Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  “Thomas, where are you going?” Bess called out. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes. Pierre and Christopher will be along in a moment. They will fill you in.” I replied as I ran passed her and the carriage.

  I was damp with perspiration by the time I reached the Goose and Gridiron, despite it only being a short distance from Newgate. I unlaced my shirt and let what little wind was blowing down the street dry my chest. I stepped into the overcrowded public house with growing trepidation. The raucous crowd thick with drunk men made seeing any distance near impossible. I was going into this blind with no way of knowing where Mr. Wilcox might be lurking.

  I pushed and shoved my way through the damp, sweaty men and found a small corner near the edge of the bar to rest and breathe something other than another man’s odor. I wanted to climb on the stool to get a bird’s eye view, but knew it to be risky. I did not want Jonathan, or one of his men to know of my presence.

  “What can I get ya?” The barkeep asked.

  “Gin.” I placed two pence on the bar, and in exchange, I received a half-pint. I tipped the glass to my lips and swallowed the contents in one gulp. The heat of the gin burned my throat and brought about another layer of perspiration against my skin. The effects were immediate. My nerves numbed by the gin allowed me to think with a bit more clarity.

  “Another?”

  “No,” I replied. Though I desperately wanted another, I knew I had to keep a clear head. “Is Mr. Wilcox here tonight?”

  “What is it to you?” The barkeep took my empty glass.

  “That is my business. Not yours. Is he here or not?”

  “He is in his office.”

  “Thanks.” I tossed another penny in his direction then left the bar and squeezed my way through the men. If it had not been for what I was about to do, I would have enjoyed the closeness of the men the crowds provided. A few of them, whether they realized it or not, got a quick feel of my prick as I slipped by them.

  “Where do you think you are going?” One of Wilcox’s men asked as I approached the door.

  “Rather a stupid question being we both know what is beyond the door.”

  “You did not answer my question.” He stepped in front of the door and blocked my path.

  “I have a meeting with Mr. Wilcox.”

  “I am unaware of any meeting.” He crossed his arms and stood firm in his conviction.

  “Maybe because it is none of your fucking business.” The man was starting to piss me off. I looked at my pocket watch. It was already quarter past three. The others would be here in less than an hour. I had to act fast. “We both know what a son-of-a-bitch the man can be. You sure you want to piss him off? I can promise you, you will end up just like Ash did. Dead and gone for good.” I saw the man wince when I mentioned Ash’s name. Something I said struck a nerve in him.

  “We were told Ash left.”

  “You believed that story? Why would Jonathan let Ash leave? He knew too much. You are making me late, and unless you want to end up on Jonathan’s wrong side, I suggest you let me in there.”

  “Go.” He flipped his head to the side and stepped out of the way.

  “Wise choice.” I nodded, opened the door, and entered Jonathan’s private empire. Many of his men looked in my direction. I saw a spark of recognition in some of their eyes, but regardless of my rumored purpose among them, none of them spoke or made any indication that they were going to stop me. They simply turned and went back to counting and listing the day’s takings.

  I stood in front of Jonathan’s private office. I listened at the door. I heard nothing. I rubbed my hands together and took a deep breath then knocked on the door.

  “This better be good, Cy.” He called from his office. The door flew open. “I said I did not want…well, well, this is a pleasant surprise.” He bowed and swung his arm back in a mock gesture of welcoming royalty.

  “I needed to see you.” I walked into the room without any hesitation but the minute the door closed behind me, a river of nerves rippled through my body. My hands trembled. My heart pounded in my ears to the point I thought Jonathan must surely hear the fear drumming inside me. I refused to face him. Instead, I walked over to the table where he kept the bottles of spirits and poured myself a gin, drained the glass and only then did I turn around to make eye contact with him.

  “I am glad you did.” He came toward me, took the empty glass, and refilled it. He poured a second one for himself. “You seem distraught.” I heard the arrogance in his voice.

  “I am.” I played along.

