Page 3 of A Case of Possession
“I don’t believe you,” said Rackham.
“Did you just call me a liar? Oh, don’t even answer that. I’m busy, Rackham. I’ve got a sheaf of lading bills to reckon up and a factor to catch out. I assume you came here for something other than lubricious thoughts about mutual acquaintances. What do you want?”
Rackham looked away. His sandy hair was greying and his thin face was pouchy and worn, but the gesture reminded Crane of a sulky adolescent.
“I want you to make me a loan.” He stared out of the window as he spoke.
“A loan. I see. What do you have in mind?”
“Five thousand pounds.” Rackham’s voice was defiant. He didn’t look round.
Crane was momentarily speechless. “Five thousand pounds,” he repeated at last.
“Yes.”
“I see,” said Crane carefully. “Well, I’d be the first to admit that I owe you a favour, but—”
“You’re good for it.”
“Not in petty cash.” The astronomical sum mentioned was ten years’ income for a well-paid clerk. “What terms do you have in mind? What security would you offer?”
“I wasn’t thinking of terms.” Rackham turned, but his eyes merely skittered across Crane’s face and away again. “I thought it would be an…open-ended agreement. Without interest.”
Crane kept his features still and calm, but the nerves were firing along his skin, and he felt a cold clench in his gut at what was coming, as well as the first upswell of rage.
“You want me to give you five thousand pounds, which you in effect propose not to pay back? Why would I do that, Rackham?”
Rackham met his eyes this time. “You owe me. I saved your life.”
“The devil you did. You made an introduction.”
“I introduced you to Day. You owe me for that.”
“I don’t owe you five thousand pounds for it.”
“You owe it to me for keeping quiet about you and Day.” Rackham’s lips were rather pale and his skin looked clammy. “We’re not in China now.”
“Let’s be clear. Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“That’s such an ugly word,” said Rackham predictably.
“Then it suits you, you pasty-faced junk-sick turd.” Crane strode forward. He had a good six inches on Rackham, and although he was often described as lean, that was in large part an illusion caused by his height; people tended not to realise how broad-shouldered he was till he was uncomfortably close.
Rackham realised it now and took a step away. “Don’t threaten me! You’ll regret it!”
“I haven’t threatened you, you worthless coward, nor will I. I’ll just go straight to the part where I break your arms.”
Rackham retreated another two steps and held up a hand. “I’ll hurt you first. I’ll ruin Day.” He pointed a trembling finger. “Two years’ hard labour. You might be able to buy your way out of trouble, perhaps, but he’ll be finished. Disgraced. They’ll dismiss him. I’ll destroy him.”
“With what, tales of a dinner at Sheng’s? Go to hell.”
“He goes to your rooms.” Rackham moved to put a chair between himself and Crane. “At night. He came back with you after Sheng’s and didn’t leave till ten the next day, and—”
“You’ve beenspyingon me,” Crane said incredulously. “You contemptible prick.”
“Don’t touch me! I can ruin him, and I will, if you lay a finger on me.”
“The hell you will. You’re terrified of him. That’s why you’ve brought this horseshit to me. If you tried this on Stephen, he’d mince you into dog food, you hopeless fuckingflit.” Crane spat out the last word, the worst insult he knew to offer a practitioner, with all the contempt he could muster.
