Wild Intentions (The Legend of the Thief Taker)

by Chris Hales

  He approached, always aware of the outstretched blade. “I needed to know how far you would go,” he said. “What you would do, and here you are.” His slow walk to Jonathan halted when the cold of the blade pressed into his throat once again.

  “What are you talking about, Charles?” he enquired.

  Hitchin smiled. “Tell me Jonathan, what have you done?” He gave no answer. “You've come here, with your men, to attack me. Your boys are probably outside right now killing those of my thieves who heard you force entry. That's just the kind of thing I would have done.”

  Jonathan stepped forwards, resting the blade harder against his neck. “I'm nothing like you,” he spat with venom. “You and my father disgust me. You attacked my loved ones and I would do the same, but I know you are incapable of loving anyone, or anything, other than yourselves.” He applied pressure to the blade, causing a line of blood to drift down Hitchin's neck. “If I want to return the favour the only person I can harm is you.” Hitchin only grinned at him. “You have been warned.”

  The cold of the blade was lifted from Hitchin's gullet. He allowed Jonathan to retreat to the door, making no aggressive move. “Be careful. You're on a dangerous path, but at least it will make our little dance far more interesting.”

  Opening the door Jonathan raised his eyebrows at the terrible man before him. “Go to hell, Charles.”

  Was it true? Was Jonathan becoming just like Charles Hitchin? The one thing he had always promised he wouldn’t do. It had stopped him in his tracks, reducing the urge to attack so violently. It was, most certainly, food for thought.

  All of his compatriots were surprised Jonathan had let Charlie live. He undoubtedly deserved to die. None was more shocked than the Thief Taker himself. Internally he promised he would, one day, be the end of Hitchin.

  97

  Outside of the room Matthew, Ian and the two other lads stood among a number of bodies which lay sprawled on the floor. From the amount of blood which had stained the clothes of his compatriots he could only assume they were dead. One of his lads sported a deep wound which seeped through the cloth of his shirt, a stark reminder of his recent battle.

  Matthew looked to Jonathan questioningly. “We're done?” he asked of him.

  His point had been powerful but Matthew thought it useful in proving to him there were lines he should not cross. He had been surprised he hadn’t killed Hitchin, but he knew not to question him. Leaving his terrible house each agreed it should be back to business. There was little more which needed to be said.

  Although, Jonathan did possess a sick feeling he had only been observing the truth. Was he like his father? Was he so similar to Charles? Even he couldn't deny there were similarities, but only the odd few…, and he still had time to change his ways. Or face the consequences.

  98

  They all soon arrived back at Cock Alley, only to find two tall and slim men waiting by the door. Approaching them Jonathan forced his professional manner to return, in expectation of good custom.

  “Gentlemen,” greeted Jonathan in an introductory tone. “May we help you?”

  The men looked at his four powerful companions, raising an eyebrow each at the blood-stained shirts they wore. “We were looking for Jonathan Wild.”

  He passed by them to place a key in the door. “I'm Wild,” he said. “Please, come inside.”

  They all entered the house, Matthew and the others moving through to the small kitchen. He showed the men to his study, offering a seat to each. “How may I help?” he enquired.

  “My name is Stephan Bleiberg,” said the first man in a strong accent which he couldn't place. “This is my associate, Christophe Ackers. We've come with a proposal for the Thief Taker.”

  He sat, smiling at them with intrigue. “If I may ask,” he asked pleasantly. “Where are you from? You have an accent with which I'm not familiar.”

  Bleiberg chuckled quietly. “We're Dutch, from Holland.”

  “How may I help you?” Jonathan asked again. “I get the impression you're not here seeking my help.” Bleiberg and his associate each reclined in a relaxed fashion, a strong glint present in their eyes.

  Ackers sat forwards, ready to explain. “We understand the Thief Taker is a man who operates on both sides of the law.” Jonathan twitched, an urge to protest brewing within.

