Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  Jonathan sat before him on the floor, sympathy flooding his being. He slowed his breathing, forcing himself to be calm before this scared young lad. “How are you, Joseph?” no answer came. “You must have been frightened.”

  Joseph nodded. It was a slight movement, hardly noticeable to the human eye. Jonathan shifted along the floor until he was beside his son. Reaching out, he touched him on the shoulder. The boy jumped sharply, darting away from his father.

  “It's alright,” he comforted. “No one's going to hurt you here,” he chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “There will be no more pain in this house.” It was a promise he hoped he would be able to keep.

  Joseph remained still and silent, too scared even to speak. Jonathan reached out and took his hand holding it gently in his own. Suddenly the realisation hit him hard. Joseph didn't know him. He was a stranger to his own son, and it needed to be rectified. “I know all of this is very odd to you,”

  He watched as a tear started to crawl down his son's cheek. “I want to go home,” he muttered sorrowfully.

  Jonathan doubted this. He had spent so many years at the mercy of his father. It was never a home, it was a prison. “I understand,” he said. “I know how your grandfather treats you and your mother.” He pulled Joseph closer. “He'll never be able to hurt either of you again. I'll make sure of it.”

  Joseph nodded, the first indication he understood what was happening. Jonathan thought he may have given him a little hope. “I don't want to be here,” said the boy again. “It scares me.”

  He could understand such a statement. A strange place, with a gaggle of even stranger women, violent men around every corner and an even worse man stalking him and his mother. “Don't worry,” he said as he kissed his son on the head. “We'll work something out.

  Joseph probably needed his father now, more than ever before. What that may actually mean largely escaped him, but Jonathan knew he would never let his father intrude on their lives ever again.

  90

  He knocked lightly on the door before he entered. Mary lay on her bed, her face red and flustered from the tears she had so recently shed, although her most noticeable feature was now the large bloody red bruise which circled one side of her jaw. Isabel and Anne stood either side of the bed, the former stroking her hair with affection. Three other girls hovered at the foot of the divan. Jonathan cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

  “Ladies,” he pleaded. “Can you give us a moment?”

  Slowly they all filed from the room, Isabel pausing as she passed. “Look after her.”

  “How is she?”

  She sighed, reaching up to kiss Jonathan lightly on the cheek. “Calmer.” She knew this wasn’t his fault. He was clearly as stricken with hatred and fear as Mary. This was no time to make things worse. Kindness was the most helpful of notions.

  As the door was closed he perched himself beside her on the bed. “Mary,” he said as she rested her head in his lap. “I'm so sorry.”

  Mary started a pained smile. He tensed nervously. “You couldn't have done anything about it, Jonathan.”

  He laughed uncomfortably. He was angry at himself for not instructing his boys properly. He had thought 'Watch Mary's house,' had meant watch both the back and the front more ardently. Someone would be punished. “I could have taken precautions.”

  “You couldn't have stopped this. I doubt it was in your power,” she snuggled into his lap desperate for his affection.

  His next question was the most desperate. “What did he want?” he asked.

  “He was delivering a message,” she told him, the fear of that horrific event threatening to consume her once again.

  “What message?” he pleaded.

  Mary turned so she faced the ceiling. “He wanted to let you know he's still around. That he still has power within this city.” He laughed but she knew it wasn’t because he found it funny. “Basically he wanted to show you he can hurt those you care for,” this sounded more like Hitchin.

  “Son of a bitch,” he swore loudly. “Although, it was probably my fault. I should have been paying him more attention.”

  He had, most certainly, taken a step too far. Jonathan thought he finally understood. Anne, Joseph, and now Mary, they were all steps taken to inflict pain upon him and those he cared for. He couldn’t allow it to continue any longer.

  “That wouldn't have changed anything, Jonathan,” she comforted. “Charlie's a bastard son of a bitch, we all know this.” She knew things were more complicated than anyone would admit. There was little which could be done to change it. “Don't worry my love. I don't expect you to kill him, not really. I know it's not so easy.”

  “Doesn't mean I won't try,” his fury felt as if it were uncontrollable.

  “It's not going to be easy,” she informed. “I've known Charlie most of my life and no one has ever come close to ending him.” Fear of Hitchin kept him safe. No man had ever managed to seriously intimidate him in any way, or make him pay for those crimes he had committed.

  He wanted to talk of it no more. He had too many other things on his mind. “That may be true but I've been the first to succeed where so many others have failed. This is no different,” he moved her head off his lap and swung from the bed. “I need to do something about the boy,” he declared, concern for his son still biting at his heart.

  “Such as?”

  “He's scared. He's suffered too much at the hands of men like Charles,” he paced the room angrily. Determined to seek revenge. “Joseph needs toughening up. We need to show him he need not live in fear.”

  “And you're the man to do that?”

  He approached her and kissed on the forehead. “Maybe not,” he chuckled lightly, “but I know a lot of men who can.”

  It seemed in the space of one night his whole world had shifted, providing him with the ability to face up to a number of responsibilities.

