Page 71 of Once a Rogue
Sebastian trailed at Wesley’s feet as he confidently strode up to the haberdashery and banged on the window. “Excuse me. Sir! I need to speak with you.”
The man inside gave him a narrow-eyed look. “We open at ten,” he said, his voice muffled and just audible through the glass.
Wesley meaningfully pressed a twenty-dollar bill to the glass.
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened, and then he was hurrying over to the door. “Come on in, come on in,” the shopkeeper said, holding it open for Wesley and Sebastian. “We do sometimes open early, for special guests.”
The store was one small room, well-stocked with hats and ties and coats of all kinds. There was a counter at the back wall, and behind it, a door that was firmly shut.
“We’re quite special, I assure you,” Wesley said, as the bill changed hands. “I’m in a frightful bind. Masquerade tonight, haven’t got a tailcoat or top hat with me in America.”
“Happy to help you, sir,” the shopkeeper promised.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Wesley said. “And is there anyone else here who could attend to my companion?”
“It’s just me right now, I’m afraid,” the shopkeeper said apologetically. “Steve won’t be in for another hour at least.”
“So you’re here alone? And will be for another hour?” said Wesley. “Well, I suppose we’ll make do, then. Where do you keep your formalwear selection? Is it over here?”
Wesley strode off toward the far back corner of the shop. Sebastian walked up to the counter instead, eyes on the door behind it. If there was a safe, he’d bet it was in the back.
Sebastian leaned on the counter, frowning. If only he could use his magic now—keep the shopkeeper down while he broke the back door—
There was a thud, a muffled yelp and then another thump. Sebastian looked over his shoulder in surprise.
“I’ve got him down and I’m tying him up,” came Wesley’s voice, from the back corner. “Do hurry, won’t you? Steve might show up early, after all.”
“Be careful, they might hear him in the street—”
“I’m not anamateur, duck, he’s already gagged.”
Sebastian hurried behind the register. The door was unlocked, and he slowly opened it, revealing a set of stairs trailing down out of sight.
Down, where the speakeasy was.
Another muffled, indignant yelp came from the back corner of the store, then Wesley was walking his way.
“Our new friend is tied to the radiator. I’ve no idea how skilled he might be at escape, so let’s assume we have only a couple minutes, shall we?” He glanced past Sebastian. “Back door into the speakeasy?”
They took the stairs down together in quiet, cautious steps. The final step opened into a short hallway. The kitchens were up ahead while a door stood along the wall. They stopped for a moment and listened, but the speakeasy was silent.
Sebastian opened the one door to a small room that held a messy desk, a filing cabinet—and a free-standing black safe on the back wall, a sizable one with a keyhole.
“Got the safe, now we need the key,” said Wesley.
Sebastian went straight to the desk and began opening the drawers, scanning each one and pulling it out to check underneath, as Wesley slipped out the door and back into the hall.
Sebastian had just reached the final drawer when Wesley strode back in, holding up a metal key.
“How’d you find that?” Sebastian said, delighted.
Wesley coughed. “I might have been watching Alasdair very closely when the two of you were talking.”
“Really? Why?” Sebastian said curiously. “We didn’t know he was a paranormal then.”
“No, but he was so bloody interested in you, and I was—well, I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” Wesley said quickly. “Point being, I saw him put something in the drawer beneath the cash register at the bar. And now we have the key.”
A moment later, Wesley was swinging the safe door open. “Let’s see.” He crouched in front of the safe. “We’ve got the usual suspects: cash, papers, cash, jewelry, yet more cash. Apparently bootlegging is quite lucrative.”
