The Collection of Jacqueline Melrose - Remember

By Michael Gillett

The second and final chapter of The Collection of Jacqueline Melrose.

The killer of Jacqueline's father has been dealt with, but the situation is far from over. Booth, fallen Ba of OtherWhere and instigator of the murder, roams the streets of London seeking answers to a question he cannot ask.

Joanne Melrose has been sucked away, landing alone and lost in a dimension of her own creation. In her attempts to discover a way home, she rocks the very reality of Earth, and awakens the Others - consumers of life.

Join Jacqueline and Edith and Jeanne as they desperately try and recover the lost Joanne, unaware that Joanne has changed - no longer the innocent twin sister, but a powerfully reckless force threatening the very existence of mortal life on Earth.

And Booth - villain or hero... even he doesn't know.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Gillett
• Release date: Feb 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781777708535

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

––––––––

Joanne pursed her lips and sniffed into the void of the stygian night, floating in nothingness. She winced as she swallowed against the lump of fear lodged tight in her throat. The pain, at least, felt like something.

She felt a quiver in her chin, but she did not cry.

Why is it so dark?

How long had she been here?

She was truly and completely lost.

She remembered her kidnappers in the well-lit room of her father’s London warehouse. Moments ago? Far longer than that... Her mother struggled furiously with one of them and the gangster Booth... clubbing her with his cane but Jacqueline stopped him and then Booth... got inside her head?

She’d screamed to shut him out, and a viciously loud and cold wind from nowhere sucked her backwards, flipping her heels-over-head, and she’d fallen. She fell a long, long way.

She took a shaky breath and meekly called out, Mother?

She’d not finished the spoken thought before the word thundered back in a monstrous cacophony pounding Joanne as if ‘Mother’ were the only thought in existence. She held her breath until the sound stopped, and the silence of the dead settled around her again, creeping under her skin.

Joanne grit her teeth and blindly felt about as far as she dared reach. Again. No walls. No floor.

This place... not Jacqueline’s OtherWhere... not London’s Chestnut Lane.

On impulse she shouted, Jacqueline? and a thousand voices screamed her sister’s name. Joanne put her hands over her ears but couldn’t shut out the sound. She locked her fingers in her hair and pulled at the curls she could not see. She pulled until she could not stand the pain, and only then silence slithered back.

Black silence. Her new universe.

I want my mother, she thought, this time without letting a word of it cross her lips.

Careful.

Joanne was never as clever as her sister, this she accepted, and perhaps not as brave. This terrible place scared her to death.

Home, she whispered.

Please.

The home where her father had lovingly showed Jacqueline and herself how to be smart and strong. He’d promised his girls would never worry for anything.

But they’d killed her father.

She’d not cried the night mother received the police into their home. She’d heard her sudden wailings and when mother swept them both into her arms – even as her nightgown was soaked with her mother’s tears, not a drop was shed by the Melrose twins.

Perhaps they’d known this would happen, that their father would not come home one evening. She and Jackie had always suspected they would not grow up the way they’d been promised.

Later, people paid their respects, standing with heads bowed low, some crying softly with hands over their mouths so no one would know how much they cared. Joanne had cared more than any of them. On that day, a great empty hole in her chest redefined the word hurt. Yet neither she nor her sister could cry.

Midget – Joanne shivered at the thought of her dog, dead as well – made her ribs hurt from laughter when he’d wanted to. And dry tears of pain when he was killed.

Joanne had felt lost before, as every young girl must, but never so lost as on that horrible night.

But this... not like that at all.

Joanne was drowning in the blackness smothering her now.

"Jackie?" she thought again, as hard as one could think a thought. Jacqueline ought to have heard the silent call. She always heard. She always answered.

Not this time.

She and her sister had dealt with enough nasty people and seen enough blood spilt in the last months... a simple thing as the dark ought not to be so difficult. The echoes of this place ought not confuse or frighten her. One would think.

And of course, not knowing what to think had never stopped Joanne Melrose and so she licked her lips, took a slow and deep breath, and with anger this time she screamed. She screamed and screamed into nothingness, and only when her throat became too sore did she stop.

There were no echoes this time. She listened hard, then sensed as much as heard a very faint chuckling.

She snapped her mouth shut with a hard click of her teeth.

Something out there had heard.

Something nasty.

