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Juliette turned to him and smiled.

“Archibald Welch, I believe?” she said sweetly. “Do you go by Archie?”

Archibald threw his drink down. “No.”

“Really?” Juliette kept trying. “Archiboo, then?”

Roma rolled his eyes.

“All right, that’s enough,” he cut in. “We know about your business with the Larkspur, Mr. Welch, and I’m sure you know who we are. So, unless you want both the Scarlet Gang and the White Flowers coming down on your ass, I suggest you start talking. Now.”

Roma had decided to go rough in contrast to Juliette’s niceties, but it seemed neither tactic was working. Archibald didn’t give any indication that he had processed or even heard Roma’s threat. He just kept drinking his drinks.

“Come on, it’s not even information about you that we need,” Juliette said, allowing a whine to slide into her voice. “We only want to know how to find the Larkspur.”

Archibald remained quiet. The jazz music raged on in the background and the prostitutes mingled about, searching for their next clients. One came near, a fan clutched in her delicate fist, but she pivoted on her heel almost immediately, sensing the tension in that little nook of the bar.

Juliette’s fingers worked at a bead on her dress. She was prepared to prompt the man again, when, to her shock, he set down his glass and said, “I’ll tell you.”

His voice was gravel against rubber. It was the collision of a ship against the coastal rocks that would take it down with all its men.

Roma blinked. “Really?”

Juliette had a suspicion Roma hadn’t meant for that reaction to slip out. Upon Roma’s response, Archibald’s face split into a smile. His eyes became swallowed by his heavy lids, consumed into dark whorls.

It was the scariest sight Juliette had ever seen.

“Sure,” Archibald said. He signaled to the bartender, who abandoned her present order to cater to him immediately. He was holding three fingers up. “But let’s make this fun. One question answered for every shot you take.”

Roma and Juliette exchanged a perplexed glance. How did that benefit Archibald Welch in any way? Was he that desperate for drinking buddies?

“Sounds fair,” Roma grumbled. He eyed the liquid that had been set down before him with more disgust than his usual neutral expression.

Archibald raised his shot glass with a grin. “Ganbei.”

“Cheers,” Juliette muttered, clinking her glass with his and Roma’s.

The liquid went down fast, fire hitting the back of her throat. She cringed more at the taste than the heat, at the terribly cheap brand that her tongue immediately revolted against.

“God, what is this hellfire?” Juliette coughed, clinking the empty glass down. Roma did the same, careful to keep his expression steady.

“Tequila,” Archibald said. He gestured for the bartender. “Next question?”

“Hey,” Juliette protested. “That didn’t count.”

“I said one shot for each question, Miss Cai. No exceptions.”

Three more shots landed before the three of them. This one tasted even worse. Juliette could have been drinking the gasoline that fueled the Scarlet cars.

“We’ll start simple,” Roma said once those glasses clinked down, jumping in before Juliette could squander another question. “Who is the Larkspur?”

Archibald shrugged, feigning apology. “I do not know his name; nor have I seen his face.”

It felt like a lie. At the same time, Juliette could not imagine that this man had any reason to protect the Larkspur. He did not have to engage in this conversation at all if he wished to tell nothing.

Juliette resisted the urge to crush the shot glass in her fingers. “But you have interacted with him? He is a real person with a real place of operation?”

Archibald made a noise of consideration. “I believe there are two questions lurking in that.”