Rafferty called the Operator. There was no news there either. Watchdogs were


    following Bones’s girlfriend around. Since it was the first day they didn’t have


    anything to report yet.


    He wondered if she knew anything at all. He thought about Bones’s gun being tied


    to foreigners being killed. He thought he saw the scheme there. What would she do


    without an assassin to help her?


    Would she get a new one, or simply go out of business? What would the Jerries do


    without their terror machine in operation? Who else was involved?


    That was the key to that mystery. If Fletcher’s people could find that out, they might


    be able to turn everything against the controlling agent and handler.


    Did he want to get involved in the play for another assassin recruitment? He decided


    maybe later.


    He wanted to talk to a couple of people first. He needed a way to get at the mystery


    hitman, and Brown. He needed to be visible asking questions. He needed to show his


    face if he wanted to act as bait.


    He decided to save the car and costume for any night visits he might have to do. The


    day was fair, so he might as well use the Underground to carry out his errands. When


    he picked up the car, he could drive to any target he might need to use force to


    persuade.


    Rafferty decided that one person could tell him what Mick Brown was doing other


    than the man himself. That person lived north of central London in the same


    apartment that he had moved into when he was a kid. He could move on to other


    places once he knew the lay of the land.


    The detective used the Underground to get as close as he could before he waved


    down a cab. He gave the driver the address he wanted and leaned back against the


    backseat.


    He noted a brown car following the cab, but there was nothing he could do about it


    now. He had no way to close with it to get a look at the driver since he wasn’t driving.


    And it was a free country. Anyone could use the road.


    Rafferty made a note to keep an eye on it until he was sure the car wasn’t following


    him. This might be his mystery shooter. If he could lure the driver in close, it might


    be the chance he needed to prove the driver had killed Corklin and shot at him.


    That would help close out part of the complicated mess and allow him to concentrate


    on bringing in Brown.


    The mob boss was tricky enough on his own. The mystery man just gave him cover


    to do what he wanted to do.


    “Drop me off at the next corner,” Rafferty said to his driver. “I’d like to take a minute


    to stretch my legs before I talk to my acquaintance.”


    “Not a problem, sir,” said the driver. “Just give me a second to pull up and everything


    will be right as rain.”


    The cab pulled to the curb. Rafferty noted the brown car had pulled out of sight as he


    stood on the curb. He paid the driver and started toward the old apartment building


    he wanted.


    He wondered if the driver of the brown car was the man who had shot at him. Would


    the man pay a visit to the apartment he was going to after he had left? He would warn


    the tenant, but he doubted he could do more than that.


    Rafferty entered through the gated main door to the lobby on the ground floor. He


    went to the steps to go up. The elevator didn’t work, and he didn’t want to be caught


    in the cab since he expected enemy action.


    He paused when he reached the floor of the apartment he wanted to visit. He didn’t


    hear, or see, anything out of the ordinary.


    He walked down to the apartment door, flipping the number back up so it was a three


    instead of an E. He knocked on the door. He kept away from the door, and an eye


    watching the doors on the floor. He was fine with the occupant getting killed, but not


    when he was there.


    “Who’s there,” asked the weedy voice of the occupant.


    “It’s Rafferty,” said the detective. “I need to talk to you for a minute, Spenser.”


    The door opened. A thin man in his sixties with a cap covering his thinning gray hair


    peered out. He had a small cigar stuck in his mouth. He exhaled a small snort when


    he saw his visitor.


    “What do you want, boy?,” asked Spenser. He stepped aside to allow Rafferty to


    enter. “I’m retired. I don’t have time for your shenanigans.”


    “I just need to talk to someone who knows more about how things work than I do,”


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.said Rafferty. He went to the window. He peered around the curtain at the street


    below. The brown car was at the curb.


    “I heard what happened,” said Spenser. He settled in his arm chair.


    “That’s water under the bridge,” Rafferty said. “I have a new job. What I need is to


    talk about what’s going on and hope you can give me some way to make sense of


    things.”


    “Go ahead with your blather,” said Spenser. “I have the Orchestra on the radio in a


    bit.”


    “Mick Brown might be tied in with a foreign government,” Rafferty said. He smiled


    at the audible snort. “One of his men has apparently been shooting foreigners for


    money. I have a strong suspicion that Brown doesn’t know about this side business.”


    “Seems straightforward,” said Spenser. “You just have to catch the killer and let


    nature take its course.”


    “Here is the problem,” said Rafferty. “Corklin, the man who testified against me, is


    dead. Someone has shot at me. I thought at first that it was Brown, but now I am not


    so sure.”


    “You were thinking it was Brown’s man tying off any problem,” said Spenser. “Now


    it looks like another party is on the scene.”