CHAPTER 2

––––––––

Lord Booth of OtherWhere, lately of Earth, once crime boss of London and now suffering the dregs of Preston – how the mighty have fallen – shivered in front of the stone-hearth fire and rubbed his hands together. He nursed grateful feelings for the proprietors of the boarding house for providing a common room where unfortunate men could congregate and take shared comfort from the elements.

It was better than the nothing where Edith left him.

NoWhere...

He would sort Edith Stitch out later, with regards to NoWhere... though she did fetch him back.

Aye, a monster of a man across the room muttered to himself. I ain’t the one ignoring what’s in front o’ me own nose, and he stuffed a biscuit into his mouth. I’m only a stonemason, but I knows what I seen. The ground heaved and them stones bounced and floated like gulls.

Nay, me thinks it’s the fog yonder what’s maybe settled in yer noggin, the fat man across another table answered with an ugly laugh, spattering bits of his porridge across the table.

Booth sat back in the tattered but plush chair and held his head low, watching intently the goings on. The brute had seen something unusually strange. The man had no intellect to make such things up. No doubt, awful things were happening.

You sure the stone hadn’t bounced off yer thick skull first then, before it went floatin’ off into boogyland? a thin man with spectacles japed.

The stonemason slapped a ham sized fist on the table, the reaction far more conspicuous than the flash of anger in his eye. The mockery from this lot seemed to have upset him. The man would control his strength to manage his craft, for sure, but more likely to prevent killing the buggers that crossed him. And he had a gentle eye for nature, this much was clear to Booth. But behind those eyes... something unnatural had upset him.

I reckon that bloke there seen more interesting shit, barked the fat man at the table, nodding at Booth. Yah, you there, don’t think I don’t see you watchin’. W’ot you say fer yerself then? Floatin’ stone or bats in the belfry?

Booth glanced up and across the room to the porridge man, envisioning an eviscerated slab of steaming meat trying to eat dinner. The look on Booth’s face froze the fat man mid-word, his porridge halfway to his face before dropping his spoon to splatter the floor.

Booth smiled and tipped his hat to break the spell. The man mopped a thin sheen of sweat from his balding head and muttered apologies to the stonemason as he bent to retrieve his spoon while casting furtive glances Booth’s way. Then making up his mind he looked to Booth and said, Look ‘ere mate. You know I didn’t mean nothin’ by that bit of talk. Just pokin’ some fun at ol’ Ben. Sometimes he don’t know what’s real and what ain’t real – if you know what I mean He made an eyes rolling motion and nodded towards the big man who just sat and stared at the stones of the fireplace.

Booth glanced at the fireplace then turned his attention to the mason and called over in a tone only he would hear. What do you see in them stones, Ben?

Just stones, he said, not turning to look at Booth. Some fellow made a good job o’ them ones. All locked nice and even.

You build fireplaces? asked Booth.

I finished one today, the mason said and turned. The haunted look in his eye could not be ignored. Booth rose from his chair and squatted beside the mason and whispered close to his ear, What did you see, there at work?

Nothin’.

You saw something, Booth prodded.

"I saw nothin’.

Yer right, the thin man interrupted as he pushed his glasses up off his nose. When you get old like you been doing, you prefer talking to yer invisible friends. They’ll listen to your stories of flying rocks.

"You shut up with that –"

Booth put his hand on the mason’s shoulder and pinched, the man jerking in pain a moment and cutting further argument. Time to get out of here.

Booth whispered again, You come with me for a short walk and I’ll tell you about stones and voices.

The mason turned a moment to nod and the look in his eye was one of curious terror.

Good.

Booth stood as Ben pushed himself off the table and downed the last of his beer before turning for the door. Outside the sun was setting and the cold air worsening with the damp of departing fogs. One could walk the same road day in and day out but the path winding through fog would always leave a chill in men’s hearts.

For Booth, the fog of buried memories and flashes of suppressed horrors from days long ago had driven him mad. He refused to acknowledge yesterday. But something today was trying to get through, and the simple fog swirling ‘round his feet this evening was inconsequential.

Booth and old Ben walked shoulder to shoulder down the lane. From behind, his own lean figure would make stark contrast to the mountain of a man beside him. Booth had a horrible feeling about Ben’s future – the conversation had become compelling.

And the earth shook? Booth asked.

Yes sir, though no one else seemed to mind. So I leaned back into my work.

You were building...?

