My first task was finding out where Vincent had gone. In the time it had taken William to explain to me what he wanted, he'd faded away into the bustling crowds of the city. I couldn't simply assume that he'd returned to Well's street right away. I decided to ask a few people if they'd seen him. Some of those people wondered why I even wanted to find a guy like him, but eventually I found someone who pointed me in the right direction. There wasn't as much of a risk to myself through asking about him. We were fellow criminals; even though my armour was expensive, the tools on my belt told the tale.
He was headed back to Well's Street, on the poor side of the city. I followed in his footsteps. The streets became narrower and narrower with each block that I passed through. There was barely enough space for two people to stand side by side. The poor were crammed into the small footprint of the Eastern city like sardines. Small houses on small plots, stacked on top of each other as high as they could go. It was a real urban jungle.
Even though the weather was rainy, I was so deep in the bowels of the district that no water could reach down through the cracks from above. As I got closer and closer to the gang's territory, I started to notice signs of their presence. The Well's Street Boys all wore yellow, and were stationed at key points in and out of their patch.
After wandering around for half-an-hour, I finally spotted him again. He was sitting on the step of a three-story building and taking a drag from a lit cigarette. He was on guard as I walked over to him, "I hear you're the man to talk to when it comes to fixing fights."
"You were the bloke who was sticking around William? What do you want?"
I tried to give him my best disarming smile, "No need to be so antsy. I heard from William that you were offering… well, offering some metal in exchange for throwing a fight or two."
Vincent shrugged, "Maybe I am. But if you're hanging around that old man, you probably have some kind of stupid objection to it."
I scoffed, "Really? That guy doesn't know what he's missing out on. Money's everything, only an idiot would turn it down."
His expression shifted to being friendlier, "Ah, yeah – that guy's really hung up on being honourable and shit." He looked at my appearance more closely and snapped his fingers, "You're a rogue, aren't you? That explains it."
"More of a mercenary at the moment, but yes, I do dabble in the rogue life from time to time. I'm not suggesting that I take William's place in that scheme, he beat my ass and I'm sure his odds are much better than mine will be."
Vincent snickered, "Are you kidding? I've never seen odds like them. Betting on him is basically guaranteed money. The rates are so bad nobody even bothers anymore."
"And that's why you're pushing him to take a fall?"
"Sure, it's a damn waste to just let them sit that high forever right? He eats dirt once or twice, we get a big pay-out, and the spectators might be convinced to bet on his opponent next time. Everybody wins!"
"Except the bettors."
"Bah, it's just for fun anyway – only a fool would try to use fight betting as a source of income. So what's your play? You didn't come out here just to talk with me."
What usually happened within the tournaments was that the early rounds were where most of the money went. A lot of the fighters were unknown quantities and the odds could be wildly different from the ultimate result. People wanting to try their luck would bet on an early upset. They'd often be rewarded. As the wheat was separated from the chaff that changed. The regulars and trained fighters got their easy ticket into the main event. Those last fights were even more lopsided than the opening rounds and the money was smart by that stage.
"I'm an outsider, don't even have an invite – but I am pretty strong. I reckon I could make a good run through the opening rounds without a problem. Then when everybody gets ahead of themselves, you can pull the rug from under them and ask me to throw."
Vincent twirled the lit paper in his hand, "Hm. How do I know you're not bullshitting?"
I bluffed, "William thought I was good enough to show the basics."
We stared at each other. Vincent was seriously considering my offer. At that moment he made a risk assessment in his mind. Was I lying to him? How much money could he afford to lose? Could he get away with checking my status while keeping all his teeth in a row? Some of the other gang members stopped and looked at the standoff from afar. Vincent cracked first, he swung at me and met my left palm as I blocked the frankly lackadaisical strike. That was everything he needed to see to conclude that I wasn't a drunk talking himself up.
He took another drag and leaned back. "Alright. I'll play. That old fart doesn't just train anyone who comes through the door. He must have seen something in you." It was odd that despite his attempts to blackmail William, he seemed to respect his opinions. Vincent must have known how good William was.
"I work for a man named Adam. He's the boss around here – but not everybody gets to walk up and meet him in the flesh. So this one is just between you and me. I wanna' see you put your money where your mouth is. You bet on yourself and I'll match it. You eat shit – then I'll write it off as a bit of fun. You get a decent run and then I'll consider working with you."
That was oddly generous coming from a gangster.
"Thanks."
"Thank me after you get paid," he grunted, "Word of advice, ditch the armour and sword and muddy yourself up. If you walk in looking like a damn bum then people aren't going to bet on you. Bigger margins for us."
