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James Rafferty didn’t like having a knife held at his throat, even at the best of times. He was tired, he was dirty, and he’d just killed a man, and he was finding it particularly trying.

“What the fuck do you want, Stiles?” he said in an irritated voice.

Billy Stiles blinked, obviously used to men cowering when he threatened them with a knife. “You killed Judge Belding.”

“I did,” Rafferty said agreeably.

“You and I were his second in command. Don’t you think I ought to kill you for it?”

Rafferty sighed. “What would that gain you?”

“Control of his men. They always listened to you, not me. With you out of the way, it should be clear sailing.”

“I have no interest in running Belding’s gang. I’m getting out of the business.”

Stiles’s scoff sprayed spittle in his face. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

“I really don’t care. Move the knife, would you? It’s tickling me.”

There was a moment’s pressure, but he didn’t even consider he might be misplaying this. Billy Stiles had been his enemy for the last five years of his life, but he was a vulnerable man, if you knew how to play him.

The knife lowered. “Assuming you really are going to just disappear, where does that leave me?” Stiles demanded.

“It leaves you with a gang of experienced men to do your bidding. They may not like you much, but they fear you, and you prefer it that way.”

Stiles didn’t argue. He hadn’t put the knife away yet, but at least he was no longer holding it to Rafferty’s throat. “What about his money?”

“What money?”

“Belding’s cache. You and I both know he kept his money well hidden in case the police ever caught on to his doings. Where is it?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. I don’t care. I have enough of my own.”

“Bollocks! Everyone cares about money.”

“I don’t need Belding’s money and I don’t know where it is. If you can find it, you can have it,” Rafferty said.

“Oh, no, boy-o. You won’t convince me of that. There’s no such thing as too much money.”

“I didn’t say I had too much. I just said I didn’t need his. I didn’t like some of the things I’ve done to earn it. Have it with my blessings.”

“You know where it is!” Stiles accused him. “You’re going to take it from me the first chance you get. I should cut your throat and have done with it.” He began to raise the knife, but Rafferty knocked it from his hand.

“I don’t know where it is, and I don’t care.”

“Maybe my men will persuade you.”

Rafferty just looked at him. Judge Belding was barely cold and already Stiles was talking about “his” men.

He wasn’t particularly worried about the band of thieves loosely under Belding’s and now Stiles’s rule.

They liked him better than they liked Stiles.

Still, any of them would cut a throat for even a tiny portion of Belding’s legendary fortune.

Rafferty sighed. “I tell you what. I’ll find the cache and we can split it among the men. That would be more than fair.”

“After I take my cut,” Stiles said slyly, and Rafferty knew just how big a cut that would be. “I knew you knew where it was.”

“I don’t. But I have an idea or two.”

“You wouldn’t be thinking of taking it yourself and cutting me out?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Because I’d gut you before I cut your throat. I’d...” Stiles went on for a bit on the gruesome things he would do to his body, but Rafferty stopped listening. He was a good deal taller and a great deal stronger than Billy Stiles, and he fought dirty. Stiles wouldn’t have a chance.

“Then we’re agreed.” Rafferty interrupted him. “I’ll find the money, you take your share and divide the rest with the men.”

“What about you? I don’t trust a man who lets money slip through his fingers.”

“I’ll take my share as well,” Rafferty agreed. “It may take me some time...”

“You’d best hope not. I’m not a patient man.”

“Don’t worry, Billy. You’ll get what’s coming to you. I’ll make sure of it.”