I was workin’ on a wall for the doctor. He had extra stone, and he says it’d look nice.

He never noticed the quake?

‘E might ‘ave. Went back inside ‘e did, and I worked off the walk to the porch.

The mason paused as if not wanting to talk more.

What did you hear?

Weren’t that... it were the stones on the wall – they weren’t sittin’ no more, but floatin’.

You said like gulls.

Silent though, and then that hole...

Booth stopped himself gritting his teeth.

Like a window, ‘cept nothing to see on the other side. Black as all hell. The voice came from there.

Booth continued to walk the mason away from the lights of the taverns and more into the shadows of the back lanes.

They called to me. Wanted me to wait there. And then I saw its hand.

Booth stopped but Ben kept walking.

And?

I ran. Lord knows I can handle myself – but that... I ran.

Booth didn’t want to know more, but had to ask.

This happen before? Voices?

Not the hole. But I ‘ad me voices long as I can tell. I ‘ear dogs talk, and sometimes birds. I tried to pay them no mind. Drives me a bit bonkers and I don’t care to spend no time in Bedlam.

Them bigmouths back there, they never saw it?

We all got our problems then, don’t we. I don’t do no thiev’n, and they ain’t no rats. They think I’m crazy.

Booth bent his head and pondered. Ben here. Maybe used to the strange, maybe seeing impossible things... how many more like him? And if they come to believe, and if there’s panic or fear. Dark energy.

This thing is happening now, where reality becomes twisted, when objects float and rain falls up and time becomes a liquid you can see... and he’d seen them frights, and another things.

He’d stopped the invaders once before.

He pulled his silver fox head sword out from between Ben’s ribs and the big man slumped silently to the ground. He wiped the blade on the man’s shirt, a bit of a habit. There was very little blood. Booth knew how to kill. He dragged Ben to a dark alley where garbage had piled and stuffed the old stonemason under the worst of it.

His voice would never be heard again, not by anyone.

Booth felt sick to his stomach as he leaned against some brick showing under the grime covering the walls. He hammered back the horrors scratching their way back into his mind.

He felt the twitch of something like real fear.

CHAPTER 3

––––––––

Jacqueline Melrose sat next to her mother in an uncomfortable hardwood chair, facing Inspector Perkins of Scotland Yard from across the expanse of a very large desk. An impressive piece of furniture, especially when you compared it to what Constable Strickland worked with when he filed his paperwork at the end of each beat. Lord knows he’d filed enough on their behalf. But she supposed an Inspector of Scotland Yard would need such substantial furnishings to manage their busy schedules and discoveries. And the fact that Scotland Yard was investigating her father’s death, anything ought to help.

The interview was not going well.

So you had a relationship of sorts with Mister Abercrombie then, Mrs.... Hrummm, and the haughty fellow paused to make eye contact with her mother, Mrs. Melrose?

Whoever implied such a thing, Inspector? I’d like to know who implied that, if you wouldn’t mind? she replied, giving Jacqueline a shiver of excitement. Her mother had become a bit of a spark lately.

What Abercrombie had to do with her sister seemed unimportant to Jacqueline. She’d witnessed the man dead, murdered by Booth, though that matter seemed a non-issue with anyone she’d talked to. Constable Strickland witnessed the killing as well, though Jacqueline no longer felt certain what he’d seen, or if he had the bottle to do something about it.

This Perkins man was of a different breed though.

In fact, Perkins frowned, I do mind, Mum. My job here is not to keep you entertained, but to ascertain the facts surrounding recent events. I work hard for my facts, and what bits of information I’ve collected so far don’t sit well in my craw.

He leaned forward and caught her mother’s eye with a look pinning her still. I have a nose for this sort of thing, Mrs. Melrose, and I’ll wager I’ve seen more unpleasant sights than you may care to imagine. But in all my years on the Yard, and even back on the beat where some pretty terrible goings on occurred every day, I promise you I’ve not seen anything so improbable, and he gestured at the notes on his desk, as any of this. He turned his attention to Jacqueline. And to drag this young lady into your dramatics is entirely irresponsible.

Jacqueline sat forward, not caring a whit for the man’s appraisal. You have an idea then, regarding what’s happened with Joanne? My sister... Inspector Perkins?

Perkins allowed his jaw to drop open. He appeared the sort not inclined to take much back talk. Her mother looked exhausted and had long since left coyness behind her. Jacqueline’s father had been murdered. Joanne disappeared, vanishing before their very eyes.