  91

  The boys who were watching Mary's house knew dark tides were rising within the brothel. One had run to the little house on Cock Alley to inform Matthew of the trouble. When Jonathan reappeared in the kitchen he found Matthew with Isabel, talking kindly to the boy.

  She sat with them at the kitchen table, holding Matthew's hand and running her other across his chest. A girl very much in love. Jonathan approached and called Matthew to him quietly.

  “You've heard?” he asked.

  He chuckled sadly. “Straight from the horse’s mouth,” he indicated towards his love. She laughed and played with Joseph happily.

  His fury was almost equal to Jonathan’s. Any man who attacked Mary would surely meet with a most bloody fortune. Matthew never expected Hitchin to do such a thing. He knew, however, making him pay would be incredibly complicated.

  “What does a man need to do to seek revenge against Charles Hitchin?” It was the only thought which had consumed him since his arrival that night. He hoped he could force him to experience his pain. Hitchin, however, had no person he loved.

  Matthew laughed loudly. “First thing they need is large and hairy bollocks.” He had hoped he could lighten the mood.

  Jonathan did not find it amusing, but he understood the point. “I want to hurt him, Matthew. I want the bastard to feel my pain.”

  He nodded his understanding. “We can't go to war with him.” It would be pointless. In a gang war there would be no clear winner. He knew this.

  “I'm not talking about war,” he explained. “I'm talking about causing him intense pain.”

  Matthew slapped his friend on the back hard. “I can definitely help with that,” he said through a large smile. For years Hitchin had tormented the thieves of London. They would all be pleased Jonathan had dared take steps which no other would.

  Turning back to the table he started to walk away but Jonathan held him there. “I need something else from you.” He questioned him with wide eyes. “I need you to promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need you to w
atch over the boy,” his eyes fell to his son. “I need you to educate him on how to handle his fear. Show him he need not be afraid anymore,” he smiled at his large friend. “He will be coming to live with us.”

  He understood. London was not the easiest of places for any man, or even a child, to live. Dangers lurked around every corner. Matthew could help. He could show the boy how best to survive in this harsh world. He would, one day, have use of such methods but Matthew hoped it would not be for many more years. Although, considering recent events, who knew where Charlie would strike next.

  92

  Anne appeared at the door which led upstairs, desperate for her chance to talk to her estranged husband. He couldn't ignore or dismiss her easily. To do so was hardly fair. She approached him on the stairway and he pulled her to a quiet, uninhabited room upstairs, closing the door so as to keep their conversation private.

  She appeared as equally terrorised as her son, scared by recent events in a house which was supposed to be a safe haven. Jonathan felt as if he should speak first, to say what he knew was best.

  “We have a problem,” he said.

  Her wide eyes suggested she had her own. “I can see that, Jonathan.” She should have known London would be more dangerous than her home town could ever be. She felt as if her agreeing to join Jacob on his journey was a grave error. Not that she had a choice in the matter.

  Jonathan smiled as sweetly as he was able. “Our son...,” he chuckled painfully. He had never imagined he would be so concerned for his own offspring, “..., our son is petrified. He doesn't want to stay here anymore.”

  “I can understand his feelings,” she whimpered. “I don't particularly want to stay in this house any longer either.”

  It was a valid response. He reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You have little choice,” he told her, maybe somewhat too harshly. “I promise you this house will be safer. No trouble will come to it again.” He was sure his words offered no comfort.

  It was clear she didn't trust in him completely, her hands visibly shaking. “And what of Joseph?” she asked, the need to argue dissipating quickly.

  “He'll come with me,” he said. “There's no safer place for him to be.”

  She didn't seem at all convinced, reaching out to grasp at his shirt as he turned to leave. “I feel this place is no safer than the depths of hell. I fear not only for our safety but for the safety of all. Would you condemn me to it any longer, Jonathan?”

  He cocked his head with a skewed smile. “I'm not the one who brought you here, but, I will keep you safe,” he stroked her cheek lightly. “Trust in me or face these terrors on your own.”

  It was hardly a choice. Whether Jonathan succeeded in protecting them or not didn't really matter. She was sure pain and terror would find them once again.

  93

  Matthew and Isabel watched as Joseph ate a large and uneven slice of buttered bread. He liked the kid. He reminded him of Jonathan more and more. A deeply inquisitive mind which was eager to learn and always looking for answers. The boy's silence and unwillingness to talk was slowly passing and Matthew found him not only intelligent, but often purposefully wicked.

  It was explained to Joseph how he would come to Cock Alley where he would stay under the protective eyes of Matthew, Ian and a few others. To a child it was exciting. A world filled with danger and temptation. Scared he may have been but with men like Matthew watching him he could not feel more protected. He doubted any man could toy with him in the same way his grandfather had.

  All were sure no harm would ever come to him if he remained with his father under the endless guard of men such as Matthew and Iron Fist. It would be a man possessed by a terrible madness who chose to confront such men. Jonathan, however, knew Charles Hitchin was, indeed, a man of such insanity.

  94

  Whenever he was called by the magistrates Tom knew trouble was brewing. This was not fear for his career or ability, but he was sure whatever they had to say he would consider it a terrible reprimand.

