Page 43 of Our Violent Ends
While Roma kept his weapons upon the shop owner, Juliette leaned onto the register and peered around the back of the shop. A cursory sweep revealed a table dusted with flour, a lump of dough hardening by the sink, and there, by the chair—
“Well, I see that the flyers originated from here, so no use lying your way out,” Juliette said cheerily. “Laotóu, how are you making the vaccine?”
The man blinked, his clear terror suddenly morphing into confusion. “Making... the vaccine?” he echoed. “I—” His head pivoted back to Roma, eyes crossing to stare down the barrel of the revolver. “No! I am not making anything! I am auctioning off the last vial that remains from the Larkspur of Shanghai.”
Juliette pushed off the register. She exchanged a fast glance with Roma, and then, caring little for social propriety, she climbed right up on the counter in her heels and hopped into the back of the shop, retrieving one of the flyers. It was identical to the one that Ernestine de Donadieu had given them, down to the error-riddled French. Only this time, Juliette realized exactly what mistake they had made.
The madness arrives again! Get vaccinated!
Wheredid it say that the location upon the advertisement would be giving out vaccinations? They had merely assumed, because that was what the Larkspur’s flyers had said.
“Ta ma de,” Juliette cursed, throwing the flyer down. “You haveone?”
The man nodded eagerly, seeing it was this information getting the two gangsters off his back. “I was hoping to collect offers from foreigners, then sell to the highest bidder. I am low on cash, you see. It is not easy running a húntún shop in Kunshan, and when my cousin from Shanghai passed along this vial he had held on to—”
“Oh, stop talking, I do beg,” Juliette interrupted, holding a hand up. This was not a vaccine center at all. This was an auction.
With a sigh, Roma withdrew his revolvers, shoving them back into his jacket. He was visibly annoyed. This had been a waste of time. What could they do with one vial? They had already asked Lourens at the White Flower labs to test the vaccine the last time around in an effort to re-create it, but he had not been successful.
Juliette’s eyes widened suddenly.
Lourens had failed in the past... but the Scarlets had Paul’s papers now.
“I’ll take it,” Juliette said, her declaration coming so loud and so abrupt that the man jumped. In a smooth motion, Juliette bent and swept up the flyer, then plucked a fountain pen from the side of the register, scribbling down a number. “My offer.”
The man peered at the sum, his jaw dropping immediately. “I—I cannot simply agree. I must send telegrams in case there are higher bidders—”
“Double it,” Roma cut in. When Juliette’s gaze shot to him sharply, he smiled, the expression mocking. “We will share, won’t we, Miss Cai?”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Juliette demanded in Russian. She pasted on her own smile, so that the shop owner would not realize they had switched to a different language to argue. They didn’t need the shop owner deciding his vaccine was in high demand. “You already ran tests, remember? Lourens couldn’t reengineer it; he could only determine that it was true.”
“Yes,” Roma agreed. “That time we did not have materials from Paul Dexter. Remember, we can still steal them from you. And if you want this vial that badly, I am sure you think having it will cause a breakthrough alongside the papers.”
Juliette almost started vibrating with her new irritation. He had read her through and through. He always did.
“If shàoyé andxiaojieeach want their own...,” the man supplied, hands wringing in front of him. There was a new nervousness in his air. He had figured it out, then. Connected the dots on Juliette’s and Roma’s identities, for as soon as Roma had called her Miss Cai, it was not hard to see that the heirs of the Shanghai-native Scarlet Gang and Russian White Flowers stood before him.
“There were two in circulation after the Larkspur went under.” He reached for another slip of paper, and with the same fountain pen Juliette had been using, quickly began scribbling. “The second is in Zhouzhuang, so this is the seller and address—”
“Forget it,” Juliette said. “We only need one, so don’t think you can siphon double the money from us. Take it or leave it.”
The shop owner paused. Juliette could imagine the cogs turning in his head, calculating the chances that there could be a higher bidder, and the risks he would invite if he turned down Shanghai’s gangsters.
Without a word, the man dropped into a crouch and started to enter a combination into a safe under the register, one that Juliette had not even noticed. She frowned, and he seemed to sense it, because as he twirled the combination dial, he said, “People get desperate, and I cannot afford guards.”
The safe hissed open. The man reached in, and out came the vial, glistening the same lapis lazuli blue that Juliette remembered. She shuddered.
“I don’t suppose you have cash on you, do you?”
“We’ll sign IOUs,” Roma replied without missing a beat. The shop owner knew who they were, after all. He knew they were big and mighty enough to keep their word; the Scarlet Gang and the White Flowers had the money.
All they had was money, really.
“Well, thank you for your business,” the shop owner said gleefully, watching Roma and Juliette scrawl their names on the same sheet Juliette had scribbled her offer on. He was right to be gleeful—he had just become very, very rich. The two gangs would feel the effect of this payment, but it was nothing they couldn’t recover from. The Scarlets had recovered time and time again after paying the blackmailer.
“I will be holding on to this,” Juliette said, gesturing for the vial and shooting Roma a warning glance.
Roma did not complain. He let the shop owner press the vial into Juliette’s hands, and while her palm was out, the man tucked in the slip of paper with the address of the second seller.
