The Traitor's Stain (wattys 2019)

Chapter Twenty-One: New York, New York

There were two men Robert Townshend hated seeing walk through his door. And, of course, it was just his luck that both of them happened to walk through his door the same day. And at nearly the same time.

Abraham Woodhull, his main counterpart in Setauket, was not one of them. In fact, he rather liked him: he didn't insist on trouncing around his shop like he owned the place, like certain people. After he expressly told them to stay the hell away, before they blew his cover.

The hell-spawned bastard that accompanied him, however...

"Caleb Brewster, you have exactly five seconds to get out of my store," Robert growled.

"It'll only take a second-"

"And what'll you do about it, quaker?" Caleb asked. "Doesn't that religion of yours say that you can't kill people?"

"Robert, I promise: we won't be here long," Abraham said quickly. "We'll only be here for a few minutes, and we'll go to Mulligan."

"Mulligan," Robert snorted. "If this network fails, it will be because of that man, James and I had things under control, here. Mark my words: everything will turn to shit, and it'll be his fault."

"Ben must have questioned how much damage a Quaker and a fake Torry could do," Caleb quipped.

Abraham smacked him on the back of the head. Frankly, Robert wished he'd been the one to do it: he'd be a rich man if he'd had a shilling for every quip Caleb had made to him about Quakers and their lack of... male anatomy.

"I'm certain that the Pharisees questioned how much harm the death of Jesus would do to their established order, as well," Robert said flatly. Caleb looked confused, not that Robert had expected anything more of him: he wasn't well-schooled in... well, anything, really. Except for smuggling, whaling, and liquor. "Abraham, what is your question for me?"

"Does the name Otetiani De Jong sound familiar to you?" Abraham asked.

Robert paused, then shook his head. "Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Now, get out of my store."

"Come on, Robert: you didn't even think about it," Caleb complained.

"It doesn't take much effort to think about a name when you don't know it," Robert said stiffly. "I've told you what you wanted to know. Now, honor your end of the deal and get out, before somebody gets suspicious."

Caleb looked like he wanted to say something in response, but he didn't: Abraham had started to pull Caleb towards the door of the store. "Thanks for all your help, Robert: we'll get out of your hair, now-"

The door opened, and another familiar face he hated seeing walked through the door.

"Oh, bloody hell!" he muttered.

Hercules Mulligan smirked. If Robert weren't a pacifist, he might have considered punching him, wiping that dumb smirk off of his face.

"Good to see you, too," Hercules said. "Abe, Caleb: why didn't you boys come and stop by my shop? I'm a hell of a lot more fun than Mr. Quaker, here."

"We were going to your place right after this, promise," Caleb said.

"Now that you're there, though, might as well save the trip," Abraham said. "Is the name Otetiani De Jong familiar to you?"

Hercules' eyes got wide.

"Judging by that look on his face, it is," Robert observed.

"How do you know that name?" Hercules demanded. "He isn't after us, is he?"