Page 55 of Angel of Vengeance

At present, he was seated in his private office: a large space paneled in mahogany, boasting rippled glass display cases, bookshelves full of medical treatises, diplomas and awards framed on the walls, and two tall windows overlooking Madison Avenue. Several members of his private security staff were in the outer offices, and Decla herself was in his office, sitting moodily across from Leng.

Leng knew what was preying on her mind. Decla needed violence like a shark needed motion. There had been some violence of late—but it had concluded in a manner unsatisfactory to both of them.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Enter,” said Leng.

A member of the Milk Drinkers—dressed in the garb of a newsboy, one of the messengers known as “runners”—stepped in. He nodded to Decla and came forward, leaning over the desk, to murmur in Leng’s ear. Then he produced a thick envelope, which he placed on the desk blotter.

“Thank you, you may go.” Leng sat back, waving vaguely in the direction of the door. He waited until the runner had left, then turned to Decla.

“This reverend Considine is a damned enigma,” he said. “First, he does Scrape a fatal mischief. That was a surprise—Scrape was normally good at that kind of work.”

“One of my best,” Decla said.

“And now, even more surprising, this whoreson making short work of your squad. Please give me the details, as you witnessed them.”

“I was keeping watch outside. Four on one—seemed a good chance to sharpen their skills, like.”

Leng knew this failure had left Decla in a dangerous mood. “Quite understandable. I should have done the same.”

“There were two side windows next the alleyway. The first was barred, but the farther was only shutters over glass—Tom got that open and they all slipped in, like Bob’s your uncle. It was dark, but before they closed the shutters, I noticed a little light from the back of the house, and the laugh of a woman.”

Leng raised his eyebrows.

“It wasn’t loud. A minute later, I heard shouts, then screams. At first, I thought that meant all was going aright. But, quick as you like, I realized the voices—some yelling, some begging—as our own boys’. I thought I was hearing things. Then I wondered if we’d walked into a trap somehow—maybe the preacher had hired some other gang for protection. I almost slipped inside myself to take a butcher’s… but I remembered what you said about unexpected outcomes, and I kept my position as lookout—for a time.”

“Undoubtedly the right thing to do.” Leng knew what most upset her was the loss of three Milk Drinkers and the half blinding of another—on her lookout.

“It didn’t take long. Five minutes, and the cleric opened the back door. Then, after taking a gander, he carried out Biscuit, Tom Handy, and Longshank—one at a time, over his shoulder—and dumped them into a cart near the stables.”

“A cart?”

“The kind you use for night soil.”

Leng shook his head.

“Just a few minutes later, now it was the front door what opened, and out pitched our Woodstock. He hit the pavement and rolled into the gutter. Had one of his own blades sticking out of his eye. I thought it might be a trap, so I whistled up a crew as fast as I could; then we brought a dray cart up and hustled him away.”

“You left the other bodies?”

“Had to save Woodstock—and then later, the bodies had disappeared.”

Leng grunted. He had patched the youth up himself. He’d be all right, in time… but his knife-throwing days were over.

He thought a minute. Woodstock had whined and gabbled out fragments of what had taken place within, but he’d wanted to hear Decla’s own story, as well. “So the first of the side windows was barred.”

She nodded.

“But the second one—farther back—was merely a normal window, covered with wooden shutters?”

“Yes.”

“Odd. It does sound like a trap. The fellow claims to have been a missionary in Africa. Perhaps that proved rather more perilous training than I assumed.”

“All I know is, for a preacher, he’s damned handy with a knife.”

“Fancy him for a member of your gang?” Leng asked, trying to cheer her. “He’d be handing out salutary tracts with one hand while administering coups de grâce with the other.”