  “Am I to assume you are still pining away for Mr. Baptiste, despite his unfortunate incarceration?” Mr. Wilcox turned away from me and pretended to be disinterested as he shuffled papers on his desk.

  “Not exactly, no.” I took advantage of his back being toward me to pull out my pocket watch. It was half past three. I had thirty minutes to convince Jonathan I was his and to seduce him. A few years ago, I could have charmed any man and made him believe the world was his. It was what made me so popular at Mother Claps, but I was not the same man as I was back then. I had grown up and was in love with two men. I was not sure I could pull off the seduction, especially with Jonathan as the target. I needed to make my next move but had no idea what to do. I walked up behind him and placed my hand on his back. His muscles tightened from my touch. “I…” I let my voice fall away as if I was too embarrassed to say what was on my mind.

  “You what.” Jonathan turned around. My hand never left his body and came to rest against his chest. I felt his heart pounding against my fingers. I looked into his eyes. I smiled briefly then let it disappear. I licked my lips and ran my finger over his chest and down his belly. The coarse hair that covered his body was evident through the thin silk shirt he wore. If it had been anyone other than Jonathan, the intimate play between us would have stirred me into a fit of passion.

  “You have won, Jonathan.”

  “Won? I do not know what you are talking about.” He walked away from me.

  “Please, do not play these games with me, Jonathan. It was hard enough for me to come here today and admit you were right.” I reached up and pulled at the lace tie of his shirt, then ran my finger through the nest of hair.

  “What has changed your mind?” There was caution in his voice, but he did not back away this time.

  “Realizing you were right, for one.”

  “I am listening.”

  “The thrill of thieving gets to a man. I want to feel that excitement again.” I ran my finger under his shirt. He pulled my hands away.

  “Anything else?” He asked.

  “Is it not obvious?” I leaned in and kissed his chest.

  “Thomas.” He dropped the glass on the floor and pushed me away. “What about Pierre?”

  “Save his life, and I shall do anything you ask.”

  “How can I be sure?”

  “I am a man of my word, but if you need something more. Then let us seal the deal with a fuck.” I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it to the floor. He nodded with a smile for me to continue undressing. I released my breeches. They slid down my legs and gathered at my ankles. Kicking them off, I stood naked and exposed, and despite everything, my prick became restless, adding a false truth to my words and actions.

  I walked toward him. His hand caressed my body as I leaned into him for a kiss. His mouth opened and took me in. He bit my lower lip as he broke our kiss.

  “I have wanted you from the minute we met.” He threw me on his bed.

  “Then take me.” I fondled myself and primed my prick, letting him see my early release and my desire for him grow. He crawled onto the bed and stretched himself over my body. Heat filled the space between our bodies as he lowered himself down to me. I gripped his shirt as his stiff prick rubbed against mine. I tore his shirt. He smiled, a devilish, passion-filled smile at my forceful play. For me, it was the desire to rid myself of the situation and the man rubbing himself off on me. I kissed and nib
bled his neck, then his chest. It was then I saw what I came to find. Four long, deep scratches carved into his chest.

  “I have waited a long time for this, Mr. Newton.” He said as he nuzzled my neck. As he spoke, I heard what sounded like the rustling of feet on the other side of the door.

  “You want me?” I asked, hoping my voice would be enough to cover the sounds from the hallway. For the life of me I could not understand how or why they were making so much noise. I knew I had to act fast.

  “Oh, you have no idea.”

  “Lift yourself off me. I want my hands on that prick of yours.” I groaned. He did what I asked. He was mine to control and manipulate. I almost laughed at how easy it was to control the magistrate with the simple promise of a fuck. Before he could make any effort to protect himself, I bent my leg and shoved my knee between his legs. “Feel that, you bastard.” I shouted and threw him off the bed. “Now.” I yelled and wrapped my nakedness in the bed linen as Mr. Atwood and his guards came rushing through the door. Pierre, Christopher, Bess, and even Sheppard ran in behind them.

  “What is this?” Mr. Wilcox asked through heavy breaths. He covered his privates with his hands.