  The men did not appear worried at the truth they thought they had discovered. Stories of the Thief Taker had travelled far. A little research and they thought it only sensible to approach him.

  “You need not worry, Mr Wild,” explained Bleiberg, “for we also walk the fine line between the law and criminality.”

  He laughed as he stood and moved to the windows. There he poured three strong drinks from his bottle of fine scotch. He delivered a glass to each of his guests. “That's very interesting,” he said as he returned to his seat. “And I imagine this has something to do with your proposal?”

  “Yes indeed,” laughed Bleiberg. “Something we would like to discuss with you in detail.” If the stories of the Thief Taker were true he was sure he would agree to their offer. It had been constructed with the most careful of hands, but Jonathan would be the key to its success.

  He drank hungrily from his whisky. “I would dearly love to hear what you have to say,” he said, “but unfortunately I am exceptionally busy at the present.”

  “That's not a problem,” Ackers exclaimed. “We will wait.”

  “Know our proposal can be mutually beneficial to us both.” Bleiberg furthered. “It is possible for us to discuss it with you when you are able to give it your full attention,” he stood and laid a card on his desk. “We can be reached here while we are in London,” he flipped the card to reveal another address. “This is where we are from in Holland should you need it.”

  It was a short conversation but an interesting one nonetheless. His interest was piqued. It was worth investigating as it seemed they had travelled the long distance from Holland with the specific intention of approaching him personally. Maybe they held the key to an increase in revenue for the Thief Taker.

  99

  Jonathan collected his thoughts, had a change of clothes and left for Newgate prison around lunchtime. There he would meet with Peter and explain the state of current events. It was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

  He had stolen from the wrong man. Both Andrews and the Lord Mayor believed every criminal, no matter how small their crime, should be punished to the full extent of the law. Jonathan had done his duty well and the thief had been caught. The fact he would be hanged the following day was hardly of any importance.

  “You here to get me out?” asked Peter as he entered his cell. “It's about bloody time.”

  “Shut up,” he snapped. “Things are a little more complicated than that.”

  “You have come to get me out, right?” he asked nervously.

  He shook his head sorrowfully. “You made a mistake, Peter. You stole from the wrong man,” he drew a court summons from his jacket pocket and passed it to him. “Your victim was a man called Andrews. He is a powerful and well-connected person. A close friend of his is Gerard Conyers.”

  “Who?”

  He resisted the chuckle which was trying to escape his mouth. He was a good thief, but wasn't overly intelligent. “The Lord Mayor of London,” he rested a hand on his shoulder. “They're insistent your case is heard before the magistrates. You'll be in court tomorrow morning.”

  Peter was stunned. “And what then? I'll be sent back here?” Jonathan was well known as a most honourable gang leader. He would never allow one of his own to be judged too harshly. Nevertheless, Peter suddenly felt sickly nervous.

  He smiled awkwardly. “In all probability you'll be hanged.”

  He collapsed on his bunk. “But you promised...”

  Indeed he had. “I'm sorry, Peter.”

  He had favoured his own reputation over Peter's life. It was something which needed to be done. His life, it seemed, didn't stand for
much at all.

  100

  Jonathan left Peter in his cell, whimpering and pleading to God Himself. Outside he found Dodge, the prison warden, waiting for him. He smiled expectantly as he approached.

  “I may have something to interest you,” Dodge said excitedly. It was his hope he’d reap a cut of the rewards.

  It was not the first time he had presented him with something he considered to be of value. Much of what he had to offer, however, was useless and he was not particularly confident this would be any different. “What is it?” he asked.

  Dodge walked him to the doors of another cell. On the bunk within lay a man, with a cloth draped over his head in an attempt to drown out the noise of the other inmates. “Allow me to introduce you to Arnold Powell.”

  Matthew waited by the side, ready and willing to offer his advice. He laughed once loudly, causing Jonathan to turn to him questioningly. “You have a problem?”