    “Exactly,” said Rafferty. “How do I prove that beyond a reasonable doubt? The Yard


    has Brown’s shooter by now. I would rather think he will clam up and deny


    anything.”


    “Which means that you won’t know if you’re correct until he takes another shot,” said


    Spenser.


    “And any suspicious death can be blamed on the one shooter they know was going


    around shooting people, so the Yard might not even look into another shooter unless


    something happens,” said Rafferty. “Any suggestions?”


    “The obvious thing is to set a trap,” said Spenser. “I know you’ve already considered


    it.”


    “Yes,” said Rafferty. “The problem is what do I use for a bait and where can I set it.


    I expect he will be following me around to get another chance when I’m alone.”


    “The area is obvious,” said Spenser. “Go to one of Brown’s clubs and see if you can


    get in to talk to the man. Your second shooter will try to kill you when you leave the


    club.”


    “That sounds like the worst idea for a trap that I’ve ever heard,” said Rafferty.


    “You won’t know if it won’t work until you try it,” said Spenser. “Let me know how


    it goes.”


    “Thanks, Spenser,” said Rafferty. “I’ll see what I can do.”


    “Just remember Jimmy,” said Spenser. “This second shooter might be tied in with the


    case you were trying against Brown. Maybe you should dig up some details on the


    victim.”


    Rafferty nodded. That made a little sense. He had thought he was dealing with a


    stranger tied in with Brown and his gang. Maybe he was looking at a vigilante after


    all. Who would the shooter target when he was sure Rafferty was dead?


    There were quite a few people on that list. He expected Brown and his security would


    get a visit. The barristers arguing the case might be held responsible. The judge could


    also be a target.


    A visit to Brown might be the thing he needed to turn things around. Once he had


    done that, he should check in with Hawley and Fletcher. Maybe they had dug up


    something while he was moving around.


    If he could get his second shooter to shoot Brown, he found he didn’t have a problem


    with that thought.


    It was amazing how your perspective changed when you might be fighting for your


    life against a killer used to striking from ambush and moving along criminal lines.


    He said his farewells and left the apartment. He walked down the stairs with an eye


    for anybody who might be looking up at him. He reached the lobby and walked across


    it to the front door. He stepped out on the sidewalk and looked around for a cab, or


    the local Underground entrance.


    The brown car rolled behind him at good distance. Unless he wanted to pull the


    Webley that Fletcher had given him and start shooting, he had to deal with it. He


    thought about where Brown should be at the moment.


    He should head over there and see if he could get in and talk to the man himself.


    There was still a small chance that Corklin and him had been targeted by someone not


    really caring about the single victim in the woods.


    It was the only thing that tied him and Corklin together.


    Rafferty walked down the street. He kept an eye out for the brown car as he looked


    for a cab he could wave down.


    Broad daylight with not that many witnesses around was almost as good as the dead


    of night in his opinion.


    He kept walking. He might be in the wrong part of town to pick up a cab. He might


    have to try the Underground.


    It didn’t matter how much time it took. There was no guarantee that Brown would be


    anywhere he could reach without brute force. That time of day usually meant the


    mobster was entertaining in his hotel rooms with a view of the city.


    Rafferty doubted he would appreciate any intrusion in his holding court. The


    detective smiled. All he had to do was get in the room and ruin the man’s day.


    That would be something to think about.


    Rafferty paused. He looked around. No one looked interested in him. He headed


    down the street, looking for a call box. Hawley would know what he needed to know.


    The inspector had a steel trap mind.


    The idea might not lead to anything, but it kept him moving. And a moving target was


    a missed target.


    He spotted a callbox. Would Hawley be in yet? Would any of the other detectives that


    would speak to him?


    The man killed by Brown’s gang was named Louis Litner. They couldn’t find anyone


    who was a member of his family, or closer than the neighbors on his street. That


    didn’t mean they weren’t out there.


    And Hawley would know if anyone had came forward to collect Litner’s body from


    the coroner.


    It was a long shot, but if he could find a suspect for his shooter, he could visit the man


    when he was least expected.


    And if he could turn him in with the pistol he had shot Corklin with, that would be


    so much the better.


    A better idea was to turn the fellow loose on Brown and wait for one of them to win


    the war while he waited in the shrubbery for his chance to pile on.


    Then he could worry about what he wanted to do as Fletcher’s masked vigilante.


    He supposed he had already done something in that vein at the casino. Burning the


    place down had been a bit too much. He hoped that he had hurt Brown’s pockets


    enough to matter.


    He spotted a call box ahead. If Hawley could find out anything else about Litner, that


    might be enough to lay some kind of trap.


    His other idea was to keep walking around until someone took a shot at him. He


    didn’t think that as good as finding his opponent first.