  “I believe those scars on Mr. Wilcox’s chest along with the blood and skin under Miss Van Dijk’s fingernails will confirm who murdered her.”

  “You fucking wanker.” Mr. Wilcox flung himself at me. I lashed out with my feet and struck him in the nose. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

  “Mr. Wilcox,” Mr. Atwood came toward the bed. I am arresting you for the murder of Cassia Van Dijk.”

  “On whose orders.” He stood, and wiped his bloody nose with his torn shirt.

  “The king’s. Guards, secure the bastard.”

  “You cannot do this. I am the magistrate.” He turned toward me as they placed the shackles on his wrists. “You lying fuck.”

  “How does it feel, Jonathan?” I went around the bed and approached him. “You are finished, Mr. Wilcox.”

  “Not by a long shot, Thomas. The charges will never stick.”

  “Oh, I think they will,” Mr. Atwood said. “There is enough evidence to not only convict you of Miss Van Dijk’s murder, but we can also add treason to the growing list of offenses. Not to mention perverting the course of justice. Guards, take Mr. Wilcox away.”

  “Mr. Newton, Mr. Baptiste. If you would not mind coming to the Palace of Westminster first thing tomorrow morning, say eight, there are a few details that will need your attention to wrap this up.”

  “Of course.” Pierre nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Atwood.”

  “Until tomorrow.” He nodded and followed the guards out of the room.

  “We shall be waiting in the carriage,” Bess said. “Come on, Nicholas.” They turned and left as well.

  “Are you all right?” Pierre came up to me and wrapped his arms around me.

  “It feels good to hold you.” I snuggled against the warmth of his body. Christopher came up and wrapped his arms around the both of us.

  “Would you have gone through with it? I mean, fucking Mr. Wilcox?”

  “No, the whole thing disgusted me.”

  “I am sure.” Pierre patted my prick, which appeared as a betrayal with its aroused state even from beneath the sheet.

  “That is due to the proximity of the two men I love, not from Mr. Wilcox. Perhaps I should get dressed. I broke their embrace, let the sheet fall from my body, and pulled on my breeches.

  “Thank you for what you did for me.” Pierre handed me my shirt.

  “I would have moved heaven and hell to prove your innocence. You do not have to thank me.” I pulled the shirt over my head. “If you do not mind, I would like to get out of here. I never want to see this place again.”

  “Let us get out of here,” Pierre said. Placing his hand on my back, he and Christopher followed me into the long underground corridors that Jonathan had used for his illegal trading.

  “What happened to everyone?” I asked as we stepped into the public house.

  “They scattered when we came in with the guardsmen.” Pierre commented. “Mr. Atwood had brought several wagons and armed guards. He was not taking any chances. Christopher and I saw the arrest of at least a dozen men in the underground channels. Jonathan and his den of thieves have collapsed, thanks to you, Thomas.”

  “It was not just me.” Bess stepped out of the carriage as we approached. “It was all of us working together.” I pulled myself up and into the carriage then scooted over to make room for the others.

  “Home, Nicholas,” Bess called out as she pulled herself into the carriage and closed the door. “Thomas, you look worried, what is bothering you?”

  “What if Mr. Wilcox can find a way out of this? What then?”

  “Thomas, it is over. Mr. Wilcox is not going anywhere but to the noose, once the sessions open back up,” Christopher said.

  “Christopher is right. You have to believe that.” Bess leaned across the carriage and touched my leg. “I think we all need a night off from all of this.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Pierre said. “It has been a long time since we have all sat down to a proper meal.”

  “Pierre, why do you think we are being summoned to Parliament tomorrow?”

  “I am sure it is just a formality, nothing to worry about.”

  “Maybe they need a written statement from each of you.” Christopher added.

  “Maybe.” I looked out the window and watched the city pass by us. No one said anything for the remainder of the journey. Sheppard pulled up to the side of the house, and as we stepped out of the carriage, Mrs. Reid came rushing out of the house.

