have trouble lifting things. Any problems with that?’
‘None at all.’
‘Good to hear. Ralust?’
‘Boss?’
‘Word is, the taxman is going to be paying us a visit soon. I need to know what options we have.’
‘That’s easy: lies or bribery.’
‘Pick one and run with it.’
‘Got it.’ Ralust began to scribble details down into a well-used leather ledger.
‘Cole?’
* * *
Cole looked up from cleaning the surfaces, a job that had clearly been previously ignored and would take him considerable time.
‘Yes, Jack?’ The air felt thick as all eyes turned on him, glaring. Immediately Cole corrected his mistake. ‘Sorry, I mean boss.’
The ceramic cup was shaken in Jack’s hand. ‘Refill.’
‘Right.’
‘Blake, take a stroll over to the docks and put the feelers out. There’s a few ships rolling in. See if there’s any deckhands who can be easily persuaded to miscount any offloaded cargo. Get Ralust to give you the list of this week’s buyers and what they’re on the lookout for.’
‘Shall do.’ Blake ground his cigar into a smoky glass ashtray.
‘Well? Everyone has their roles. Let’s get to work. The day is waiting.’
* * *
When everyone had cleared out to perform their individual tasks, the hideout fell significantly quieter. Cole’s frantic scrubbing of pans and the factory din filled the void.
Jack took his corduroy suit jacket from a stand that inhabited a corner. He peered out into the streets via a clean spot on the window, taking in the untarnished blue sky. Those outside went about their business, unhurried, a trend adopted by most in Esquelle. Mornings weren’t built for rushing about.
He sauntered to a large single-pane piece of glass and looked down onto the factory itself. Each workstation was accompanied by someone who twisted and turned fabric with speed, as their sewing machine continued its repetitive clatter. The foremen walked about between them, dispensing advice and ensuring all went smoothly. On the surface these individuals, older women mostly, were simply disposable labourers, but that was a deliberate deception. They were each well paid, not only to do their jobs, but also to keep their mouths shut. They were moles, informants, bribers, relayers of gossip and a vital part of the Jackrabbits’ network. Dismissing them as just workers would be a disservice, for they were capable and handy.
A foreman waved to the management upon noticing he was being watched. Jack acknowledged with a dip of the head.
‘Cole.’
‘Yes, boss?’ he said, up to his wrists in suds.
‘Finish that up and lace your boots. You’re with me today. I’ve got something for you to get stuck into.’
* * *
Papers were stacked in uneven piles, some bleeding into others. Just from a glance Cole felt his stomach fall through the floor. Purchase orders, receipts, inventories, and scores of what else almost mocked him in intimidation. The mass was a complex collection with no attempt of organization, or at least not one that met normal conventions. Cole guessed things were just piled up on top of one another. Never had he been in the presence of such a fiasco.
‘This is your attempt at bookkeeping?’ he asked, aghast.
‘Not mine. Ralust has a very unique way of filing. Or he did, until he just gave up and began tossing things in here.’ Jack flicked a roll-up from one side of his mouth to the other. ‘I’m assuming as much at least. I won’t pretend to know the intricate details of you numbers people. I just know what I see and what I see is that substantial pile being messy.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I thought that would be obvious.’ Jack grinned, removing his cigarette and letting the ash drift to the floor. ‘Un-mess it.’
‘You sure know how to force a heart attack on me. Don’t need a weapon to do so, I tell you that much.’ Cole began to sieve through the first pieces of paper within his reach. ‘Invoices. IOUs. There’s plenty here that doesn’t match convention. It’ll take me …’
‘How long do you need?’
Cole, still feeling traumatized, flatly responded. ‘The end of time itself by the looks of this.’
‘You have three days,’ Jack compromised, or at least, it was a compromise to him.
‘Wonderful.’
‘Call me if there’s anything that you need.’ Jack corrected himself: ‘Actually, make it Alvina or Blake. Best to call one of those two. I’ll be busy.’
‘Wait, is this safe?’ Cole asked.
‘Nothing we do is strictly safe, Little Fish …’
‘No, I mean this record keeping. Anybody could read it.’
‘The written word is easily accessible to most with working eyes. That’s sort of its point of being.’
‘That’s not what I’m getting at. Do you want me to encode it? Make it so that only we can tell the coming and goings, just in case the worst should happen?’
‘You can do that, can you?’
‘Yeah. It’ll take me a little longer but in this line of work it would be good –’ Cole hesitated to find the correct word, awkwardly grinning as he did so ‘– er … insurance?’
Jack entwined his arms, reciprocating the expression and cocking a brow. ‘Insurance, huh? And who would be able to decode it?’
‘Myself. You. Whoever you wanted that we taught the cypher to.’
Jackdaw frowned at the term, clearly attempting to pair it with its meaning. Cole witnessed the struggle and offered the solution.
‘Cypher. The key.’
‘Just us will be fine. Do whatever you need to do.’
‘I’ll probably need an extra day,’ Cole bargained, lifting a stack of loose papers from the desk chair. They slid under their own weight, noisily scattering about at his feet.
‘Nice try but you still have three,’ Jackdaw answered.
* * *
In those three days, Cole set himself to work and did so every minute he was able to. He ate at the desk, clearing a space to work with his master ledger and a space for a plate and cup. These areas were not compromised with loose papers, maintaining a working area that prevented confusion
