Chapter Text
September 1922, London
Somehow, Lucy had expected her day to go a little differently than
this
.
This
- being bound, gagged, and blindfolded in the backseat of an automobile while the thug on her right jabbed a gun into her ribs.
She had been on her way down to the butcher’s shop when a black automobile had pulled up beside her. She had been grabbed off the street and before she could even struggle, a handkerchief, probably soaked in chloroform, had been pressed to her nose. She had just come to and she very much regretted that. Her hands were tied behind her back, another handkerchief had been tied over her mouth, and a dark strip of cloth had been knotted over her eyes so she couldn’t recognize her surroundings.
Her heart hammered in her chest, threatening to break her ribs. And then where would she be? She had been kidnapped. Snatched right off the street in the middle of south London. Granted, the area wasn’t known for being a particularly posh one, but surely someone would find it odd that two men had grabbed a lone woman from outside the butcher’s shop. Surely. And her fiance was a police officer, stationed at the Southwark Precinct, so he had resources. He could look into this. He wouldn’t let her rot wherever the hell these arseholes were taking her. Right? He loved her. That was what he had said in the past, anyway.
At least she hadn’t already purchased the meat. He would be so mad if she had bought the meat, only to drop it when she got grabbed. She swallowed the lump deep in her throat. She had never been much of a crier, but she suddenly wanted to sob at the hopelessness of her situation. She had no clue where she was going, where she was being taken, why there was a gun poking her in the ribs. Didn’t he know that that was
rude
? Also, every time the automobile hit a bump, it pummeled her in the ribs. She was going to have a massive bruise there.
Okay, she had to think. She was bound, gagged, and blindfolded - check. These men were clearly armed - check. She was in an automobile with no clue where she was - check. She would have to wait until they arrived at their destination, she supposed. Wherever that may be.
Whenever
that may be. They could be driving to fucking Scotland for all she supposed - oh god, not Scotland. Too close to her mother.
And then a horn honked, a siren blared, and Lucy straightened up. Oh. They were still in London. Only London could be that goddamn obnoxious.
“Mate, she’s awake,” came the voice on the right. Cockney accent, maybe? “Chloroform wore off.”
“Fuck. Okay, she’s pretty well bound. Just wait until the boss sees her. He’s going to be so thrilled.”
The boss? Who the fuck was
the boss
? And why would he be thrilled?
“An eye for an eye. Miss Carlyle’s fiance grabbed Miss Munro, and now we have her. Fitting, don’t you think?”
Oh.
Oh
. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck her life. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,
fuck
.
A week and a half ago, Paul had set up a sting to grab notorious mobster and black market art dealer Anthony Lockwood. It had backfired, and in a fit of rage he had ordered that Holly Munro, Anthony Lockwood’s rumored girlfriend, get brought in. She was being held in an undisclosed location right now. And apparently Anthony Lockwood had given the order for Lucy to get snatched off the street in order to get Holly Munro back. What a fuckhead.
She scowled into the blindfold. This explained everything. No wonder they had blindfolded her - they didn’t want her to be able to testify where his top secret lair had been hidden. She knew it was somewhere in London - Paul was certain of it. Maybe he had said he thought it was in east London? The East End? But no, Paul didn’t think Lockwood would lower himself to live alongside Cockneys and the scum of London. She had heard plenty about Anthony Lockwood over dinner, over breakfast, over Sunday lunches. In fact, Paul was a tad obsessed with Anthony Lockwood. Just a bit. Lucy had once snarked that maybe Paul would prefer to share a bed with Lockwood.
She had immediately regretted it.
In any case, she at least knew where she was being taken. She told herself firmly that she needed to listen for any clues as to where she was and who these men were. When she got herself out of this situation, she would need the information to be able to testify against them. She wished she’d been able to identify the automobile, but she’d barely caught a glimpse of it before they had grabbed her.
Brutes.
The automobile slowed down, and she thought she heard pebbles crunch beneath the tires - but maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She couldn’t be certain, she decided. Her brain was terribly scrambled, and she couldn’t breathe properly with this damn handkerchief tied over her mouth.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” the man on the right drawled - the one with the Cockney accent, “we’re almost there. And then the boss can deal with you himself - just like your fiance is dealing with our friend. An eye for an eye, after all.”
A lump of fear was growing, being kneaded into a round ball like clay, deep in the pit of her stomach. She could feel panic and bile rising as one in her throat, threatening to drown her, to strangle her, to overwhelm her. She had to get out. She needed to get out. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t let them do God-only-knows-what to her.
She had to escape.
“She’s hyperventilating, Ned,” the one on the left commented. “We need to - we can’t let her choke - “
“She’s Paul Bell’s fiance - let her die from her own panic.”
“
No
. Lockwood will have our heads if we don’t bring her to him alive.”
“You’re so soft, Bobby,” Ned retorted, his voice sketched around a sneer. “No wonder Kat likes you so much - she can walk all over you.”
“I’m not bringing Lockwood a dead girl. Fuck you,” Bobby added with a snap, venom dripping from his voice. And then his fingers were tugging the ball of cloth out of Lucy’s mouth, and she gagged for real. She sputtered on her own saliva, and Bobby patted her back awkwardly.
“Er, try not to die, right?”
“Right, because you’re not bringing your boss a dead girl,” Lucy growled as soon as she could properly breathe. “Fuck you. And fuck you,” she added to Ned. “And fuck your boss. Anthony Lockwood, was it? My fiance will have him in cuffs by month’s end.”
There was silence, but Lucy had the feeling that Ned and Bobby were exchanging amused grins over the top of her head. Their little tiff seemed to be over; maybe that was just their friendship. They argued, Ned called Bobby a little bitch, Bobby told Ned to go fuck himself, and then they were back to normal.
