you a drink,” he said proudly. Again Jonathan dismissed him.

  “What do you want, Charles?” he was unwilling to play his games.

  “We have something we need to discuss,” he said, taking a posture of seriousness. “You've done well for yourself, Jonathan,” he reclined in his seat, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully. “Your little business seems to be an amazing success. You're doing exceedingly well for yourself.”

  He resented the claim his business was small. He was at the head of an insanely large gang and Hitchin knew it. “I appreciate the congratulation, Charles,” he said warily. “I understand you're not quite as fortunate.”

  He shot a cold glare across the table, balling his fists in anger. “It's no secret how you're doing business, Jonathan.” He had heard, from those thieves he collared on the streets, how his operation worked. As soon as he started placing adverts in the newspapers he thought he knew how Jonathan was doing business, although he had been less fortunate in his attempts to copy it. He was convinced he’d be forced to kill his former charge at some point soon.

  “And I know you've had little success doing it yourself,” he laughed. “I imagine you're feeling a little stupid now.” He restrained himself from attacking Jonathan, knowing those in the tavern were now allied to him and him alone. “I could have done it for you, if only you'd given me the opportunity.”

  He was famous, in these parts of London, for losing his temper and not considering the consequences. He knew he should never have ended their agreement. Jonathan was clever, everyone now knew this, but he had let him go far too easily. This was his terrible mistake. “I appreciate I shouldn't have let you free so quickly, Jonathan, but I should tell you I have discovered a distinctive flaw in your well-made preparations.”

  He cocked his head with interest. He doubted anyone could have found fault in his plans. He sipped from his flagon of ale and sniggered quietly. “Is that so?” he asked. “And I don’t suppose this would have anything to do with your failing and retarded status? You are nothing these days, Charles. A tired old man who yearns for that which he has lost.”

  “Jonathan,” he started as he leaned forwards to rest on the table. “Never forget I am a city marshal, whereas you cannot claim to be anything of the kind. There are things I can offer you which are no
t so readily available.” He laid his marshal's staff on the table in an attempt to prove his point. “You must consider the benefits of being seen with a marshal.”

  Indeed he could see the advantages, but Hitchin was not one he wished to do business with. “What do you want, Charles?” he asked again with more force.

  He shifted nervously in his chair. “You could certainly do with being seen walking with a marshal, Jonathan,” he rubbed his forehead to wipe the sweat free. “And I could do with walking with the Thief Taker.”

  This was it, thought Jonathan. He needed help to restore his dwindling reputation. “Why would I want to be seen with you?” he asked. “There's nothing wrong with the way my business is working. You're the one who needs all of the help he can get.”

  He finally smiled, relaxing in his seat. “Then you don't know?”

  Feeling a ripple of concern brewing within he asked the inevitable question. “Know what?”

  Hitchin finally felt as if he were in a position of power. “You're attracting a lot of attention. From both the right people and the wrong,” he watched him closely, searching for his reaction. He gave none. “Your name is often talked of among the city marshals. It's only a matter of time until they start coming to your door, asking questions.”

  He was starting to see the problem. “Who?” he enquired.

  He considered toying with Jonathan, in the same manner he was playing with him. Avoiding questions and being evasive. On the other hand he would like to see him squirm. “There's a marshal called Edwards. He's been charged with finding out how the thieves are still operating. It won't be long before he knocks at your door.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” was his disappointing response.

  “How can you be so sure?” he asked. “I hear he's a very clever man.” Despite all of his attempts Jonathan did not seem rattled at all.