The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(64)
“Take your place by the Chinaman,” Todd snapped.
“Bennett ain’t going nowhere,” Black said. “Sit your arse down in another chair.”
Todd’s angry gaze burned into Harry, yet he obeyed his father-in-law’s command. Remaining in the contested seat, Harry felt the assessing stares of the other men. Something significant was happening, although he didn’t know what.
Serving boys arrived to fill cups with coffee and lay out a collation of meat, cheese, and pastries. When they left, Black nodded to his guards, who drew the red velvet curtains, shrouding them in privacy.
“Ain’t going to beat around the bush. This ain’t a social call,” Black said.
“Reckoned your summons made that clear.” O’Toole dunked a biscuit into his beverage. “What’s this about then, eh?”
“There’s a rat in our midst,” Black said. “It needs to be exterminated.”
If Harry had wondered what tactic Black would take, he now knew. The straight talk caused glances to shift around the table, expressions instantly wary.
“Surely you don’t mean at this table,” O’Toole began.
“That’s precisely what I mean. All o’ you know I was attacked outside this very coffee house last month, and if you say you don’t, you’re lying. One o’ you is twitching a tail ’neath this table, and I’m giving you a chance to show yourself.”
“I resent your implication, Black. I ain’t no rat.” In a show of outrage, O’Toole waved a meaty hand at the others. “Neither are any o’ these fine fellows.”
If he thought to stir up a rebellion, he was bound for disappointment. Knight looked pensive, Garrity faintly amused.
“It is not the nature of the rat to expose itself.” Garrity arched a dark brow. “Surely you did not expect one of us to scurry forward and accept responsibility?”
“I didn’t, but rats are motivated by one thing: self-interest.”
Black’s gaze circled the table, and Harry noted that not one of the men looked away. A show of defiance, fear, or strength, he couldn’t tell.
The king had more to say. “I’ve ruled this roost since two o’ you were in leading strings. You may not remember the time before, when chaos and bloodshed were tearin’ the stews apart. That was why I drew up the territorial lines and established the Accord. Society’s rules were made to keep men like us down, but that don’t mean we don’t need rules o’ our own. We may be cutthroats, thieves, and moneylenders, but we ’ave our own code, our own sense o’ ’onor that demands we defend what’s ours and be loyal to our own. That’s what I’m reminding you o’ today. An attack on me ain’t just on me: it’s an attack on our way o’ life. It’s pitting brother against brother and weakening us all.”
Harry’s estimation for the cutthroat grew. Black might be responsible for multiple crimes in the eyes of society, but he was a man who lived by his own code of conduct. In the underworld, he stood for law and order, and, without him, chaos would reign.
“We ain’t always seen eye to eye, you and I, but I’m grateful for all you’ve done, Black.” Once again, O’Toole was the first to speak. “But I resent being accused of a crime that I didn’t commit. What proof do you ’ave that one o’ us,”—again, he gestured to the table at large—“is involved in this treasonous act?”
“All o’ you ’ave a connection to John Loach, the bastard who tried to assassinate me.”
At Black’s reply, Harry observed little reaction on the dukes’ faces. Yet something shifted in the air, like the gathering of energy before a storm. His gut told him that that name was a stranger to none of the present company.
“That’s not much to go by. Loach had many connections in the stews.” Knight’s blunt features were devoid of emotion even as he admitted knowledge of the culprit.
“Not just in the stews,” Garrity said with equal equanimity. “According to my sources, he worked as an occasional informant for that policeman Davies.”
Harry’s nape went cold. Bloody hell…Loach worked for Davies? Why didn’t Davies mention it when I told him about Loach’s assassination attempt on Black?
“Know a lot about the bugger, don’t you?” O’Toole narrowed his eyes at the moneylender.
Garrity shrugged, the dark superfine on his shoulders remaining smooth. “I know a lot about many things and especially about those who owe me money. Loach had been a client for some time. When the situation called for it, he paid off his debts by selling information to Peelers.”
“Called for it, eh?” Malcolm Todd sneered. “When one o’ your brutes threatened to shatter ’is kneecaps, you mean?”
Garrity’s smile was razor sharp. “My methods are proprietary.”
“You’d take blunt earned by squealing?” O’Toole said in disgust.
“I take money that is owed to me,” Garrity said coldly. “Pity Loach is dead: he still owed me five hundred pounds.”
“Enough.” Black’s command cut short the repartee. “Loach may be dead, but the threat lives on. Someone attacked The Gilded Pearl and my own ’ome using the same weapon. An explosive capable o’ burning down the streets. O’ destroying territory lines, which means no one at this table is safe.”