Rafferty took up a spot outside the pub where he could see the two doors available


    as exits. All he had to do was wait and hope that no one saw him loitering. The


    costume was a dead giveaway that he was up to no good.


    If he went in, he would have to fight the whole pub. None of the people inside had


    the look that the casino players had. They would all turn on him to protect Bones.


    Waiting was the best thing to do. He didn’t like it. He would rather force things to


    happen. If the spy boys were right about the connection to the Jerries, it was worth


    it to see how much he could disrupt.


    If they were wrong, Bones’s girlfriend was just guilty of hanging out with a bad


    crowd.


    He didn’t think they were wrong, but he had no way to prove anything. And he had


    no connection to Brown. They could imply anything, but that wasn’t proof. The


    Intelligence people weren’t going to stand in open court and declare how they hooked


    everything together.


    He had to make the connection, but beating a confession out of Bones was not going


    to hold up in court either. Any sign of coercion and the case would be destroyed


    before it could be argued in front of the judges.


    And he doubted he could scare Bones enough to profess all of his knowledge of the


    underworld to the local copper.


    Maybe he could trick the woman into notifying her boss if she saw him being picked


    up. The agency would have to be ready to listen on her phone call. He didn’t see that


    happening fast enough to catch her.


    He considered breaking into her place and looking around. That might get him


    something. He didn’t know what.


    It would also blow any surveillance Six was doing, unless he arranged for them to


    chase her down after she discovered him going over her secret messages.


    Five would be mad that no one had handed them a spy on domestic soil since it was


    their job to hunt such people down.


    How did he use any of this? Acting as a vigilante meant punishing people in the act.


    Bones had done nothing provable, nor was he a threat while he was in the pub.


    Waiting for him to get orders and go after someone else seemed the only way to solve


    things so that the regular police could do something.


    Maybe he should go in as himself and spark a confrontation. Maybe that would get


    him something he could use. Then Fletcher and the auxiliary could watch the woman


    and see what she did.


    Rafferty considered the plans. They wouldn’t get him closer to proving Bones killed


    Corklin. Punching him in the face was tempting, but he couldn’t think of a way to


    turn that into a cell and a day before a court.


    Capturing him was well and good. It was up to the Yard to deal with him. Would


    Hawley have enough evidence to charge Bones? Would he walk away clean?


    And there was no way to connect Bones to Brown. That was the most important part


    of things.


    If Bones was taken with the gun that killed Corklin, that would be proof that he had


    killed the witness. The problem was he could claim a crazy masked man had given


    it to him after taking him from his favorite pub.


    So the plan was to wait and have a little talk with the hitman when he came out of the


    pub. A ride in the trunk of the car would follow after that.


    It seemed better than letting everyone know he had the man. It obviated the need to


    explain where the evidence came from and how it got in Bones’s possession. And it


    kept his girlfriend in the dark unless she showed up to meet him.


    It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was better than nothing.


    Rafferty waited patiently in the shadows. The pub started emptying out. Where was


    Bones? Did he have to go in and take the man?


    The pub stood empty. All the customers had left. The bar man put chairs up on the


    tables as he started cleaning up.


    Where had Bones gone? He would have to go in and ask around. That was the total


    opposite of what he wanted to do. He checked the Webley. No one said being a


    masked government requisitioned vigilante would be easy.


    At least the business was exciting so far.


    Rafferty went to the pub’s doors. He tried the knob. It was locked. The pub man


    looked up and saw him standing there. He didn’t look happy at the masked man


    looking into the room at him.


    Rafferty smashed the glass inset out of the door with the Webley. He opened the door


    as the man ran to the counter. The detective fired one shot into the shelf behind the


    bar.


    “Bones,” said the masked man. “Where is he?”


    “He went out the back,” said the bar man. “There’s a door behind the building. It lets


    out in the alley between the pub and the book store.”


    Rafferty grimaced. He went out the front. He walked to the corner. He noticed the


    green sedan had lights on. He wondered if that was Bones’s car and if he was behind


    the wheel.


    He rushed down the street. The green sedan started to pull away from Fletcher’s town


    car. He had to make a decision. Did he shoot, or let the car go? He paused long


    enough to take aim and fired the Webley.


    A tire expended all of its air out of the hole that appeared in its side. The car dragged


    the rim for a few feet before the driver gave up.


    Rafferty ran across the street. He used Fletcher’s car as cover as the driver of the


    green sedan opened his door and got out. A pistol barked as the detective ducked


    behind the trunk of the black vehicle.


    He didn’t want to kill Bones before he had some clue to what was going on. On the


    other hand, he wasn’t going to let the man keep shooting at him.


