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VII Garrett stood up, smoothing his tunic down. The chair sat, invitingly warm behind him, but a visit to the inn was in order if he wanted to catch up on the world of crime after his evening at Shoalsgate Station. He smirked as he thought about Lt. Hagen’s face the next morning when he discovered the cash box on his desk. The man did have it coming to him, after all, he reasoned, his conscience kicking in for a fraction of a second before that. He was just in the wrong business. Stepping across to the wooden cupboard in the corner, Garrett removed his equipment for the night. He did not think much was in order for a drink at the inn, but playing it safe was always the best option. He was just about to close the rotten door when he paused, and reached out for a flash bomb. Just in case, Garrett reassured himself. Glancing out of his window, Garrett noticed it was nearly full moon. Patchy cloud drifted across the horizon, while below a drunken patron of some disreputable tavern drifted backwards and forwards in the general direction of a doorway. Pulling his head back inside, Garrett closed the window, and extinguished the light in the room. Guided by the stairway light shining through cracks under the door, Garrett made his way out. Making his way up to the third floor, he dimmed the gas light outside his neighbour’s door. At the far end of the corridor was an open, glass panelled window which opened out onto a fire escape. After shimmying down the rickety wooden platform, Garrett readjusted his equipment and set out in the direction of the Crippled Burrick inn, making sure he avoided any contact with the increasing guard patrols. Night seemed ever-present for Hagen as he sat in a darkened corner of the smoky inn. Ever since he had been framed he’d had to hide in the shadows, as he was now, waiting for opportunities to slip by unnoticed back to his hovel in the rundown area of the city. As he looked around he saw all manner of illegal deals being planned and conducted. Money and goods changed hands, weapons glinted from under cloaks, and faces Hagen had seen before on ‘Highly Wanted’ posters crawled from the woodwork, ready to bring pain and strife for the unfortunate victim this evening. A small band was setting up in the corner, while beer and other dubious spirits flowed freely down the throats of young and old, thin and fat, innocent or guilty. Then Hagen rephrased that sentence in his mind; who of this lot was innocent? He averted his gaze from a group of men smoking Asthant (a highly illegal, dangerous plant drug, imported from, ironically, the domain of the Sultan, who Hagen was going to be working for if he accomplished his job) when a tall man entered. He caught a glimpse of the man’s face as he scanned the crowd. Rough and ready, with short cut hair, a slightly scarred nose, and… a mechanical eye. It could only be one: Garrett. The man softly muttered the name over and over under his breath. That thief had been the bane of his legal activities for too long now. If only I wasn’t on the run, grumbled Hagen to himself. It wouldn’t do him much good now if he piped up and tried to get a watch officer to arrest Garrett, as they probably had orders to kill Hagen on sight. Instead he just sat back and watched events unfold. Garrett didn’t seem to do much for a long time; he just sat and looked around. At one point he spoke to another patron, but the conversation stopped after only a few minutes. As time drew on, Hagen started to get bored. He had to wait this long for the night patrols to get sleepy, so he could go after the ship owner at the docks. It caught him unawares when he flicked back in the direction of Garrett. The man was looking right at him, his mechanical eye glinting from the light of the overhead gas lights. Garrett nodded slowly, then turned away, traces of a smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. Soon a drunk piped up with an old folk song, many of the pub’s regular customers joining in with the traditional local ditty. Garrett tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, and succeeded until two watch officers pushed open the door of the inn. The singing immediately stopped, the dealers drifted apart into the shadows, and the Asthant pipes disappeared under cloaks in the blink of an eye. Hagen shrank back in his chair, willing the officers to pass by him on his own at the table. Thankfully they did, more interested in the rest of the room than him. Garrett had attempted to lose himself among the people, placing his back to the officers as they strolled round past the bar. The bar tender smiled a little too much as they passed, but neither of the men noticed, more interested Garrett seated at one of the tables. Stopping behind him, the leader tapped him on the shoulder. Hagen heard a grunt, and then one of the guards chimed in with: “C’mon mate. We want to talk to you.” With great speed Garrett leaped from his stool, backing away, up against the stone tavern wall. He held a mechanical device in his hands, which Hagen recognised as a flash bomb. He tried to close his eyes, but too late. Still blinking thirty seconds later, Hagen eventually managed to dispel the bright white light from before his eyes. Staring around, he saw a scene of destruction. One guard lay unconscious, the other nowhere to be seen. The bar tender had made a quick exit, as had most of the other patrons, though some still lingered, finishing up the remaining alcohol in the dented steel beer mugs.
Garrett, of course, was nowhere to be seen, and Hagen decided it was best that he made a break for it as well. A side door lay open behind the bar, so he chose that route rather than the obvious one through the main entrance. He just hoped he could reach his contact on time after all this confusion.
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