Page 92 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
When they came within a few blocks from Old Pye Street, they paused to catch their breath.
“This is it, mate.” Nash said. “We've got to go in there and bring him out.”
“Let's go.” Digby snorted confidently. “Me and Rip got unfinished business.”
“That's the spirit.” Nash cheered.
They composed themselves to appear the way they should when entering the Devil's Acre: calm, dangerous, but keeping to themselves.
Riphook's penthouse was in the cluster of buildings between Chapel Way and Tottoll Street, and it seemed to call out to them from several lengths away.
Nash felt nervous but knew that he must retain a collected composure. Selling his story was all important.
When they reached the building's entrance, they took one last reaffirming look to one another and stepped over the threshold.
It was the longest walk Nash felt he had ever taken, up those winding stairs, past colonies of thugs pooling out of run-down doorways on every story.
The closer they drew; the more Nash could not escape the notion that he was walking towards his certain death and that nothing he did could negate that fact.
Yet deep within his strange sense of fate, there was hope that kept him moving. He carried a notion that somehow if he were to deal with Riphook once and for all, his life would become simple and happy.
It was more than just his life; it was the idea that somehow, everyone's lives would be better, and that greater notion caused his legs to rise and fall up the creaking stairs.
“I don't believe it.” One of Riphook's body guards laughed at the sight of them as they crested the final stair. “Look who came back for a beating.”
“Dumb as rocks, kid.” the other chimed in. “You're both dumb as rocks.”
“We're here to see Riphook.” Nash tried to sound as confident as he possibly could, squaring his shoulders, he appeared fairly commanding.
“I bet you are.” the first guard was still laughing.
“Oy' boss!” the second shouted into the room. “Your latest disappointment is here to see you, along with his,” he looked Digby up and down, “pet elephant.”
“Send them in.” Riphook's cold voice could be heard through the frosted glass.
“It's your funeral.” the first guard chuckled as he unlocked the door. “But go on in if you like.”
Nash glared at him from under his hood as they passed the final barrier between them, and Riphook. The heavy door slammed shut and the lock clicked behind them.
Riphook was standing behind the cutting board of a table that he called a desk. He held a wicked butcher's knife in his hand and a rag in the other. He appeared to be cleaning the steel with oil, for it glinted in the glittering reflection of the lanterns behind him.
“So,” he began, “you have returned to me.”
“Yeah, boss.” Nash gulped down his fear. “I'm sorry we botched that bit up with the doctor. We're both real sorry about it, boss.”
“You're sorry.” Riphook sighed, eyeing the tip of his knife.
“Yeah boss, we're both very sorry.” Nash bowed his head. “And there's somethin' else.”
“Something else?” Riphook raised his eyebrow, evidently intrigued by what he was hearing. “I do love a little extra.”
“A man in a top hat approached me just now, when we were on our way over here. Told me I was to give you a message.”
“Pray tell.” Riphook's eyes narrowed. “What was that message?”
“Told me I was to tell you: Number Three.”
“Number three?” Riphook stood back, clearly surprised by what he was hearing. “Now that is interesting, isn't it?”