And unfortunately, she had a gut feeling this Perkins man would be of no help solving the riddle of OtherWhere.

"I will have satisfaction from this office, Inspector Perkins," her mother replied. Jacqueline was proud of the bottle her mother displayed, but newfound pluck wouldn’t help, not as long as she and the world remained ignorant of the Ba.

Mrs. Melrose, Perkins continued, this office deals with matters extending far beyond your holdings at the docks. We are responsible to this city and country and the king himself, and he paused again for dramatic effect. Oh... did I mention foreign governments? I shouldn’t have to. We have more than enough to do around here. We will deal with this matter appropriately and in cooperation with the local authority. If that meets with your satisfaction, of course.

Of course, her mother replied. Then if it suits your purposes we shall leave you to your work, and you will of course inform us daily of any changes to the status of the case.

Daily? Madame –

My dear Inspector Perkins. I ask this not simply for myself, but to keep my friends at the Times up to date.

"Your friends at the what?" Perkins choked on the tea he’d been sipping.

The Times, Inspector Perkins. London’s newspaper. The same Times that will surely find all of these... improbable events as you call them, quite fascinating, especially concerning our mysterious mister Booth and the London mobs.

I really hope you’re not threatening me, Mrs. Melrose. Perkins smiled, but his teeth were clenched beneath tightly pursed lips and there was no smile in his dark eyes. Jacqueline noted something cold-blooded in the man.

Now what would a simple soul like myself have to gain by threatening an important police inspector such as yourself, her mother replied, and added, or to lose, for that matter?

Perkins calmly placed his tea cup on the desk and sat back a moment, strumming his fingertips against each other as he blew through them and stared darkly at the two of them. His eyes slowly lightened back to their grey blue, the color of cold steel, yet somehow a warm humor radiated from under eyebrows that could have used a trimming.

I am not an unintelligent man, Mrs. Melrose.

I am certainly aware of your qualifications, Inspector Perkins, she replied with a cold smile of her own.

Good. Then you understand, I’m not one to be trifled with.

We’d never considered the option, replied Jacqueline, interrupting her mother and quite enjoying the exchange.

Tea? he asked unexpectedly, and stood, gesturing to the silverware still steaming on the corner of his desk.

Jacqueline glanced a knowing look to her mother as she waved it off.

Perkins walked around his desk and pulled up a chair and sat on the corner of it. He leaned forward and smiled. Jacqueline didn’t care for the forced friendliness.

Mrs. Melrose, Perkins started. Believe me when I say I feel for your loss on both counts. I take these things seriously and frankly, quite personally.

I appreciate that, Inspector, her mother replied with a reserved nod of her head.

I’m very familiar with Harold’s case. He paused as if contemplating and continued, now ignoring Jacqueline completely. I apologize, madam. I didn’t mean to become personal. I meant Mr. Melrose, of course.

I quite understand, Inspector. Her mother looked pleased. If you feel more comfortable on a first name basis, please suit yourself. I could care less for society’s ideas of modesty when it comes to getting my daughter back.

Of course, Perkins replied, and leaned forward a moment. But there are more than a few implications amongst the issues of the Melrose case, not the least of which involve organized mobs and certain banking officials we have under our scrutiny. Then there is the death of the wife of one of them – as you must be painfully aware – and of course, the disappearance of his daughter. All very troublesome.

I appreciate your candor, her mother nodded, looking hesitant to interrupt the man’s revelations.

Then you may also appreciate how difficult it is for us to pursue certain... unpleasant elements of society.

Like yourself, Jacqueline thought, trying her best to sit calmly quiet, as was expected. If this man had anything important to say, he would have said it by now.

There are a few mobs running amok in the city and while you may read of them on occasion in your Times, Perkins continued, oblivious, I doubt you have any real understanding of how dangerous these people are.

If you’re asking, her mother smiled, am I on a first name basis with any of the Sugarman Gang, then I’d have to say no.

Perkins sat back and slapped his knee in laughter, and just as quickly the smile was gone.

You don’t fail to amaze me, madam. I will admit, I underestimated you in a few regards. I’ll endeavor to better myself along those lines.

Her mother blushed and Jacqueline saw the ploy. This was what Perkins was after – some way to mollify her. The greasy bugger selected a thick portfolio and casually leafed through numerous sheets, then lifted an eyebrow to catch their attention.