    Rafferty slid down to the corner of Fletcher’s car. He peeked around the side. Bones


    searched for him over the trunk of his car. The masked man smiled. He was searching


    in the wrong area.


    The detective took aim and shot Bones in the leg. The man collapsed to the sidewalk.


    His pistol bounced once before settling on the concrete.


    Rafferty rushed forward. Bones reached for the pistol where it lay on the sidewalk.


    A boot to the head fixed that. The detective stepped back. He had a wounded captive


    now. What did he do with the man?


    He muttered an expletive. He had captured Bones, but he didn’t have anything to tie


    him to the killings.


    What did he do now?


    He had burned down an illegal business and shot a suspected gunman. He didn’t have


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.a lot for his actions.


    Fletcher arrived from his phone call a few minutes later. He looked down at the


    wounded man. He scratched his head as he considered what he found.


    “What have you done?,” he asked his agent.


    “I kept this man from bleeding out,” said Rafferty. “And now I must go. Tell the


    police whatever you feel will sell the story. Tell them I was afraid of you.”


    Sir Laurence looked around. No one was on the street. The lights were out at the pub.


    He frowned. Bones seemed to be out.


    “Anything else?,” asked Sir Laurence.


    “See if you can get them to test his pistol against the bullets from the house,” said


    Rafferty. “That might be enough to lock him away for something.”


    “Call in in two hours,” said the knight. “I might have something we can use to plan


    our next move.”


    Rafferty retreated from the scene. He pulled the mask down as he vanished into an


    alley across the street from the block of buildings they were interested in.


    Sir Laurence hoped he didn’t shoot anyone else before they knew what they were


    doing. The note about Bones’s woman had thrown things into uncertain areas. Once


    they knew what she knew, they could proceed with their campaign against Brown.


    What did the Jerries want with Brown? Sources doubted he would work with them.


    Maybe people were wrong about him.


    Sir Laurence checked his watch. His watcher would be on the scene in minutes. Did


    he dare leave Bones on his own to call the police to pick him up. He had to do


    something. The man needed to be taken to a hospital.


    The knight put the man in the back of his green car before going back to the phone


    booth he had used earlier. He called the detective he had tasked with comparing the


    bullets from the house shooting. He explained the situation and asked the man to


    come down and pick up Bones.


    He walked back to the green sedan. Bones was still breathing in the back seat. He was


    happy about that.


    A whistle blew in the distance. The local police were on the way. He could ask the


    constable to secure the scene while he went about his business. He realized he might


    be stuck for more than two hours trying to explain all this to the Yard.


    They definitely needed to work on procedures so he wasn’t involved in missions. The


    agency was supposed to act behind the scenes, not take the roles of witnesses to


    manufacture crimes against its targets.


    The cases should survive the court process without his input. Now he was on the


    hook as a witness to something he didn’t witness taking place.


    Perhaps he had been wrong about Rafferty. He hated to admit something like that. It


    opened the question of what else he had misjudged.


    Sir Laurence saw a constable running down the street. He waved a hand to direct the


    man closer. He needed to hand over Bones and get to work on the rest of the problem


    he was trying to solve. He still needed to put the auxiliary in place on the woman.


    Where did she fit in?


    “What’s going on, sir?,” asked the constable once he arrived by the green sedan.


    “I found this man shot,” said Sir Laurence. “I put him in the car to make him


    comfortable. This gun is his, I assume.”


    He pointed at the revolver lying by the sedan.


    The constable pulled out a handkerchief and picked up the revolver. He sniffed the


    barrel and wrinkled his nose. He put the revolver on top of the sedan.


    “Are you armed, sir?,” asked the constable.


    Sir Laurence raised the tails of his jacket to show he wasn’t carrying a firearm. He


    turned in a circle so the man could see that he didn’t have any obvious weapons.


    “I’m going to have to write a report to file for whomever takes over and looks into


    things, sir,” said the constable. He pulled out a pad and pen and held them to write


    down the facts. “What’s your name, and how did you find this man?”


    “I’m Sir Laurence Fletcher,” said the knight. “This is my car. I had been called here


    to meet someone about a job that I needed done. So far he hasn’t arrived. I waited for


    a bit, but I stepped away to call my office. I heard shots. When I came back to my car,


    I found the wounded man laying on the ground. I did a home bandage which will not


    last long and put him in his car.”


    “How did you know this was his car?,” asked the constable.


    “The door was open,” said Sir Laurence. “When I arrived, the car didn’t have anyone


    inside it that I could see. This man wasn’t here. When I came back, he was laying


    down beside his firearm. And there’s the bullet holes.”


    The knight waved at the small marks on the car from being used as cover.


