James McGee - Resurrectionist

Seeing the look on Sawney’s face, the girl’s expression faltered. “I was only jokin’, Rufus.”

“I wasn’t,” Sawney said softly. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. Said I’d never heard of Doyle. I told him he’d probably got the wrong pub. He should try the Dog and Dray.”

Symes had registered the flash of fear in the girl’s eyes. A chill moved through him. There was an awkward silence. “What should we do?” he asked.

Sawney’s gaze moved from the girl to the verger.

“Rufus?” Maggett said. He was over by the wall, taking a look at the individual who was causing all the fuss.

“Hold on,” Sawney said, “I’m thinkin’.” He took a drink, swilled the grog around his tongue and swallowed. He poured out a fresh mug, then looked at the verger. “You’re positive he didn’t see you?”

The verger shook his head firmly, more confident now. “I’m sure.”

Too busy gawpin’ at Sal’s tits, Maggett thought to himself. And who could blame him?

Sawney mulled over the verger’s reply. After a few seconds he nodded. “Then I don’t reckon we’ve got anything to worry about. There’s no one here’s going to talk. They know what’s good for them. The bastard’ll be old news in a week. I’d say we’re in the clear.”

Sawney straightened. “Right, worth a drink, I reckon.” He looked at Symes. “How about it, Verger? Not much point us fallin’ out, not when we’ve more work lined up. What’s done is done. Tell you what, we’ll get some more booze in. Good stuff, not this rotgut. Come on, Maggsie, let’s see if we can’t find ourselves a couple of those bottles Hanratty keeps under the counter for the special customers.”

Maggett frowned. He was wondering what bottles. He was also wondering which special customers Sawney was talking about.

Sawney rolled his eyes at his lieutenant’s expression then turned to Symes. “Be best if you hung around, anyway, Verger, at least until that bastard Runner has slung ’is hook. Go on, have a seat, take the weight off. Sal here’ll look after you. How’d that be? Sal, entertain the man. That’s an order.” Sawney winked. “We’ll be back in ten minutes. Give you two a bit of privacy. Come on, Maggsie.” Sawney ushered the still-frowning Maggett towards the door. He turned. “An’ you be gentle with him, Sal, y’hear?”

Sal grinned and poked her tongue out. “Don’t you worry. I’m always gentle with Lucius.” She turned to the verger and chuckled. “Ain’t that right, sweet’eart? Go on, sit yourself down.” She nodded towards the chair. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Sawney and Maggett left the room. Symes watched them, a worried expression on his face.

“Don’t worry about them,” Sal whispered, as the footsteps retreated. “It’s just you and me. We’ve got the place to ourselves.”

The verger hesitated. Sal tugged gently on his sleeve. “You know you want to.” She dropped her gaze. “I can tell.”

The verger coloured, but he did not resist when she led him to the wing-backed chair and pressed him down into the seat. She leaned over him, placed both hands on the arms of the chair, and gazed at him from beneath her dark lashes. “Will it be the usual, then, sir?” she asked teasingly.

Symes closed his eyes, cursing himself for his weakness. He kept them shut as Sal knelt down and began to undo his breeches. When she had done so, she reached for him. Symes caught his breath as he felt the touch of her palm.

Sal grinned as she took hold. “Toot-toot,” she said softly, as she lowered her head.

The verger’s eyes were still clamped shut when Sawney re-entered the room. Symes was breathing heavily. His left hand was on the arm of the chair. His right hand was resting on Sal’s shoulder. Sal’s head was bobbing up and down in his lap. Neither of them seemed aware that Sawney had returned. A yellow-toothed grin creased Sawney’s face as he studied the verger’s rapt expression. Sal increased her rhythm. The verger’s breathing grew ragged. Without altering her position, Sal looked up, caught Sawney’s eye, and winked. Sawney felt himself stiffen. He reached down and adjusted himself through his breeches.

The verger was close to the point of no return. He emitted a low moan as Sal increased the pressure of her lips. She was still looking at Sawney and continued to gaze up at him as he leaned over the back of the chair. Suddenly the verger grunted. At the moment of release Sawney, with exquisite timing, looped the cord round the verger’s throat and pulled tight. Caught in that moment of confusion between pleasure and pain, the verger shuddered. As the realization of what was happening struck him, his eyes shot open and he clawed at the cord encircling his throat. Legs kicking, he flailed from side to side in a vain attempt to free himself. Scrambling away from the verger’s thrashing limbs, Sal rose and spat the contents of her mouth into the nearest mug. Sawney’s forearms bulged. Gradually, the verger’s struggles grew weaker, then stopped. Sawney waited for half a dozen seconds before releasing the cord. A strong faecal smell filled the room. He gazed down at the verger’s inert body with a look of disgust. “Bloody sod shat himself.”

Sal rubbed a hand across her lips and grimaced. “Bleedin’ took you long enough.”

“The bugger was spryer than ’e looked.” Sawney tossed the cord aside, reached for the bottle and picked up a mug. He was intrigued to discover his cock was still semi-hard.

“I wouldn’t use that one,” Sal said.

Sawney looked into the mug and wrinkled his nose. He put the mug down, raised the bottle to his lips, took a swig, then handed it to Sal. “Clean your mouth out, girl.”

She was swilling the grog around her gums when Maggett came back in, looking confused. Having accompanied Sawney outside, and then been told to stay put for five minutes, he’d been kicking his heels on the landing, wondering what the hell Sawney was playing at. Now he knew. The big man glanced down at the verger’s corpse. His face betrayed no emotion. If Sawney had thought it necessary to kill the verger, then it would take a braver man than Maggett to question the decision. He sniffed. “Aw, Jesus!”

Sal poured some grog into a mug and passed it to Maggett. “There you go, Maggsie. This’ll take your mind off the smell.”

As Maggett took the mug and raised it to his mouth, Sal glanced at Sawney and stifled a grin.

Sawney’s eyes flicked to the mug and, as Maggett swallowed, he let go a snort of laughter.

Maggett lowered the mug and frowned. “What’s the joke?”

“Not a thing, Maggsie.” Sawney smiled benignly at his lieutenant. “Not a bleedin’ thing.”

Maggett drained the mug and nodded towards the chair. He missed Sal turning her head away as the giggles took hold. “What’ll we do with his ’Oliness? You want to hang on to him? Or should we feed ’im to Reilly’s hogs?”

Behind him, Sal’s shoulders were shaking.

Sawney clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. He tried not to look at Sal. He could feel himself starting to go.

Reilly was a slaughterman with a yard off Hosier Lane. He’d dispose of anything for a price; he wasn’t particular. Neither were his hogs. He kept three of them in a pen in his yard; huge, vicious brutes, with a reputation for devouring whatever was put in front of them. The word was that Reilly kept them hungry on purpose, starving them periodically in case their services might be required. Keeping them hungry made them less likely to question their menu. Sometimes Reilly let people watch — for a fee, of course; always the businessman.

“We’ll stow ’im with the others for the time being,” Sawney said, managing to control himself. “I’ll ask around. One of the schools might like him. Don’t see why we should bring that bogtrotter into it when we can do it ourselves an’ make money from it.”