There are a great many criminal organizations in England. Scotland Yard has dossiers on all of them. At least the ones we’re aware of. While it’s our job to bring these criminals to justice, it’s also our job to first become aware of their existence.

I see a lot of paperwork, Jacqueline muttered, but what has that to do with–

This, Perkins interrupted, is what we’ve managed to gather from witnesses and events concerning the activities of a certain and mysterious Mister Booth.

Ah, Jacqueline twitched at the memory of the man. Now we’re making progress.

"And you know a bit of the mobs? Something of this fellow then? Perkins looked back to her mother. But of course you would have. He’d paid a few recent visits to your husband’s offices and even once to your home."

Booth? was all her mother could reply. Her face betrayed the emotional memories of the encounter at the warehouse, his attack and Joanne vanishing and the man’s subsequent insane raging. But the notion Booth had been to their home – this was news to her. The detective was lying.

And the strange thing– Perkins tapped the dossier almost viciously," – the very strange thing about this bloke is that he’s been a person of interest in my department for only a very short while. Quite remarkable. In a matter of no time, and he flipped through the pages of notes and memorandums in the dossier, according to these witnesses, the fellow has put the very fear of God into a lot of our good gangsters working here in London. No idea how he does that. But seems to me, what this Booth fellow wants he pretty much takes."

Perkins leaned forward as if to drive home his next point. It’s as if he has no idea how dangerous the game he’s playing really is. Perkins slammed the dossier shut. I’ve no idea how the dumb bloke’s stayed alive.

Jacqueline caught a glimpse of a tic in her mother’s face. The memory of Booth’s violent rage and that... hole Jo had fallen through. Her mother looked angry.

Mrs. Melrose?

Her mother startled and recovered her composure. She adjusted her shawl and replied, As we’ve testified in our statements to the constables and you yourself at the time, yes, your Mister Booth was present at the time my daughter vanished.

If you don’t mind then, I need to understand what he wanted at your husband’s property and why your daughters were there. I need to corroborate some very strange things others may have witnessed. Repeat what you told us before, and add the things you were afraid to tell us. He turned his attention to Jacqueline. Tell me what you felt.

"What I felt? Jacqueline sickened at the memory. I feel certain, Inspector Perkins, you do not want to know what I felt."

Jacqueline, her mother snapped. Mind yourself.

Jacqueline was beyond minding herself. Her sister... sucked through a... what? Crack in the air? She was with the Ba now? And how could she get her mother to understand, let alone this clown.

My mother, she finished, knowing she had to do something herself, may be looking for support, but I for one am convinced you are useless.

Perkins just nodded in half smiled sympathy and, dismissing her, turned back to her mother and waited silently.

Fine, her mother replied. It seems all so very unlikely. Impossible in fact. I’ll tell you what I saw, she sighed, and you can make of it what you will. God knows I have no idea.

Perkins took out a notebook, checked his pocket watch and wrote – September 12, 1910. Perkins in attendance to the widow Jeanne Melrose, fourteen and forty-five p.m. regards investigation AEG0012 – Booth...

He paused to look at his writing a short moment, as if he found it distasteful somehow, then tapped his pen on the notebook, sat back and nodded.

Tell me what happened.

Jacqueline closed her eyes and listened not to her mother, but for her sister.

Jo?

CHAPTER 4

––––––––

Narom-Sin, the most ancient of the Ba, sat under the Suffering Tree, his voice carrying in the clear air as he muttered to himself, gesturing madly at nothing and appearing much the senile fool. Edith squirmed to make herself smaller in the tall grass carpeting the ridge overlooking the valley.

As if grass could shield her.

If they chose, the Ba missed nothing. These days, unfortunately, they chose to ignore many things – even her own intrusions in their ill-conceived universe.

She saw the ground ripple in the far distance. Another of Joanne’s quakes. The wave passed faster than she could blink. Narom-Sin was tossed in the air and landed on his back while she gripped the grass and hung on tight. A moment later, all was still save the muttered gibberish of Narom-Sin as he rolled back to his seat against the tree. Surely he had to be concerned. Surely he had a plan to find the girl. Surely he was smarter than that. Or was he simply the product of a jumble of misunderstood and manipulated learnings from stolen minds? She found herself glaring through slitted eyes at the robed figure, holding her breath to calm herself.

