Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(86)

The man's paper-thin lids lowered over his yellowed eyes as he considered the offer. "I might."

Nick crossed his palm with a few coins, and the old man's wrinkled fingers closed over the money. "Can you tell me where I may find him?"

"Ye might try the gin shop on Melancholy Lane."

Nodding in thanks, Nick glanced at Sayer and indicated with a swerve of his gaze that it was time to leave.

Once outside, they headed swiftly to Melancholy Lane, just two streets over from Hanging Ax Alley. As with most gin shops near Fleet Ditch, the place was heavily packed long before noon, with drunken patrons sitting on the ground in a stupor. After conferring briefly, Nick went to the entrance of the shop, while Sayer circled the dilapidated building to find the exit in back.

As soon as Nick entered the shop, a few ugly rumbles went through the crowd inside. It was an unfortunate fact that a runner's height and size made it nearly impossible for him to blend in with a crowd. It was even more unfortunate that Nick had made countless enemies in the underworld once he had given evidence against his criminal associates and went to serve at Bow Street. That hadn't exactly increased his popularity in Fleet Ditch. Ignoring the threatening murmurs, Nick glanced over the crowd with narrowed eyes.

Suddenly he saw the face he had been looking for. Through his travels from one continent to another, Dick Follard hadn't changed one whit, his ratlike face surmounted with the same shock of oily black hair, his sharp teeth giving his mouth a serrated appearance. Their gazes met in a moment of icy, electric challenge.

Follard was gone in an instant, slipping through the crowd with the ease of a rodent as he headed to the back of the shop. Nick shoved past the mass of bodies in his way, plowing through them with blind determination. By the time he reached the alley, Follard had disappeared into a complex network of fences, walls, and side streets. Sayer was nowhere to be seen.

"Sayer!" Nick shouted. "Where the hell are you?"

"Over here," came the runner's hoarse cry, and Nick spun around to see him climbing a six-foot-high fence in pursuit of Follard.

Following swiftly, Nick clambered over the fence, dropped to the ground, and ran full tilt down a dark alley shadowed by the overhanging eaves of the buildings on either side. The alley came to an abrupt end, and Nick skidded to a halt as he saw Sayer staring upward. Follard was scaling the deteriorated outside wall of an ancient three-story warehouse, resembling an insect as he sought fingerholds in the broken brick surface. After ascending two stories, he finally managed to reach a hole large enough for him to scuttle into. His bony frame disappeared inside the warehouse.

Sayer swore in disgust. "We've lost him," he said flatly. "There's no way in hell that I would try that."

Surveying the wall appraisingly, Nick approached it with a few running strides, launching himself upward. He took the same path Follard had, digging his hands and the toes of his boots into the crumbling holes in the wall, using them to gain purchase. Panting with effort, he climbed after the vanished fugitive.

"Goddamn, Gentry!" he heard Sayer exclaim approvingly. "I'll find some other way to get inside."

Nick continued to scale the wall until he crawled into the gaping second-story opening. Once inside, he went still and listened intently. He heard the sound of footfalls above. His gaze shot to a ladder that led to the top floor of the building, in place of a set of stairs that had crumbled long ago. Nick headed to it with rapid, stealthy strides. The ladder was comparatively new, indicating that the warehouse was being put to use despite its deterioration. Most likely the building served to store smuggled or stolen goods, as well as providing an excellent sanctuary for fugitives. No law enforcement officer with any wits would have dared set foot in the dilapidated place.

The ladder creaked from Nick's weight. Once he reached the third floor, he saw that the floor planks and rafters had mostly rotted away, leaving only a row of support timbers that resembled the ribs of a massive decaying skeleton. Although the edges of the space still bore some flimsy planks, the center of the floor was gone, as was that of the second story, leaving a potentially deadly thirty-foot drop straight through the middle of the building.

As soon as Dick Follard saw Nick, he turned and began to make his way across one of the support timbers. Immediately Nick realized his intentions. The building next door was so close that it would require a three-foot leap at most. All Follard had to do was launch himself from one of the gaping window-holes, and he could escape to the adjoining rooftop.

Gamely Nick followed him, steeling himself to ignore the yawning void beneath the timber. Placing his feet carefully, he pursued Follard's retreating form, gaining confidence as he passed the halfway-mark on the beam. However, just as he was about to reach the end, an ominous crack pierced the silence, and he felt the beam give way beneath him. His weight had been too much for the corroded wood.

With a curse, Nick launched himself toward the next timber, and somehow caught it on his descent. Blindly he clutched at the beam and wrapped his arms around it. A shower of broken timber and brittle planks fell with a thunderous sound, while a stinging rain of dust and powdered wood made Nick's eyes blur. Gasping, he fought to lift himself atop the timber, but a sudden numbing blow to his back nearly caused him to fall. Nick grunted in mingled surprise and pain, and looked into Follard's triumphant face above him.

An evil grin split the bastard's narrow face. "I'll send you to hell, Gentry," he said, venturing farther out onto the beam. He stomped on Nick's hand with his booted foot. The bones in Nick's fingers cracked, drawing a growl of agony from his throat.