  “No,” he said, looking at the warden. “I'll allow Mr Dodge to finish.”

  Jonathan turned back to the warden. “Powell is a housebreaker and he's due in court tomorrow at ten o'clock. Probability is he'll hang, but the buzz within these walls is about his stash, which is rumoured to be sizeable.” He was sure Jonathan would find it interesting and he’d then offer him a percentage of the rewards.

  Again Matthew laughed. “That's bollocks,” he said candidly. “Everyone's heard of Powell's stash. He probably does have a large stash somewhere, but it's not nearly as loaded as he claims.” He nodded with understanding. Matthew's opinion stood above all others, especially when it came to thieves. “Powell is a very good housebreaker and holds no allegiance to any gang,” he stared him directly in the eye, “but, in my opinion, any talk of a giant stash is bullshit. Powell's only full of crap.”

  Jonathan turned to Dodge and gave his instruction. “Unlock the cell.”

  101

  Powell lay asleep, his head covered with his old cotton rag. Snoring quietly he twitched, reminding Jonathan of an old dog who had run too far, too fast. He prodded him on the back in an attempt to wake him. No response. He pushed the ageing criminal harder, forcing him to jump awake.

  “Good morning,” chuckled Jonathan.

  Powell rolled over, his eyes heavy and his vision blurred. “What do you want?” he asked, angry he had been so abruptly woken from his slumber.

  “I have an offer for you,” he replied. “One I think may suit you very well.”

  Powell rolled into a sitting position, rubbing his face wearily. “What offer?” he implored. “Who the hell are you?”

  He smiled. “My name is Jonathan Wild.”

  He allowed the realisation to sink in, watching him closely. “The Thief Taker?” Powell enquired.

  He nodded. “I hear you're due in court tomorrow,” he shrugged, uninterested in his dire fate. “You'll almost certainly be hanged.” He hoped his fate would secure him as an ally.

  Powell had been stupid. A senseless error had led to his arrest and he knew he would hang. There was no escaping it.

  “And I imagine you can offer me another fortune?” Powell growled with disbelief.

  “I can,” said Jonathan. “For a price.”

  Powell dismissed Jonathan with a laugh. “As you may have noticed, I'm not in a position to pay you anything.”

  “Now,” returned Jonathan, “that's not entirely true, is it?” He raised his eyebrows, questioning him further. “I hear you're an excellent housebreaker, with no affiliations to any gang, or gang leader,” the Thief Taker joined him in perching on the edge of his bunk. “I'll see to your problem, in return for your word. Word you'll only housebreak for me.” It was a good offer considering the likelihood he'd drop. “If you want me to set a price...,” he laughed, rising to his feet… “People around here have been talking of your stash.”

  He laughed as he reclined on his hard bunk. “I can see where this is going.” Stories of his stash had served him well over the years. Maybe now it would assist in a greater purpose.

  “There are those who don't believe your claims,” he said, “but, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Let's say I get you off the charges and free of these walls for fifty per cent of your stash. And for your allegiance.” He thought it was a very good offer.

  He considered the proposal. He knew the Thief Taker was very good at what he did but could he trust he was capable of toying with the courts. “How do I know if you can do as you claim?”

  He patted him on the cheek. “You'll find out tomorrow when you're released into my custody.”

  With many tricks up his sleeve, he was sure he could do as he wished. He would take custody of Powell and have him hand over his stash. He was sure the matter of Arnold Powell would soon be forgotten by the courts and he would have possession of a valuable thief.

  102

  Matthew thought Jonathan's involvement in this affair was dangerous. Everyone had heard stories of Powell's stash and many had even tried to find it themselves. None, as far as he knew, had any success. It was a risk too treacherous for words.

  It was a challenge and he never turned down such a thing lightly. He had come to London a poor man and in a relatively short space of time he had assumed a position of power few could boast. He was sure he could do as he promised. By tomorrow afternoon Powell would be a free man.

