Rather smelly after the dung bomb, Gittins scurries through the streets of London to the dark outskirts of the city. There is a pub by the Monarch frequented by those of their kind with a few exceptions. Apparently very DRUNK muggles can wander into any place. These types of fellows are knocked out and deposited in a safer part of the city. Although if the muggle money in their wallets went missing in the process, well, it was considered a service charge.
With care, Gittins slips into the smoke-filled pub. The patrons normally pay no attention to him, but this time his stench announces his presence. More than one wizard cringes at the foul smell and covers his nose wondering if he had decided to go swimming in the sewer waters.
Ignoring the comments, Gittins makes his way to the back of the pub. Near a dark booth with worn seats are two burly wizards. One of the wizards has a large forehead, and the other has a pair of beady eyes. The two burly wizards looked similar enough to be brothers. (And in fact, they were.)
Gittins scurries past the two dark gazes of the burly wizards towards the dark booth that had worn, patched seats. Already sitting down there is an old, weathered man with neatly trimmed white hair. He is wearing a warm knitted Christmas wool sweater and shuffles enchanted poker cards to pass the time.
Gittins trembles and bows his bald head. "Sir, may I have a word?"
The old man named Sanderson intentionally paused and glanced up to reveal sharp yellow-like eyes resembling that of a wolf. "Where is my package, Gittins?" The old man calmly asked in a manner that sent awful shivers down Gittins back.
"That's what I wanted to talk about you, sir," Gittins quietly stammered. "I was robbed, sir."
The old man's wrinkled hands paused and set down the poker cards. With just a gesture of his hand, the two burly wizards move forward. The bartender at the bar firmly slams an empty tanker against the bar to grab the attention of the crowd. "The Bar is closed for the evening," he coolly stated.
There is not a single word of protest from the crowd. The only sound heard is the sound of shuffling chairs. A few are already drunk, but they are dragged away by friends and known acquaintances. Within minutes, the pub falls silent as the last of the customers hurry out. With a wave of his wand, the bartender locks the door with a loud snap.
Sanderson leans back against his booth, his wolfish eyes predatorily eyeing the pudgy, bald wizard. "Gittins, I thought we had an understanding."
The two burly wizards forcefully grab Gittins by the arms pinning him in place. "I forgave your first offense youthful with a simple warning," he glanced down at the missing end of Gittins pinkie. "And in exchange, you would become a loyal courier to repay your owed debt."
"And I did, sir," Gittins fearfully stammered. "But someone ambushed me today! A tall, dark-haired beauty with three hooded wizards. They wanted to know who had attacked their men."
Sanderson frowns and studies Gittins with calculating eyes. "Suppose that I do believe you, Gittins. Do you have any proof?"
"Yes, boss!" Gittins wheezed in relief. "They took my wand as I ran past, I got this-," Gittins paused and glanced at the man holding him down. "Er, I don't know if they can let go or if one of 'em wants to reach into my pocket."
Sanderson motions for Gittins to be released who is unable to hide his great relief. Gittins quickly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a note. "It's not much, but the letter mentions their leader, a Dark Lord," Gittins said with a shrug handing the note over to Sanderson.
Sanderson reads the note and frowns the more he reads.
"Bellatrix,
The Dark Lord is not pleased with our progress and grows impatient. Despite our best efforts, we have yet to find any clues. Many have been coerced with money, but not a single clue has been offered to a potential lead. For there are no whispers or rumors in any form or manner.
I fear that we have possibly been led astray or that we are dealing with a very dangerous faction. For the Dark Lord has made many an enemy in his ascension and there are no few Dark Wizards that hold ill will towards him.
Bellatrix, please come down as soon as you receive this owl. I fear that a trap is being set as we speak, and we are running out of time. May you forever find yourself worthy before our great Dark Lord.
Arty Clanx."
Sanderson furrowed his brows in thought. "What did these strangers demand to know?"
"Sir, they wanted to know if we were the ones behind the attack on their men. I told the witch to seek out the Rain Man before I managed to escape," Gittins hastily answered neglecting to mention the fact that he had been released first before successfully escaping his captors.
Sanderson glances over at the bartender. "Have you heard anything, Bertram?"
"No sir," Bertram coolly responded as he wiped the glasses clean. "I always keep my ears to the ground and there is nothing abuzz. But the Rain Man always seems to know when something strange is afoot. Perhaps it would be deemed wise to get to him first."
"The Rain Man." Sanderson privately mused to himself.
Glancing sharply back at Gittins, Sanderson says, "You say, they took the package where?"
"By the old, abandoned warehouse, I can take you back, sir!" Gittins fervently said.
"We can at least try to recuperate the goods. Hyde and Floyd will accompany you to retrieve my goods," Sanderson ordered causing Gittins to wilt. "And if the witch were to appear to appear before you, could you recognize her, Gittins!"
"Yes, sir, without a doubt!" Gittins firmly confirmed pounding on his chest in emphasis.
"Forget her then," Sanderson coldly ordered causing Gittins to blink in shock. "Whoever they are, they mean business and seem to be just passing through. No doubt, their actions will stop as they will use all their power to seek out the Rain Man and God knows how long that will take."
Gittins obediently nods his head, before the two burly wizards step forward towering over him. His bald head wilts and he reluctantly leaves the safety of the pub. At least, the boss couldn't wring his neck with his bare hands.
With the departure of Gittins and his two muscular companions, Sanderson and the bartender remain alone in the pub. "Bertram, see if you cannot get some of your old friends to wrangle some information on this so-called Dark Lord. There is more to this case than meets the eye. I have a feeling he will pose a problem. I would rather nip this in the bud."
"Yes, sir," Bertram affirmatively answered.
"Also have a few of the boys keep a lookout for the Rain Man. If we can get to him first, we'll know exactly what they are after," Sanderson instructed before rising to grab a warm coat from a nearby coat hanger. "And then, we can sell that information to this unknown party for an exorbitant amount."
"Sounds like a good plan, sir, but are you certain of the Rain Man?" Bertram cautioned. "The Rain Man only speaks for a price."
"I know," Sanderson responded pulling on his gloves. "However, I dislike the feeling of unknown things bumping in the night. I'm the only one who should be lurking in the shadows. And I very much do dislike sharing my domain."
"Then I'll see to it that it is done," Bertram agreed, before pouring a glass for the two of them and setting one on the counter for the boss.
"Thank you, Bertram," Sanderson said raising the shot in silent cheer before they gulp down the shot in one go.
"Ahh," Sanderson said in satisfaction of the fine Firewhiskey. "I best be going, it's getting late, and the Misses will get mad at me if I'm out late again."
Bertram does not respond wiping the bar clean while Sanderson departs with a skip in his step. His grandchildren were coming over for Christmas! It would be a most enjoyable family event.