A Murder Shall Commence.

Chapter 5

As it turned out, "not far" for Fisher was indeed quite the distance in mine and Newham's opinion. We stayed close together and close to Fisher as we could, as the streets became more dingy and run-down, and dirtier and a lot more unfriendly. The little Inspector, though, seemed decidedly unfazed.

Newham, though, was more on edge than I was. I couldn't hold his hand, as I was masquerading as a boy, and since the way we walked was awfully quiet I didn't fancy breaking the silence, especially with my middle class accent.

"There" Fisher pointed, up to a grimy old sign which otherwise I would have totally missed. Under the dirt, I saw a crude picture of a bull, faded blue.

"Right" I muttered, a little apprehensively, running a dry tongue around my lips.

"Let's make this quick" Newham said briskly. "Lead on, Fisher."

"Right" Fisher said hesitantly, and I finally caught a glimpse of uncertainty from him. He strolled almost calmly up to the rotten old door, and opened it, allowing a rush of hot air to rush out, coupled with the smell of alcohol and the roar of the men drinking inside. We followed the police inspector inside, and the three of us wormed our way to the bar.

"Yer the lan'lord?" Fisher yelled over the noise, having attracted the attention of the bartender.

"After a free binge, are ya, mate?" the bartender replied, with a mocking smirk on his face. He then told Fisher to go away, using far too colourful language to be printed.

"Nah, mate" Fisher replied loosely. "I were told yer might have a message, for sommat comin' lookin'."

"Message, eh?" the bartender smirked. I elbowed someone not to gently in the ribs to get up next to Fisher.

"Yeh" I added, trying to mimic Fisher's London twang, and smiling rather wolfishly at the bartender. Personally, I thought I was doing alright.

"Awrigh', young misters" the bartender said pacifyingly. "Ere yer are. Don't make much sense to me, so I don't see what you two brats'll make of it."

He shoved a piece of paper into Fisher's outstretched hand. I was too busy congratulating myself on being mistaken for a boy.

There was a shout from behind, and we both spun around, just in time to see Newham launch a flying fist into another man's face.

"Kit, take it and get out" Fisher muttered, shoving the paper into my hand and pushing me towards the door.

"Oi!" he then yelled, stepping between Newham and the other man, both of whom, I noticed with a jolt, had blood streaming down from one part or other of their faces.

"Old it back, both of yer" Fisher snapped, with surprising force and effect. He glared at the second man, pushing Newham towards me and the door at the same time. We stood together, just by the door, waiting for Fisher to join us so we could leave. But Fisher hadn't been fast enough to escape himself, as another giant of a man picked him up by the scruff of his neck, so his feet were easily a foot off the floor.

"Ello again" the giant grumbled, turning the little man to face him. Fisher, to my amazement, didn't even flinch. He rolled his tongue around his teeth, experimentally, almost, before flashing an incredibly un-Fisherlike smile. It was more of a gloat, really.

Then everything happened at once.

I had been so focused on Fisher that I hadn't spotted the rest of the men, about four or five of them, who had stood up to encircle the pair. Fisher brought his knee up fast, straight into the jaw of the man who held him. The grip on his shirt was released, and the wiry little Inspector dropped to the floor, ducking a punch thrown at his face and sprinting for the door, taking my hand again and pulling me after him, out of the bar. Newham slammed the door behind us and leant on it.