THE VOLATILE DELEGATE
FROM WHERE HANS VANG derived it was not only called foul play but a savvy 'smuthul', seemingly ingenuous while cunning as hell but legal as well. The ladder was important to Hans, in comparison to black hats such as Brogaard, for Hans Vang had a certain footing in the world and while he could not step down from his pedestal to castigate someone he considered unworthy of his time, he could and would make use of his fortune and good name to have his revenge. To himself, this was something occupying little of his time, a matter arranged over the course of a few minutes over a telephone call and therefore trifling yet so satisfying, well-aware Nikolaj Brogaard on the other hand, would be much disturbed by this bedlam. Knowing full and well he could not bend the law at his will, Hans could use it in his gain in throwing a coin in the way of the authorities. Taking bribes was something no dignified man would ever speak publicly of, however, in his legislative years, Hans had come to learn every man came with a price. Whether or not they chose to be frank about just that, was entirely up to themselves; that was in the least as long as Hans got his way.
Naturally, he had not himself made much contact with the German police, howbeit he had had a friend of his let them know in Rostock that if they were to have a patrol walk a German Shepherd or two around the loading dock, they just might find something worth their while. And as surely as Brogaard was a crook, the band of original Greenheide police dogs clawed coincidentally at a certain Hive Automatics consignment. This encouraged the Rostock police to crowbar open a crate and to the surprise of everyone a daunting scene of maltreated bodyparts was to be found in the stained hay.
This, of course, aroused attention from all curious minds in not only Rostock but journalists reporting either criminality or politics came in from all around, wishing involvement in the heinous. Even before the police got to Nikolaj Brogaard's doorstep newsmen did and prepared him with flashes of the unprecedented offense in his company name. Meanwhile Nikolaj, once again, was in over his head, the impetuous Hans Vang sat back in his lounge chair, sipping tea and discussing world-pressing matters with his coevals.
The tumult back home spurred Ines to cut her London trip short by two days; after she had received an unsettling telephone call she had packed up and been on her way, narrowly catching the infrequent transport by a hair's breadth. Although Nikolaj refused to speak of what perturbed his mind, she understood it to be an urgency.
Once she had arrived in the dark of the night, Ines had expected to find her husband in the bedchamber, but alas he was nowhere to be found fast asleep. On a search throughout their manor with a mirthful dog on her tail, her concern merely increased by the minute as she found her home somewhat disquieting at the absence of her husband. Ines thought even the presence of a maid at this time ought to calm her, as small bumps worked up her arms in a shiver. Neither the distressing call she in London had received from her needlessly mysterious husband nor the facts of his illicit business she in the near past had become aware of, did much to keep her mind from vexatious speculation. Worries and questions pressed in her brain and tingled at her nerves, and as she stood cold in the dark of their parlor and deliberated if something might have happened to him. Unable to shake thr feeling something of occult nature had happened she rasped a ragged breatg, a weak attempt in calming her wanderous mind. She could not bear to lose yet another soul she held dear and Ines gulped as her dog barked at her for attention, coming to realize her life had finally come to ameliorate. Now would be the perfect time for God to bring her back down and she knew she never had been his favorite. Then sounded the eerie ring of the telephone, breaking the silenced abode and Ines gasped. She hurried to answer, tentatively lifting her hand as the worries still swarmed in the back of her troubled head.
YOU ARE READING
LENZ LEATHER ━ THOMAS SHELBY
FanfictionEx-soldier Birmingham-gangster bets his life on luck and illegalities, adroit wit and burning passion streaking his blood-stained fingertips as a dire quarrel commence between himself and the disturbed Dane who purloined his lover.