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Shadwell settled into a recessed doorway, taking advantage of the little pocket of shadow. From his hiding place, he had a clear view of Mr Crowley walking away from the spot where they had just stood talking. He'd never seen anyone move quite like this man. There was something about the sharpness of his shoulders and the slide of his hips that jangled Shadwell's nerves.
Mr Crowley crossed the street and circled the front of a fancy car. Shadwell's gut twisted at the thought of him driving away. Get yourself together, man, he demanded of himself. You'll see him soon enough at the church. You'll get your money. He dug around in a pocket for a cigarette, ignoring the feeling that this wasn't only about the money. He brought the crumpled roll-up to his lips to replace the one perched there. He touched the old smoldering stub to the unlit tip and sucked in the acrid smoke of cheap tobacco. The familiar routine soothed him. He closed his eyes with the first exhale and told himself that he'd earn a bit of cash some other way tonight. The spent cig trailed a thin line of red light as he dropped it to the ground.
He heard a door shut, and opened his eyes to see Mr Crowley in the driver's seat of that fancy car. But, he wasn't alone! A blonde man sat beside him. Shadwell narrowed his eyes to get a better look. He seemed about the same age as Mr Crowley, and they talked as if they knew each other. No wonder he didn't pick me up. He was waiting for someone else.
Shadwell watched as the other man handed Mr. Crowley something. It looked like a flask. For a moment, Shadwell had the mad thought that the blonde man was bringing Mr. Crowley his tea, like a builder’s wife does for a husband who’s forgotten his lunch. He shook his head. This must be some kind of clandestine hand-off. Mr Crowley probably has all sorts of secret goings on. He sure looks the type, wearing dark glasses at night and all. Shadwell’s gaze drifted over Mr Crowley’s face. He wondered what color his eyes were behind those shades.
The opening of the car’s passenger door snapped him out of the daydream. The blond man exited and walked away, his steps measured and precise. Neither he nor Mr Crowley looked happy. A low anger rumbled up inside Shadwell. What had he done to upset Mr Crowley? Shadwell slipped out of the doorway, and began to follow him.
“Lance Corporal.” Mr Crowley’s voice carried across the street. Shadwell halted. A spike of panic shot down his spine. He’d been spotted. Ol’ Narker would have boxed him ‘round the ear for being so careless. He heard Mr. Crowley approach from behind. Shadwell turned to face him, with what he hoped was an expression of innocence.
“You know, if you’re going to watch someone from the shadows, you really should be better at shielding the light of your cigarette.” Mr Crowley's tone didn’t sound angry, just sort of tired. But, there was a tension in his posture that made Shadwell nervous. Mr Crowley reached out a hand, and Shadwell braced himself for a smack. Instead, he felt the soft brush of fingertips. Mr Crowley had swiped the offending roll-up from the corner of Shadwell’s mouth. He brought it to his own lips and took a long drag. When he pushed the smoke out into the night, he regarded Shadwell as if he were coming to some sort of decision. “Come on, I'll show you how.”
Mr Crowley strode toward the doorway Shadwell had just vacated. Shadwell stood rooted to the spot. His feet felt heavy, and his head like it would float away at any second. Come on, you idiot, he thought. What is wrong with you?! Play your cards right, and this punter’ll be paying your rent for the next six months.
“Step lively, Lance Corporal,” Mr Crowley called out over his shoulder. The words unstuck Shadwell’s boots from the pavement. He followed, glancing around to make sure no one noticed. When he got there, Mr Crowley was already tucked into the darkest corner of the unlit entryway. Before Shadwell’s eyes adjusted, all he could see was the red glow of the lit cigarette reflecting off two perfect circles of glass. He wondered how Mr Crowley could see at all back here. As long as he can tell a one pound note from a ten, that’s all that matters, Shadwell thought. And if he felt any disappointment over never knowing if the other man had blue eyes or brown, he paid it no mind.
“Well? I assume you’ve got another one of these things in that coat of yours.” The red glow moved in the air as Mr Crowley gestured with the cigarette. Unsure of what was really going on, Shadwell found his last one. He held it out to Mr Crowley, only to be met with a disappointed sigh. He could almost hear the man’s eyes roll behind his shades.
“No, that one’s for you.” The words were slow, as if Mr Crowley expected Shadwell to have trouble understanding. Normally, Shadwell would have bristled at that. He’d struck men for less, to be sure. But, Shadwell needed this more than he needed his pride. So, he fit the unlit roll into the usual spot and held it in place with his first two fingers. Expecting Mr Crowley to light it with the one he held, Shadwell tilted up his face. How come I didn’t notice how tall he is? I’d have to stand on my toes to - Shadwell stopped himself. “Save the kissin’ for your best lass, lad. Otherwise, it’ll mess with your head.” Ol’ Narker’s advice rang in his ears so loud he nearly missed what Mr Crowley said next.
“Here, take mine. And let go of yours. You’ll need both your hands.” Shadwell’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. He’d heard similar commands plenty of times, but Mr Crowley’s didn’t seem to make sense in this moment. For starters, he wasn’t even holding-
Mr Crowley reversed the cigarette in his grip so that the unlit end faced Shadwell. On instinct, he took it. And, like he’d been told to, he let go of his. It stayed put, the paper sticking to the waterline of his lips.