“Sure, sweetheart,” Ned drawled out. “Our boss has outsmarted your fiance - how many times has it been now, Bobby?”
Bobby sarcastically counted out the times like he was ticking down fingers: “Well, there was that time a year ago when Bell raided the wrong townhouse. That time eight months ago when Bell thought we were going to rob a bank for some unknown reason, and he sent a whole team of police officers into First London Trust. That time six months ago when Bell raided a Catholic church. Why, I don’t know. That time three months ago when Bell raided the wrong cocktail party. And then two weeks ago. So five times, total, in the last year. No offense, Miss Carlyle, but your fiance is an idiot.”
“He’s not an idiot,” Lucy protested. “He’s just…he’s very enthusiastic about keeping the streets safe for people. He’s going to be furious when he finds out that you just grabbed me off the street.”
“We can’t wait,” Bobby said dryly. “Maybe he’ll send in a squad to raid Buckingham Palace.”
Lucy clamped her lips shut as Ned snickered softly.
“I thought he already tried that.”
“No, that’ll be next week,” Bobby replied, a grin stretching out his voice. “Right in the middle of the royal family’s dinner.”
“He would never,” Lucy insisted. “He’s not stupid.”
“He’s a moron.”
“And you’re working for an underworld organization! What does that say about you?”
“That we’re criminals.”
“Doesn’t that equate to stupid?”
Bobby chuckled. “You’re so cute. You’ll learn, Miss Carlyle. Don’t worry. You’ll learn. Now settle in and get comfortable. We’ve still got a little bit to go.”
Lucy groaned. “Fantastic.”
Lockwood sat at his desk in the study, a lit cigarette clamped between his lips. He stared down at the invoices that were scattered across the surface. Running both a legal and an illegal business could be downright exhausting. He should have gotten to these last week, but he had been too busy avoiding getting arrested by that goddamn police detective - thought he was MI5, did he? Fucking Paul Bell. That bastard needed to just vanish. Lockwood had a few ideas on how he could make that happen, but first he needed to release Holly Munro.
Lockwood shuffled the papers as if hoping that would help separate the invoices to JL Imports from the Lockwood Trading Co., one of his blackmarket operations. He knew when Bobby insisted that Robin get promoted from warehouse to office boy that this would mean trouble, but he hadn’t realized just how much trouble it would become.
Shame that Robin had walked off a roof, with
absolutely
no prodding from any of Lockwood’s men.
Damn shame.
And now Lockwood’s paperwork was a disorganized mess. He really needed to get some help in here, but he couldn’t think of who he trusted enough to bring in.
A knock echoed through the thick wood of his closed door, and he glanced up. “Come in,” he called, glaring at the unruly paperwork.
Kipps walked in, looking extremely pleased with himself. Lockwood eyed him skeptically. Kipps was always a bit full of himself, but that was just Kipps. Lockwood had long since learned to overlook most of Kipps’ faults - Kipps did good work and he was loyal as hell. Exactly what Lockwood needed in this line of business. But he also didn’t trust Kipps at all when Kipps looked even smugger than usual, like the cat who got the cream.
“What?” Lockwood asked shortly. “I’m trying to clean up the mess that Robin created. You made sure he was dead, right?”
“You can’t get more dead than that, Lockwood. But I was at his funeral, just like you told me to.”
“Good. Just as long as he doesn’t come back to haunt my arse. I have enough to contend with without that dipshit coming back from the dead. Like the riots, like the rumors that those damn Waverlys have settled into our end of the city. Oh, and like fucking Paul Bell, for instance. Holly has vanished into thin air, and Bell is probably strolling around his plush office with his nose in the air like the pretentious prick he is. When I get my hands on him - “
“I know, I know, you’ll make sure he’s six feet underground. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What? Did Bell grab someone else?” Lockwood growled, half-rising to his feet. “Where’s my fucking gun? I’m going to shoot that fucking bastard - I don’t care, I’ll march into his snooty office - “
“No, he didn’t get anyone else!” Kipps said hurriedly, raising his hands. “And your gun is in your desk just like it always is.”
Lockwood tugged open the bottom drawer. “Oh. So it is. Anyway, you were saying?” He folded his hands on the desk and looked up at Kipps with a show of great respect and politeness.
Kipps rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, arsehole. I was saying, Karim and I took it upon ourselves to do something about the Holly situation.”
Lockwood blinked up at him. A hollow pit was slowly forming deep in his chest, and he had the oddest feeling that he wouldn’t like what Kipps was about to say next. “You didn’t blow up Buckingham Palace, did you? Or parliament? Or Westminster Abbey?”
“No, of course not! George and I came up with this plan. It’s foolproof. We’re not idiots.”
Lockwood leaned back in his chair. “All right, then. Marvel me with your brilliance.”
Kipps grinned. “You’re going to love this.”
“I really hope so. I’d hate for you to go the same way as Robin.”
“Please, you love me too much.”
“Some moments that is highly questionable. This is one of those moments.”
“Okay, okay,” Kipps said quickly. “Don’t kill me. George and I asked Bobby and Ned to grab Paul Bell’s girl off the street.”
Lockwood dropped his head into his hands. “You did, huh?” He could feel a headache coming on.
“We did. She’s here.”
“She’s - you’re fucking with me, aren’t you? Please tell me you’re fucking with me.”
Kipps shook his head. “No. No, I’m not. We’ve got her here. She’s in the sitting room.”
Lockwood considered this for a long moment, and then he got to his feet. “Just so you know, you and George are both dumbasses.” And then he marched out to the sitting room to inform the defenseless girl that she had been kidnapped by mistake.
This was going to be a fun conversation.