Iâll take in a favor down the road.â
âAnything, anytime, Saint.â Willie paid his money and prepared to leave.
âKeep that bandage clean, Willie. And no picking pockets or bashing folk around for a while. And donât let the wound get dirty. Come back to see me in three days.â
Willie took his leave and Saint stood silently for a moment in the doorway, shaking his head ruefully. Limpinâ Willie was a Sydney Duckâone of that group of men from Australia who were criminals to their toes. But he was harmless as a puppy around Saint. At least Willie had had brains enough to come to him immediately. He shuddered to think what would have happened to that wound had Willie waited even a couple of days. He briefly imagined a one-armed pickpocket, and chuckled grimly.
He left his small house on Clay Street and made his way to Montgomery Street to the Saxton, Brewer and Company bank. Delaney Saxton was in conversation with one of his clerks, and broke off when he saw Saint.
âYouâve saved me, Saint,â he called out. âOld Jarvis here is trying to talk me into something mighty suspicious.â
âSend Jarvis to see Limpinâ Willie. The poor fellowâs out of commission for a while, a gash in his arm probably gained while he was trying to rob somebody. Itâll do him good to use his brain for a change.â
âPatched him up, did you?â Del asked. âI think the Sydney Ducks would elect you mayor if you wanted it. Lord knows thereâs enough of them, and all of them in your debt, right?â
âBanking and doctoring, we both collect debts, donât we, Del? Howâs Chauncey?â
âNo longer just a mother, thank God,â Delaney said, a satisfied grin on his lips.
âYou take it easy, Del, you hear? Little Alexandra is only three months old. You give Chauncey all the rest she needs.â
Delaney Saxton raised a sardonic eyebrow. âI? You know very well that my wifeâs insatiable, Saint. I have nothing to say in the matter.â He bumped his fist against his forehead and shook his head. âGood Lord, what a man will tell his doctor! Youâre worse than a damned priest!â
Saint laughed, a rumbling sound deep in his massive chest. âCome on, boy, letâs have some lunch. Youâre looking peaked.â
âBoy? Iâm the same age as you, old man.â Del spoke briefly to his partner, Dan Brewer, then the two men strolled onto Montgomery Street. There was a light blanket of fog, typical for June in San Francisco, and it was chilly enough to appreciate vests under coats. They wove their way through the masses of humanity to Saintâs favorite restaurant, Pierreâs Culinary Establishment.
They both drank beers while waiting for Pierreâsbouillabaisse. âI wonder how Byrony and Brent are doing,â Saint said after a moment.
âKnowing Brent, he wonât write. Heâll just show up in a couple of months, richer than he was when he left. Fact is, he should, of course, what with his fatherâs plantation to deal with. In Natchez, isnât it?â
âThatâs what Byrony told me. Named Wakehurst. I wonder how the two of them will deal with all the slaves. I canât imagine Byrony liking the fact that people are actually owned. And Brentâs been away from that kind of life for a long time.â
âWell, I just hope he and Byrony mend their fences while theyâre gone. Iâd sure like to see them united when they get back.â Del paused a moment, shaking his head. âIra and his dear half-sister, Irene, are still behaving with a bit of nastiness.â
âYou believe in divine justice, Del?â Saint asked.
âNot particularly. Why?â
Saint shrugged. âI think the Butlers are a bit overdue for it. It still upsets me to think of Byrony married to Ira and considered the mother of his half-sisterâs
Christine Zolendz, Frankie Sutton, Okaycreations