  “Mr. Newton, I am so glad you are home.”

  “Why, what is the matter?”

  “A man came to see you a short time ago. I was not sure what to do at first. I did not want to let him in, fearing he was going to harm us. Lord Burnham convinced me otherwise. He said it was two against one and if he tried anything we could overpower him.”

  “He is in the house?”

  “Yes, I offered him a drink. He is sitting in the living room. He will not say a word of why he is here.”

  “I shall take care of it, Mrs. Reid.” I rubbed her shoulder. “Do not worry.” I walked passed her and into the house. “Can I help you?” I asked as I stepped into the living room. The others gathered around me as if we were preparing for battle.

  An older gentleman, perhaps double my age, stood. He took a sip of his drink then sat the glass on the table. He looked terrified as he walked toward me.

  “My Lord, you look just like her.”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother, Elizabeth. You have her eyes and her cheekbones.”

  “Father?” My legs weakened and threatened to buckle with the shock of seeing my birth father standing arms-length from me. “I do not understand.” I looked to my left where Christopher stood. His lips pressed together in a smile. I turned back and wiped a tear from my eye. The whole situation had rendered me speechless.

  My father held out his arms. I fell into them and began to sob. For twenty-three years, I had wanted to know what it was like to feel the arms of a parent about me and had in the last few months given up hope. While this was all new, and neither of us knew the other, it did not matter, there was love in his embrace. I thought in those first few moments my heart would burst and kill me on the spot.

  “Perhaps some gin is in order.” Bess reached out and touched my shoulder.

  “Mr. Vandenberg, perhaps you and Thomas would like to sit down.”

  “Yes, yes, thank you, Mr. Baker.” He smiled then returned to the place on the sofa.

  I stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. Perhaps I should sit next to him. No, that would be too forward, perhaps across from him would be more appropriate. My mind raced with thoughts, most of which seemed ludicrous. Did it matter where I sat? Pierre and Christopher took the two-seater across from the main sofa, making the decision for me. I sat down next to him. I glanced at him. I saw mys
elf thirty years out. I smiled, embarrassed by my obvious staring.

  “I think this should help.” Bess sat the glasses on the table and filled each of them with the gin. She then took a seat in one of two wing-backed chairs. Sheppard appeared apprehensive about joining us. Bess took his hand. He sat down on the arm.

  Everyone looked at me as if expecting me to know what to do or say. Over the last year, I had spent considerable time coming up with questions to ask if I were ever to meet my father. The questions were endless, but as I sat next to the man, not one of the questions came to me.

  “My apologies if my arrival comes at a difficult time.” My father broke the uncomfortable silence. “I thought Mr. Baker would have mentioned it to you.”

  “Our lives have been a bit complicated of late.” I smiled and took a sip of the gin. “It is not your fault.” Then I added, “I am glad you came.”

  “Mr. Vandenberg…” Christopher began.

  “Please, call me Maarten.”

  “Maarten, I am sorry for not telling Thomas. There were extenuating circumstances that required his complete focus. I thought if I told him about our meeting and your arrival it would have distracted him from his job.”

  “What is it you do, son?”

  The familial referral threw me for an awkward moment. “I am the owner of Clapton’s. Though I must admit, other things have kept me from my duties here.”

  “Other things?”

  I looked at Pierre, who nodded. “Pierre and I have been working with the House of Commons authorities to help stop a plot to overthrow the king.” It sounded implausible even to me.

  “It sounds as if you have made quite a life for yourself. Something a father can be proud of.”

  Do I say thank you? Let the comment pass? The thoughts racing through my mind were not helping. I decided there was not any appropriateness to the situation. It was difficult and awkward and would be until I could learn to speak to him like anyone else. “How long are you here for?” I looked up from my glass. “Not that I want you to leave. You just got here. Sorry, this is harder than I imagined it would be.”

  “I am feeling it too, Thomas.” He patted my shoulder. “I have to leave tomorrow afternoon. I need to be back at work Monday morning.”