Details for To Catch a Thief: The Contact |
Summary: | Bannon gets a tip off and heads to the East End to make a new contact. When he returns to the office the report is filed. |
Date: | 6 September 1938 |
Location: | Dog and Duck |
Related: | To Catch a Thief |
Characters |
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A letter arrives for Bannon. It is opened by the department secretary before being sent to his desk via paper airplane. The letter is from a contact he made in Shoreditch a few years back, a Squib who works for the local police there. It hints that he might have a lead on a case for Bannon. If he is interested Bannon should go to Nile Street and visit the Dog and Duck and ask for Sylvan.
Paper airplane. Short note. Good contact. Potential case. With those four conditions meant, Bannon picks up his red banded bowler and settles it on his head. A short trip out the door of the Ministry of Magic leaves Bannon walking down a deserted alleyway. With a crack, he disappears completely from reality, only to end up in Shoreditch a moment later with another loud crack. Finding Nile Street, Bannon Bates enters the Dog and Duck. Walking up to the bar with his walking stick clutched in his hand, Bannon politely tips his hat to the bartender, "Bannon Benjamin Bryson Bates to see Sylvan, please?"
The Dog and Duck is in a dingy, filthy, crime-riddled part of London. Locals call it The Nile. It has been home to a perennial gang war between two groups since before the turn of the century; the kind of place where bobbies rarely venture unless they have to. His nice attire doesn't, peculiarly, make Bannon look out of place. The pup is littered with men dressed in expensive suits and hats: they carry with them however the menace of organised crime. A burly armed bartender looks up from polishing the brass taps when Bannon enters. He doesn't say anything however but merely nods his head towards a booth off to the side. There a fat man in an expensive suit sits smoking on a cigar. He bears a hook nose that has been broken in the past and scars on his beringed hands hint that his flesh likely was more muscle and less flab in the past.
Bannon glances towards the booth, then nods his head to the bartender, "Thank you, my good man." He turns, moving towards the booth as he tucks his walking stick beneath his arm. As he arrives at the booth, he eyes Sylvan a little closer, the smoke not seeming to bother him. He clears his throat, "Mister Sylvan, I presume? Please allow me to introduce myself. Bannon Benjamin Bryson Bates. May I sit?"
Sylvan looks up from reading the racing sheets and eyes Bannon shrewdly. He nods, indicating the seat across from him. Another man sat at a nearby table watches closely, giving the impression Sylvan isn't wholly on his own. "McVitie said you might be by," says Sylvan in accented English. "He said he knew someone who was into funny stuff. Funny stuff what like happened to my girls." Sylvan takes another puff on his cigar.
Bannon smiles slightly, "Funny stuff, hm?" He chuckles, sliding into the booth as he removes his hat and sets it on the seat next to him, "He was not wrong." He then asks, "He also would not have recommended we meet unless you had some form of serious occurrence. Will you tell me what happened?"
With a meaty hand Sylvan gestures towards his guard to leave them alone. The thin man at the nearby table gets up without a word and moves away leaving them alone. "I run me some girls. They're into a few pies. Some work here, some down the road. Couple of 'em have had a run in with a man only they can't remember him. Rosie woke up down by the bells, can't remember a thing. Same happened to Lizzy only she woke up on a bench in the common." Sylvan puffs on his cigar. "My girls don't drink while on the job, especially not them two. When they woke they had nothin' on them and no memories. I started asking around and turns out nobody can really remember the fella. Rooms full of people and nobody can remember. Don't that sound funny to you, Mister Bates?"
Bannon nods his head, "I see. This sounds like a serious problem." He pauses for a moment and then asks, "In my line of work, what may seem like funny business can, with the proper application of deductive reasoning, can be explained by absolutely mundane things. Did any of the woman express a funny taste in their mouths upon waking up, er, attributable by cause other than normal occupational hazard? Any moodiness or depression?"
The gangster shrugs, "Not that I remember. But you can speak with them." He waves his hand again and the thin man is back, this time right beside the booth. "Nose, get this nice gentleman Rosie and Lizzy's addresses. Make it known I said he can speak with the girls. Any of the girls who've had this funny business." The man nods and disappears, presumably to find paper and pen.
Bannon nods his head, "That would be most helpful, Mister Sylvan." He waits for the man to leave and then continues, "This sort of thing is not unheard of in the circles I work in, but I must be completely sure this can not be attributed to a mundane cause before I proceed. I will interview those affected. If this is not within my scope of authority, I will tell notify you of such. If it is, you may rest assured that I will pursue the matter to my fullest capability. I dare say, you will not hear from me again unless there is something specifically required to further my investigation, such as information that your employees can not provide me. I will, however, notify you upon the resolution of the matter so you may put your employees at ease. I tell you this because I do not wish you to be alarmed. Do you understand?"
Sylvan puffs on his cigar and considers what Bannon has said for a moment or two before nodding. "Just so long as whoever did this is kept from doing it again. I don't think I need to say that if he is caught in the act around these parts he will be not leaving of his own inertia." Nose returns and sets a slip of paper down in front of Bannon. Scrawled in neat script are the addresses of the two women, neither very far from this neighbourhood - well within Sylvan's territory.
Bannon begins sliding from the booth, collecting his hat from the booth and placing it upon his head. He pulls down the brim as he settles his walking stick beneath his arm, "Mister Sylvan, I am considered by many even in my own field to be a noted expert on this matter, so please take this firmly under advisement. If your men catch him in the act, advise them to try to remember as much of the assailant as they can, and then run. Inform Mister McVitie of their findings, and he will inform me. To do otherwise places your men in great jeopardy."
Sylvan nods almost imperceptibly and puffs on his cigar, the interview over. Nose slides back into his chair, resuming his guard post at the nearby table.
Bannon smirks as he shakes his head ruefully. He turns towards the door, then peers towards Nose, "Your name is Nose?" Bannon pauses briefly then adds, "How unfortunate." He reaches up to take the brim of his red-banded bowler between his thumb and forefinger, "Good day, gentlemen." With that, he begins walking towards the door.
Nobody moves, at least not after him. They just carry on doing what they were before - mainly loitering. The bartender goes back to polishing the brass taps. Nose carries on watching and Sylvan goes back to looking at the racing sheets for the days horse races.