"Uh-huh."
Vincent counted off some more tips with his free fingers, "Technically you aren't meant to bet on yourself because of match fixing, but nobody gives a shit about the rules. Give me some cash and I'll bet for you, then we split it down the middle afterwards."
"How far are we going?"
"Until you think you can't win anymore. All the drunks watching will get a rush of shit to the head seeing some stranger destroy the early runners, they'll go all in on you and mess up the odds. Then you take a nap, and make it look convincing."
"Got it."
With the last inch of the cigarette burned out, he snubbed it against the sodden doorstep. "Man, William pisses me off. Guy walks through and destroys every competitor, and then refuses to take a fall to pay us back. What's the point? Pride? Pride doesn't keep a roof over your head."
"I take it that Adam isn't a fan either?"
"You have no idea. I'm scared he's gonna' have a heart attack if he gets any angrier with him. He gets steamed real bad when William tears everybody up again."
Heart attacks were another piece of contamination that had slipped through from our world. It had become a go-to explanation for unexplained deaths, even when suspicious circumstances suggested otherwise. It was an expedient fact – so the medical and noble establishment put up only token resistance to it being accepted among the scholars as a real phenomenon.
"Can't say I get it either," I said, "When you have a shot at making a lot of easy money you should take it." I didn't really care much for how William decided to spend his time, but by airing my opinions I could bring Vincent to my side easier later.
Vincent nodded, "The problem's that William's forgotten what it's like to be the little guy. He got his patch, so now he doesn't want to have anything to do with us."
"Why? Did he used to be associated with you?"
"He used to help out at the orphanage. He wasn't a big fan of ours, but he was willing to put his dukes up if it meant he could earn some extra money. It was working for all involved – so we never saw fit to ring him up on it. He brought in the crowds who wanted to see some poor sap get the teeth punched out of his mouth. Then Adam got the bright idea to start taking bets and fixing a few matches."
"Smart."
"You're damn right it was smart. Adam's in charge for a reason, he's always coming up with these ideas. Well's Street's never been happier. William didn't see it the same way. Thought it was stealing when they lost some money on a fight or two. But they're better off than the likes of us, and what they don't know, don't hurt 'em."
Was that really the reason? Vincent may have gotten the wrong impression.
"I'm an orphanage boy too, so I can't say you're in the wrong for doing it."
Vincent smiled, "That's right. Adam's splashing a bunch of that money on food and clothes for them. William doesn't see it the same way that we do."
My conclusion was thus, Vincent was a profound idiot.
The 'orphanage' gag was one of the oldest tricks in the book. It had long been a stereotype that local gang leaders were working for the benefit of their community. Funding orphanages, helping the needy, keeping trouble away where the guards refuse to go. It's all bullshit. Top to bottom, a pack of lies designed to keep the gang on top and the people ignorant.
Vincent had swallowed that hook and refused to question it. Adam no doubt had a large stash of money inside his home, money that was being used for his sole benefit. I'd bet my own cash that it was a damn sight more than what they were giving out as 'charitable donations.' My orphanage fell under the remit of one of those gangs too, and the money quickly dried up as more and more of it was picked off along the hierarchy. It was better than nothing, but they weren't being generous – and the presence of those gangs made the area a worse place to be too.
What was a young man like Vincent to do when presented with this information? There was no need for him to doubt Adam's words. They probably knew each other very well, maybe they even grew up on these streets, getting into trouble. I couldn't reason with a person like that. But it was perfect for what I was trying to do. I needed to squeeze as much info out of him and Adam about their plan as possible, find the papers, and then burn them.
"If William's such a problem, why don't you do whatever you're threatening to do to him?"
Vincent waved me off, "Nah. We want to give him a chance to come around first. We've only been pushing him for a few weeks. I keep telling Adam that the threat isn't going to work if he keeps talking instead of doing it, but his word is final. You gonna' keep training with him?"
I shrugged, "If he wants me. I'm not planning on sticking around town forever."
"You better fill your boots while you have the chance then." Vincent reached into his pocket and held out another cigarette to me, which I turned down with a polite shake of my head.
"Sorry, don't smoke."
If my intuition was correct, it was a very cheap variety of cigarette. They were even worse for you than the normal kind. Vincent shrugged and put it into the corner of his mouth, striking another match and lighting his second in as many minutes. This chain-smoking gangster was going to die from lung disease, never mind in a blaze of glory.
"I'll go get ready for my debut. Where's it happening?"
"Edge of town, near the ranches. I'll wait outside the gate to get you in."
No invite from William needed then. With my plans made and the location set, I headed off to prepare.