LITMIR.BIZ

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outside the Old Jago Pub and said, “I will explain over dinner. Come along. My table should be waiting.”

      “Here, this is Mister Jones’s place,” Cat said.

      “Yes,” Luka agreed. “And now that he’s gone, it’s mine.”

      * * * *

      Despite her spindly appearance, Cat proved to have a remarkable appetite. The food at the Old Jago was of noticeably poor flavor and quality, yet the girl devoured it like a half-starved animal. Not a surprise, perhaps, but Luka was startled as he watched her tuck away three bowls of beef stew and a sizable chunk of bread. She ate too fast to say anything, and Luka found no reason to speak, so they ate in silence, Luka reading a newspaper and occasionally watching Cat’s voracious display with an upraised eyebrow.

      Midway through her third bowl, Cat looked up and noticed him watching her. She blushed slightly and glared at him.

      “Wha’s it?” she demanded. “Ye like watchin’ girls eat or somethin’?”

      “I have never before seen someone devour the food of this establishment with such enthusiasm,” Luka said. “When was your last meal?”

      “Yesterday,” Cat said between bites. “Mornin’.”

      Luka refilled his glass of wine and asked, “How can that be? I know the situation of your sort of woman is difficult, but you are young, pretty—”

      “Such a flatterer,” Cat said coyly.

      “Surely you earn enough money to feed, house, and clothe yourself,” Luka continued, though in fact none of those three seemed very likely from her appearance. “More wine?” he asked, lifting the bottle toward her glass.

      Cat paused in the midst of biting off a mouthful of bread and nodded with great enthusiasm. Swallowing, she asked, “Or have ye any gin?”

      An affection for drink. That explained it.

      “Gin?” Luka asked. “I expect so, but you would have to ask Thackery.” He nodded at the barman. Luka took a sip of wine before adding, “I thought you Scots preferred whiskey.”

      “I may have been born in Scotland,” Cat said, “but I learned te drink here. Hate whisky. Gin’s the stuff fer me.”

      “Tonight make due with wine,” Luka said, refilling her glass. “It’s better for you. Even this stuff.”

      “Won’t say no,” Cat replied, grinning. She raised the glass to her lips and swallowed a quarter of it in one long gulp.

      Luka ate a spoonful of stew. It was his second bowl, despite the poor quality of the food—he was hungry as well.

      “I am surprised that you aren’t comfortably ensconced in a brothel somewhere,” he said. “I thought it was only the older women of your profession who were forced to work the streets.”

      “Oh, I was,” Cat said, before drinking more wine. “Only I donne get on wi’ Miss Sharpe, ye see. She runs th’ establishment down Honey Lane. Only place o’ work ’round here. An’ she kicked me out las’ spring wi’ only the dress I came in wi’.” Cat looked down and scowled. “Said all the rest were her property, tho’ I were the one who paid fer ’m.” She quickly put on a bright face again and smiled at him.

      “Why not find another?” Luka asked.

      “Well.…” Cat looked away for a moment before replying, “I could go south, set meself up wi’ an abbess in Whitechapel, only I donne want te move. I’ve taken a likin’ te the neighborhood. Got meself a nice garret room ’round the corner. I’d so hate te leave ’t.”

      “Mmm, and I suppose Whitechapel isn’t the best place to be these days,” Luka said. “The papers say there’s a second victim.”

      Cat looked at him, shook her head, and drank some more.

      “Maybe I shouldne go contradictin’ a gentleman such as yerself,” she said, “but there’s nothin’ new about us girls gettin’ attacked in the streets. Only this time, respectable folk ’re takin’ notice.” She waved the idea away with a flick of her hand. “Mind ye, give it a month an’ they’ll lose int’rest again.”

      She leaned forward toward Luka and beckoned to him with one delicate finger. As Luka leaned in, she looked at him, eyes aflame, and said:

      “Dead whores is only int’restin’ when they’re freshly butchered. An’ the livin’ ain’t worth a mention.”

      She sat back in her chair, holding her glass loosely in her hands, and smirked at him. Her eyes, far less mirthful, watched Luka carefully. She was acting cocky, but she was testing his reaction.

      “There speaks the voice of truth,” Luka said. “A voice that is sadly absent in much of this newspaper.” He looked at the paper and shook his head. “The Star. And with such a lofty name too.” He set the paper down and said, “Hmm. Well, let us be to business.”

      “Here?” Cat asked, looking around.

      “A different sort of business,” Luka said. He fished two gold sovereigns out of his pocket and placed them on the table in front of Cat. “For your assistance,” he said.

      Cat’s eyes fell upon the coins and very nearly bulged out of her head. She quickly snatched up the coins and clutched them tightly in her hand.

      “Jus’ wha’ are y’ expectin’ me te do?” she asked, watching him suspiciously.

      “Something unrelated to your current profession,” Luka replied. “And I am hiring you for…let us say the month, not the night.”

      “The month?” Cat asked.

      “Do you recall,” Luka said, “what I told that man Higgins in the alley regarding my purpose here?”

      “Wha’, ’bout how ye were the new boss an’ all?” Cat asked. “An’ how ye’ll kill any pimp or thief or mobsman who sets foot ’round here?” She drank a little more wine. “’Tis a tall order fer one man.”

      “Killing them all is not the problem,” Luka said.

      “Oh aye, as I saw,” Cat said. “But ye canne be everywhere a’ once, can ye?” She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward, one lock of curly hair falling across her face. As she pushed it away, she asked, “So ye want me te stand in the street an’ hollar if I see a gang come prancin’ up Perrott Street, is tha’ ’t?”

      “Easiest money you’ll ever make,” Luka said. “But that’s not all that I intend for you.”

      “Oh, an’ wha’ else?”

      “I need someone who can spread the word for me,” Luka replied. “I want you to speak to everyone you know. All the prostitutes, urchins, anyone you are in contact with. Make it known that I will pay for reliable information about any criminal activities in the area.”

      Cat shrugged and said, “I’ll tell ’em. Donne know if they’ll listen.”

      “They will,” Luka said, “when the money’s good and when the bodies begin to pile up. I also want you to tell the local prostitutes that they no longer owe any money or allegiance to their pimps or to the gangs that used to run them. From now on, I will be taking over their protection. Any man who strikes one of the local girls will be soundly beaten for the first offense. Killed for the second.” Luka grinned. “I am nothing if not merciful.”

      Cat shook her head at him.

      “Ye really are declarin’ war, ain’t ye?” she asked.

      “I am,” Luka answered. “And it is a war that I intend to win.”

      “Have ye any idea wha’ ye’re gettin’ y’self inte?” Cat asked. “A gang war ain’t pretty. ’Twill be bloody an’ people are gonne get hurt.”

      “I

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