“Now, you’ll want to hold the old one like this.” Mr Crowley’s hands met Shadwell’s. With a firm, gentle touch he shaped Shadwell’s grip into one that blocked the fading glow of the cigarette from both the view of any passersby and Shadwell himself. Instantly, his entire being was focused on the way Mr Crowley’s fingers moved over his own. Slender elegance contrasted against his short, sturdy digits. They were soft and warm, and surprisingly exact in their task. This man’s never done a day of real work in his life, floated over the top of Shadwell’s mind. Beneath that, his imagination kicked into overdrive. It served up scenes of those hands gliding up his arms, slipping around the back of his shoulders, holding him close as he pressed Shadwell against the door behind them.
“See, this way you can light up without it reflecting back onto your face. Give it a try.” Mr Crowley’s voice was low enough so that it wouldn’t be heard by anyone else nearby. It brought Shadwell out of his thoughts with a start, though. Mr Crowley released Shadwell and waited for him to do as he’d suggested. Shadwell willed his hands not to shake while he aimed a tiny point of heat at the cigarette in his mouth. He felt the connection and took in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. When he lowered the now unnecessary cigarette to exhale, Mr Crowley retrieved it. He made no move to leave Shadwell. Instead, he turned his body to face the street, and leaned a shoulder against the wall. Shadwell mirrored him on the doorway's opposite wall. The two finished their smokes, watching Soho move past them.
“That man in the car with you,” Shadwell broke the silence. He had to know. “Is he part of the church robbery?”
“What?” Mr Crowley’s head whipped around to face Shadwell. His glasses flashed with reflected neon lights. Shadwell swallowed hard. He’d messed up, and he knew it. It wasn’t smart to go poking his nose into the business of the wealthy folks who hired men like him.
“I … I only meant that he looked like he was giving you a bit of trouble. I could, uh,” Shadwell almost couldn’t finish the sentence under Mr Crowley’s glare. This Mr Crowley looked entirely different from the man with the gentle hands and quiet voice. He tried again, desperate to fix this. “I could go ‘have a word’ with him, if you’d like.” To his relief, Mr Crowley let out a snort of surprised laughter at the suggestion. His posture relaxed, and a wry grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“A lock breaker and a fixer? You are full of surprises, Lance Corporal Shadwell.” Shadwell ignored the tingling in his belly at the sound of Mr Crowley's voice saying his name. But, he found himself smiling back.
“As we work together, I think you’ll find that I am a man with a diverse set of skills.” Mr Crowley looked confused for a moment at this statement. Then, he winced.
“Sorry, I should have mentioned before. It looks like I won’t be in need of your services afterall.” Mr Crowley threw down the very last of his cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot. Shock travelled down the length of Shadwell’s body. What?! Did I do something wrong?
“Is this because you spotted me? I can be stealthier, I swear to you. I’ve trained with the great Witchfinder-”
“No, no.” Mr Crowley waved off Shadwell’s panic. “The situation’s changed, that’s all. The whole thing’s off.”
“Oh.” The word came out of Shadwell in a deflating huff. Worries swirled around his head. If he wasn’t going to get the other half of the money from the church job, he’d need to hit the bars. I can’t believe I’ve wasted half the night trying to sugar up a dead end. There goes my next six months’ rent. A quieter thought slid in. And I’ll never feel his hands on me again. Shadwell spit out the end of his cigarette in disgust, and stomped it as hard as he stomped down that thought. Ol’ Narker had warned him about this. “The men are easier marks, but you can’t let them confuse you about what’s what.”
Mr Crowley looked down at Shadwell and sighed. He slipped a hand into his jacket breast pocket. Shadwell tensed up, not sure what he was about to see. Men like Mr Crowley carried all sorts of dangerous items. An envelope emerged, and Mr Crowley flipped it open. He gathered up what looked like crisp, new notes and held them out to Shadwell.
“Look, here’s the other half I’d have owed you.” Shadwell just looked at them. A war was going on inside him. This is exactly what he’d wanted. But he hadn’t earned it, not really. Mr Crowley seemed to sense his hesitation. “How about we consider it a retainer? For future services?”
Shadwell nodded, and took the notes. A retainer. He liked the sound of that. Sounds real professional. Sounds like something I can write down in the army's official ledgers.
“Well, now that’s settled…” Mr Crowley’s sentence trailed off as he stepped out of the doorway. Shadwell most certainly did not watch the way his hips slithered side-to-side when he crossed the street to his car. And they definitely did not snap up from Mr Crowley’s waist to his face when he called back at Shadwell.
“See you around, Lance Corporal. I’ll be in touch.” Mr Crowley gave him a little half solute, and folded himself back into his fancy car. It drove off into the night, red tail lights glowing at Shadwell until it turned a corner.
Out of habit, he dipped a hand into his pocket, even though he knew there weren’t any more roll-ups to be found. His fingers knocked against a little cardboard box. He drew it out, shocked to find a brand new package of Benson and Hedges. In a daze, he opened it only to realize that he had nothing left to light any of the perfectly rolled and filtered little tubes of fine tobacco.