Read Blood Tribute (The Lucas Gedge Thrillers Book 1) for Free Online Page B

habit of it, Frank. And the boy was right. He was quicker than me for a moment. It could have been all up for me.’
    ‘Maybe. But I’m a regular at the boxing. Bit of a devotee you could say. Sometimes even take in a less than legal bout, if you know what I mean. I’ve never seen some of the moves you showed just now.’
    ‘Sorry, Frank, but you’re not going to draw me on the details of my military career. I just want to settle down, do something a bit more… normal, I suppose. But what about this Bacchus? Is he a local troublemaker?’
    ‘Yes. I suppose you could call him that. New in these parts. He’s been putting the squeeze on pubs and some other businesses in the last few weeks. He’s less than twenty himself. I can’t see him lasting against the established gangs, but he’s causing a lot of trouble. Old Sid Boxall over at the Bell in Stepney: half a dozen of these oiks smashed his place up, robbed him of crates of booze. Now he’s payin’ up weekly. Anyway. Listen, Lucas. I owe you a huge debt of gratitude. Will you have another drink on the house?’
    ‘I’ll take up your offer another time, Frank. It’s been a long old day, and I just want to go up to my room, put my head down and get a good night’s sleep. Hopefully tonight’s little to-do might put Bacchus off, for now at least. But keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear anything. I’ll be off now. You clean yourself up, clear away that broken glass. The regular punters will start arriving soon.’
    Feeling slightly nauseous and with his left hand shaking and right shoulder throbbing, Gedge gathered up his coat and headed upstairs. On reaching his room in the eaves, he collapsed onto the bed and was asleep within minutes.

    * * *
    E arly next morning , just as Gedge was dressing, he was startled by a sharp crack, as something small but hard struck the window pane across the room. If someone had thrown a pebble, it must have been an accurate shot. He opened the window and looked out. Sure enough, a small boy was standing in the street outside, staring up at him. On seeing Gedge at the window, he shouted in a high, piping voice—‘Message for Mr Gedge!’—and flourished something in his hand.
    Gedge ran downstairs, still shirtless. The boy, scrawny but healthy-looking, doffed his cap and held out a card. As Gedge took it, the lad turned and ran before he had a chance to ask how he knew which window to aim at.
    It was a business card, and, as Gedge had hoped, was from Claude Rondeau. On the reverse, in a hand with an elegant flourish, was written:

    Mr Gedge,
    Please join me at 9am this morning, or as soon thereafter as you can, and we will discuss how we can be of assistance to each other.
    Regards, Claude Rondeau

9
    R ondeau lived only about half a mile to the north of the inn. White Lion Street was straight and narrow, and the terraced houses were small but elegant looking, as though they belonged to a more gracious age. Number 14 had vivid red shutters and a red-painted door. Gedge lifted the knocker, rapped three times, and stood back from the step. As he did so, his attention was caught by a curious object mounted above the door: a vertical rod with discs at each end, the whole being about a foot in length.
    Gedge was startled, as the door opened sooner than he’d been expecting. An elderly white-bearded gentleman wearing a frayed burgundy smoking jacket stood in the doorway. He was tall and held himself unusually erect for his age. He regarded Gedge with piercing green eyes.
    ‘It is a spool. The sort they used in the silk-weaving industry, or a representation of one.’
    Gedge was nonplussed. ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘The object up there that you were looking at. A spool. It is there because the houses on this street were built by the Huguenots when they emigrated here a hundred and fifty years ago. They were great silk weavers. You are Mr. Gedge?’
    Gedge smiled. ‘Yes indeed, sir. And you must be Claude