  Again he found himself before magistrate Lawson. Looking down to him over the expanse of his extravagant desk he shook his head in annoyance. “Thomas,” he started. “I ask this question due to immense pressure from a number of my peers,” he sat back in his chair, apologetic notions drifting effortlessly across the room. “Are you still investigating Jonathan Wild?”

  Of course he knew the answer. “I am,” he replied, fearing his investigation was to venture into troubled waters.

  Lawson shifted nervously in his seat. He felt as frustrated by this as anyone else. Hitchin would also be angered by the news. “Your investigation stops now,” he ordered.

  Tom blushed as this revelation causing his cool demeanour to falter, sweat now freely flowing. “Magistrate Lawson,” he stuttered. “I have reason to believe Jonathan Wild is…,” he was brutally cut short.

  He thrust out a hand silencing him as he leaned forwards in his seated position to press his point. “This is not my decision,” he explained, “in fact the order comes directly from the Lord Mayor himself. He met with Wild last night and expressed how he truly believes him to be as honourable as he maintains.” Tom was lost for words. It would make any attempt at proving Wild to be guilty of several crimes very difficult indeed. “I need you to understand there is no debating this matter,” he grumbled under his wig. “Do you understand, Thomas?”

  He nodded slowly, his status as a marshal deflating abruptly. He knew Jonathan to be clever and he found it difficult imagining how he had gained such a powerful ally. “I understand, Sir,” he begrudgingly agreed.

  Not much else was said during the remainder of their conversation. Tom refused to let him win this easily. He considered it an underhand tactic. It spelled a dark future for Tom and his colleagues and he was sure Jonathan would use this new allegiance to the best of his abilities.

  95

  Tom Edwards was not a happy man. He felt as if he had been forcefully buggered by the magistrates of London. His investigation into Jonathan’s affairs was painfully slow but he still felt as if he were making steady progress. He knew much for certain but a lack of any evidence meant little could be done. He was in command of most of the gangs of London, of this he was sure, but such a clever man knew how to hide it well.

  “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” asked Collins, almost as frustrated as his mentor.

  He didn't really have any ideas. Jonathan was careful, he knew this, and any evidence would be well hidden. None of his thieves would talk. “I won't be beaten so easily,” he said with strong purpose.

  His influence beggared belief. How he had obtained the Lord Mayor's official sanction and respect he didn't know. There was hardly a more powerful man in London, besides the King himself. It was fiendishly clever. An inspired move.

  “So you have a plan?” Collins asked in hope.

  “Not really,” he admitted, “but I don't care what they say. Jonathan will slip up one of these days, and I'll be there to catch him.”

  “What do we do?” he was equally as interested to see where all of this took them. He admired Tom for his unwavering resilience.

  “We watch. There's nothing else we can do.” He knew he would make a mistake, sooner or later. No man could stay this perfect for too long. “When he makes an error, no matter how small, we'll be there to bring him in.” It would never be easy but he was willing to do whatever it took. Nothing would stand in his way. Not this time.

  96

  The decision had been easy. Jonathan wanted to cause Charles pain. He deserved it. They would go to his home, forcing their way in with the intention of causing injury and death. The fat bastard would be protected, surrounded by the most dangerous and powerful of his thieves, but they would be prepared.

  Matthew, Ian and two other large and dangerous thieves would accompany him. They descended on Charles's house ready for the inevitable fight. He held himself back as Matthew, Ian and the two others a
pproached the front door. With a single, powerful kick they gained entry. Six rugged thieves ran to the door, probably those making their drops for the day. His four protectors ran inside. Avoiding the clash Jonathan moved through the house to find Hitchin. He drew his sword, determined to cause injury.

  He was in the room where they last had an encounter, to the side of the house. He walked over to him, sword outstretched. The tip of his weapon dug into Charles's shoulder, forcing him back to impact with the wall behind forcefully. This brave move on Charles and his thieves had taken only moments. It was a well-executed surprise and each man did exactly as they had been instructed.

  “What the bloody hell is this?” he exclaimed, his words lined with pain.

  He twisted the blade, causing his enemy to flinch with the sting of the cutting edge. “This is me returning the message you delivered last night,” he continued to twist the blade, revelling in the sight of Hitchin's pain. “If you ever touch my family, my loved ones or my friends again, I will slit your fucking throat.” Hitchin began to chuckle, forcing Jonathan to twist the blade even harder. “You think this is funny?” he asked, fury rising fast. “I can kill you now!” he threatened.

  “That's it!” he exclaimed. “That's what I'm looking for.”

  Confusion swept over Jonathan. “What?” he demanded angrily.

  The chuckle became a laugh. “You really don't see it,” despite the pain he was in absolute hysterics. “You've been spending all this time trying not to be me and you don't even realise you already are.” Hitchin had stopped being the weakling in this awful situation. He placed his bare hand around the blade and pulled it from his shoulder. Blood filled his palm and seeped onto the wooden floor.

  “I am?” he asked, slicing the blade from his hand. “I'm nothing like you.”

  He laughed harder. “Maybe it's in your blood. Like father like son.”

  Jonathan held his sword out, ready to slice at his enemy's throat. “So what? This was a test?”