    A car from the Flying Squad arrived. Two more constables got out on the street. The


    first constable went over and told them what had happened. One of the men reached


    inside and called back to headquarters. They assured him that an ambulance and more


    men were on the way.


    Sir Laurence made a note that he needed to outfit his commandoes with similar


    devices so he could contact them in the field. Communications with Rafferty had


    seemed simpler when he had thought of the operator system. Now he knew he needed


    to keep a tighter rein on his agents so they do things like sticking him with a wounded


    mobster and police scrutiny for the next few days.


    He couldn’t run his organization and dodge detectives interested in what he was


    doing.


    He put false credentials on the list of things he might need in the future.


    “Constable Wombell has told us your statement,” said one of the new constables from


    the Flying Squad. “I’m going to need to look at your credentials to show that you are


    who you say you are.”


    Sir Laurence pulled out the leather folder he kept for his papers. He handed it over.


    The constable looked things over before handing the wallet back.


    “We don’t need to keep you any more tonight,” said the constable. “There will be


    some questions when we figure out who this gentleman is, and how you can help us


    narrow down things.”


    “My office will be open to you, gentlemen,” said Sir Laurence. He wondered if any


    of the three men worked for Brown, and if they knew that someone was looking for


    Bones.


    Could a trap be made from the wounded Bones and the uncertainty of what he had


    revealed after getting shot?


    Everyone knew a mad masked man had been looking for Bones. Would they think he


    had given up after finding the man? Would they think he would move to another


    target and wreck things until he found the right man?


    How could they use this to force the Brown crime organization to move to better


    climes and stay in exile?


    He didn’t have a solution yet. Maybe Rafferty would come up with something with


    his targeting of Billy Bones only leading peripherally to something major.


    They needed to confirm the woman knew something about what was going on, and


    that evidence was worth something to put people in prison, or hang them.


    Sir Laurence got behind the wheel of his car and backed away from the green sedan.


    That had been bad luck parking behind Bones’s car. At least Rafferty hadn’t shot his


    car up when he had attacked.


    He made a note that he needed a personal car he could call the office from while he


    was out on business.


    He turned in the street and headed pass the pub. The lights were off now. Had the


    owner and servers hunkered out of the way when the shooting started. Someone


    might have seen him talking to Rafferty. He couldn’t help that. He had to keep


    working.


    He spotted his investigator standing on the next corner. He pulled over at the curb.


    He doubted the man wanted to be seen by the police while they were looking for a


    shooter.


    “How’s it going?,” said the auxiliary. His hair had turned gray while young, wrinkles


    from exposure dotted his face, his suit looked like it belonged to his father. The eyes


    were sharp and clear.


    “Get in, Harry,” said Sir Laurence. “I have a job for you, and I don’t want to be seen


    with you by the police.”


    Harry got in the town car and settled into the seat. He leaned against the door as the


    car started rolling again.


    “This is the situation,” said Sir Laurence. “Billy Bones has been shot. He is on his


    way to the hospital. I have been told he has a girlfriend that works at the Yellow


    Rose. The only name I have is a Margaret, or Maggie. I want you to find that girl and


    make a note on everyone she talks to until I tell you to stop.”


    “So I need to identify this woman, confirm her occupation and relation to Bones, and


    identify everyone she talks to until you say stop,” said Harry. “You’re looking at a big


    undertaking as far as following the woman and identifying her contacts.”


    “I’m looking for someone with connections overseas, Harry,” said Sir Laurence. “He


    will probably be using an alias and a false history.”


    “I’ll look into it,” said Harry. “Do you have a home address for this Margaret?”


    “No,” said Sir Laurence. “Put that down on the things you have to find out and


    report.”


    “Police involved?,” asked Harry.


    “They are transporting Billy Bones to the hospital in the hopes he survives the


    gunshot wound in his leg,” said Sir Laurence. “I believe they think I will be identified


    as the perpetrator since I called for assistance.”


    “The easiest solutions are the best,” said Harry. He smiled at the thought of Sir


    Laurence ever dirtying his hands enough to shoot someone.


    “Thank you for that vote of confidence,” said the knight. “You probably won’t be


    able to do anything on the block with the police there. If you want to start tomorrow


    night, that’s understandable.”


    “Don’t worry,” said Harry. “I’ll call your office and report anything I find out.”


    “Thanks, Harry,” said Sir Laurence. “You might want to stay under cover until the


    police are done looking for suspects. You don’t want to be taken in over this.”


    “It’s no problem,” said Harry. “Let me off in the next block. I have to make some


    calls to get started.”


    Sir Laurence pulled to a curb to let his investigator out.