  He wasn't doing this for money. Rather he was doing it to prove to himself he was still capable of anything. Maybe his stash didn't exist, maybe it was an urban legend. It didn't really matter, but Jonathan was intrigued. Above all else, he had always managed to manipulate the legislature and the people of London. Now it was time to try his hand at the courts. It was a natural evolution. He felt invincible and he needed to prove he really was.

  103

  He arrived at the Old Bailey early the next morning. Once there, he sought out the usher who would be running the court which was to hear Powell’s case. He needed him to say who the prosecutor would be. That was how he would make his move.

  The prosecutor, a Mr Stubbs, was a pleasant if somewhat stern man who held his ageing features well, appearing tall and professional. He introduced himself and they soon found themselves indulging in idle conversation. It didn't take long for Jonathan to raise the topic of Arnold Powell.

  “Yes,” muttered Stubbs, “Powell. The hearing is at ten I believe.”

  He suddenly appeared disappointed. “Then, you haven't heard?”

  “Heard what?” he asked with concern.

  He threw an arm around his shoulders and walked him down the hall. “The case has been postponed. Suspended until next Thursday,” he dearly hoped this deception worked, that it gave him the time he needed.

  Stubbs made a fuss, blaming the court ushers for their lack of information. He quickly made threats about reprimanding them for not telling him of the change. “The bloody ushers!” he swore loudly. “They never let you know of the changes to a hearing.”

  “Don't be too hard on them,” encouraged Jonathan. “They're having a difficult morning.” He somehow managed to convince the esteemed lawyer not to enquire any further with either the ushers or the magistrates. Stubbs gave him his thanks and departed to continue with work on other cases.

  With the prosecutor out of the way for the time being it was now time to move onto the next matter. The trouble Jonathan was risking was incredibly high, yet he was convinced he could successfully avoid any incriminations. The truth of the matter was, however, even the Thief Taker could be held responsible for such a crime.

  104

  Joseph Wild was, strangely enough, having a wonderful time staying with his father. Every day he would find time to spend with his son. Slowly Joseph felt as if he was getting to know his errant pater.

  They would often sit together to read. He was impressed at his son's grasp of the English language. While he often refused to make conversation he happily read and greatly enjoyed Jonathan's collection of books and articles. It didn't take long for Joseph to
discover how powerful his father was in London.

  While he actually liked him Joseph had become more interested in Matthew. Being an exceptionally large, powerful and intimidating presence he was exciting to such a young boy.

  “What does my father do?” he asked one day. Of course he knew. The newspapers often explained how he operated. He had also seen a high number of thieves and criminals enter this home.

  Matthew sat with him in the small house, across from him at the table in the kitchen. He knew not to tell him too much. Jonathan had been very clear about this. “He's a lawman,” he explained. “He catches thieves and delivers them to the courts for trial.”

  Joseph leaned in a little closer. “No,” he chuckled. “I mean what does he really do?”

  Joseph had seen all manner of men enter the house during all hours of the day and night. All had been kind to him, probably because of who his father was. Matthew tried to avoid the subject, standing and moving away from the table.

  “I know you're all, mostly, thieves.” his honesty amused him. “I hear things. I see things.”

  Matthew sighed deeply, partly out of amusement at his young friend’s manner of speaking. He returned to his seat pondering how best to answer the question. “Joseph,” he started. “Your father is a very complicated man. He does help people, both those who don't steal and those who do.” He tried to make it understandable to a small boy. “Sometimes even those who are looked down upon and despised by the law need help.”

  “Does that mean he does bad things?” he asked innocently.

  “Not at all,” he defended. “It just means sometimes he has to enforce the law in different ways. It means the law is often wrong.”

  Matthew could easily tell the boy knew the truth. He wasn't stupid, but he went further by telling Matthew how he thought the business worked. How he was not so much the Thief Taker but more the thief compatriot. Joseph was far more intelligent than they had anticipated. Far more observant than anyone could imagine.