Page 8 of The Housebreaker's Assistant
“You will need an extra set of eyes and ears, and hands as well, to succeed at this,” Titus agreed.
“And did you have someone in mind to become my illustrious assistant?” Greer asked scoffingly.
He was certain they didn’t, and was surprised when Brutus said, “In fact, yes.”
Greer could only stare at him for a moment before asking, “Who?”
Brutus and Titus exchanged a look, then faced him again.
“Who better to assist the greatest housebreaker in all of England than the most talented pickpocket in all of London?” Brutus asked.
Penny. The bastard brothers wanted him to recruit Penny to accompany him on a difficult mission to Cornwall. If their thoughts had ventured along the same paths that his had, they wanted him to recruit Penny to be one of the Den’s boys as well.
“No,” he said, uncomfortable with the reasons he was so quick to reject the idea. “I work alone.”
“You work with Percival Frey now,” Titus informed him.
“I won’t,” Greer said, a strange measure of panic welling up beside his stubbornness. “I do not need an assistant. Penny would only weigh me down. He knows nothing about housebreaking.”
“He has a reputation for cleverness and a natural ability to get what he wants, even in the direst of situations,” Titus said.
That was what Greer was afraid of.
Not to mention that he did not like the idea of putting Penny in danger at all.
He did not want to examine that feeling too closely.
“You can, of course, refuse the mission,” Brutus said with a shrug. “Though there will be consequences if you do so.”
Greer clenched his jaw, letting himself hate Brutus and Titus for a moment. Consequences. He knew what those were. The Zagreus Den was not a charity and neither was it a gentleman’s club where one paid their annual membership dues in exchange for the enjoyment of all it had to offer. It was an organized criminal gang as surely as anything that might be found on the Isle of Dogs, and membership was contingent upon remaining useful to the whole.
“So if I don’t do this, I’m out,” Greer said. “And if I don’t agree to pair up with an inexperienced, red-headed scamp, you won’t let me do the job.”
“You see?” Brutus said with a wolfish grin. “We understand each other perfectly.”
Greer glared at him as he snatched up the wine glass Valentine offered him with perfect timing. “Alright,” he muttered into the cup. “I’ll do it.” He took a long draught of the excellent wine.”
“Good,” Brutus said, smiling. “Just one other thing.”
“Oh?” Greer stared at him over the wine glass.
“We have yet to approach Percival about the job,” Brutus went on. “We need you to convince him for us.”
Chapter Three
Life could have been better. Penny couldn’t deny it as he hobbled uncomfortably out of the alley he’d ducked into, nodding to the fussy gent who probably considered himself sophisticated and wise, but who had just made a mess of Penny’s backside. The red-faced bloke barely glanced at Penny as he darted past, probably in a rush to return to his respectable, middle-class life.
At least he’d paid Penny the full price he’d asked, though a shilling for a fuck was so far below what Penny knew he was worth that it was laughable.
Even more laughable was the fact that he hadn’t even tried to pilfer anything from the man as he’d quickly done his business. He’d felt too sorry for the bloke, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him. God only knew what troubles the bastard faced in his ordinary life if he was forced to venture into the seedy section of Whitechapel to empty his balls.
Penny winced as he walked on, pocketing the shilling and straightening his jacket as he did. He hated whoring more and more as he got older, but it was the quickest way to make the blunt he needed to pay Mrs. Hunt. The rent that the old biddy charged was staggering, considering the size and condition ofthe room she offered him for the sum, but they both knew that he wasn’t an ordinary tenant.
As much as he wanted to stop into The Oyster and down a pint to drown his sorrows, the larger part of him wanted to head up to Hanbury Street to take care of more important things first. Not to mention that he now needed a good wash.
Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get very far before Branston’s loud bark of, “Oy! Frey! I want my cut!” stopped him in his tracks.
With a heavy sigh, Penny turned back to the broad, beefy man who had stepped out of The Huntsman and now waddled up the street after him.