Where one always assumed chaos to be the norm in most existences, the Ba had raised the concept to the absurd. Spirits playing at being mortal, taking tea, living in cottages and tending to lives built upon the stolen dreams of mortal children.

Edith quelled the all too familiar sickening wrench in her gut. She’d played her role to help the Ba collect their victims, as they demanded. As she’d agreed. If it would save their lives... and her training did save them. Allowed them to live a few extra years in the well disguised slavery called OtherWhere.

The Ba vitiated the very existence they imitated. Never imitating the pain they inflicted. Never appreciating the effects of loss.

Loss... Joanne Melrose was lost.

Jeanne Melrose could use some help.

All the children trapped here could use some help.

The Melrose experience had strewn new and unforeseen forks along the path, which now seemed a good thing.

To see the Ba falter...

She felt her blood warming to the task.

Edith knew events were at a boil back in London town. Jeanne Melrose would not be able to protect her daughters without help, and Jacqueline would tear apart her universe to get what she needed.

And Narom-Sin seemed totally oblivious to all of it.

As were the mortals of Earth, fooling themselves into remembering the horrors of their distant past as entertaining legend and lore.

The horrors, Edith whispered, aware of the heat rising to her face – a reminder of the ancient mysteries she needed to understand if she were to help...

And then she sensed the presence of someone else. In the distance, the solitary figure of Beorht. Walking across the field towards the one that owned his soul. She watched the Gatekeeper walk up the hill and stand with hands clasped behind his back, waiting on Narom-Sin’s command.

She was human enough, still. She’d made ill-judged choices in her time with the Ba. But she’d changed. She’d learned she could fight back.

The Gatekeeper could not.

Perhaps she could change that.

CHAPTER 5

––––––––

Time to get back to London and set matters right.

Why had existence become so difficult?

Lord Booth of OtherWhere, lately of Earth, knelt over the body of a thief. The fool had snatched his cane and ran off with it, and Booth had caught him with a few loping strides. Closing his hand over the man’s neck, he’d snapped it like kindling. Felix, the carved likeness of a fox head in the silver pommel of the cane, appeared to smile is if pleased.

Had nothing changed? He’d surely felt it must have. The last death, Ben’s death, bothered him immensely. He looked down to his boney fingers and long hands. Of course, he’d never suffered from the deaths inflicted from these very hands. Nor had he benefited, which was more his concern. Once, he desperately needed to feel the act of death, more so than simply witness it, or more to the point – become a harbinger of it.

Now? He stroked the dead man’s hair, brushing the strands out of sightless eyes.

Through these last months, Booth walked alone the streets of Preston of Lancashire. Since the first quake hit, he’d found himself less obsessed with the human way, and more with his own predicament. No one else in his acquaintance appeared concerned or aware of the shifting of things. He’d witnessed more shadows detaching from their earthly source and float free, and he’d seen – like Ben had seen – stones hover off the lanes, and he’d even booted one to put it back in its place. But the mason was the only one to have shared this experience. He needed another, one such as himself, to confer with.

Aesopeth.

But he’d killed the lost Ba’s friend. Aesopeth would never forgive him for that. Booth knew the violence needed to stop.

The sword at his back vibrated its displeasure. The sword wasn’t his master though...

Looking down at this poor sod, he knelt and stroked his head and back, feeling the heat draining from the body – but it was just heat. Nothing more.

Where was the man’s soul?

Booth shrugged and patted around the man’s pockets. If there were coins to be had, Booth would relieve him of them. His bank accounts had been appropriated by the damned Yard, and he’d had to fall back on nefarious talents to obtain even a meal. But there would be no help from this one. Booth gave the man a smack on the back of the head in disgust as he stood up and brushed the dirt of his knee.

As empty pocketed as you then, sir?

Booth looked up calmly at the fellow standing in front of him. The bloke must be as stealthy as a cat. And not a cat burglar, neither, for he was dressed in tweeds of some quality. Government quality, perhaps. He didn’t look armed.

Dumb twit tried to rob me, Booth answered, holding Felix loosely in his right hand as he stood and leaned nonchalantly on the cane.

I saw. I’d say the fellow had poor taste in victims.

Don’t they all then, Booth answered, growing wary at the man’s familiarities.

The stranger smiled an empty smile. He took a single half step backwards and pointed to the cane and said, "We can do this easy or hard,