William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

“Yer goin’ fer a nice little swim, you are,” he said with malicious delight. “Mebbe our Lil won’t fancy yer so much when they fish yer out.” He laughed to himself, a sound like a clearing of the throat. “That’s if they do, like! Sometimes bodies get caught up in the piers an’ no one ever finds ’em. They stay there forever.”
    “I’ll make damn sure you come with me!” Monk retorted. “Is this what Lil wants?”
    “Don’t yer talk abaht ’er, yer . . .” Ollie’s voice shook with rage.
    Monk felt the knifepoint prick him. He moved towards the broad surface of the wharf where it stretched out ten or twelve yards into the dark water before dropping off abruptly, nothing beyond but the creaking, dripping stumps poking up like dead men’s bones. The smell of wood rot was heavy in his nose. It was dark but for the riding lights of a ship twenty yards away.
    “Garn!” Ollie prompted, shoving Monk forward with the knife blade. He was too close behind for Monk to twist and lunge back at him. Monk stepped down as he was told, and felt the boards slippery under his feet. The wood was pitted and slimy with age. He could hear the river swirling and sucking around the stakes, only a few feet below him now. Would he have any chance of swimming in that current? Could he catch hold of the next stake as he was carried against it? If it was that easy, why did people drown? Because the tide was fast, and the eddies pulled you away. Clothes soaked with water were too heavy to move in, and they pulled you under, no matter what you did.
    He had to fight now or not at all. And Ollie knew that, too. He gave another stiff prod and Monk stumbled forward onto his knees and rolled over rapidly, in a single movement, just as Ollie flung himself into the place where he had been, knife blade arcing in the air and stabbing downward.
    Monk scrambled to get up as a board cracked under his weight and swung for a moment, then plunged into the water below.
    Ollie was on his feet again. He grunted with satisfaction. He knew the pier, where the rotten planks were, and he had the knife. He was between Monk and the way back, but at least there was space between them now and Monk could make out his shape in the darkness. Would that be enough? It had been a long time since he had fought physically for his life—in fact, not since that dreadful night in Mecklenburg Square before his accident, and he remembered that only in flashes.
    Ollie was balancing on the balls of his feet, preparing to lunge.
    This was ridiculous! If he were not facing death it would be funny. He was fighting a man he did not know for the favor of a woman he would have paid not to touch! And if he told Ollie that, Ollie would be so insulted for Lil he would murder Monk in outrage.
    Monk gave a bark of laughter for the sheer lunacy of it.
    Ollie hesitated. For the first time he was faced with something he did not understand.
    Monk moved a step sideways, away from the board he knew was rotted and closer to the way back.
    Ollie froze, looking beyond Monk.
    It was then that Monk turned and saw the other figure in the gloom—solid, menacing, huge, with the riding lights behind him. Monk broke out in a sweat of panic—then the instant after, when the figure moved, recognized the slightly rolling gait of Durban from the River Police.
    “Now then, Ollie,” Durban said firmly. “You can’t take us both, an’ you don’t want to finish up on the end of a rope. It’s a bad way to go.”
    Ollie remained motionless, his jaw hanging.
    “Put that away an’ go on home,” Durban went on, moving a step farther towards Monk. His voice held such certainty as if there was no question in anyone’s mind that Ollie would obey.
    Ollie stood still.
    Monk waited.
    Underneath them the water sucked and belched, swirling around the pier stakes, and, somewhere, something was washed away and fell in with a splash.
    Monk was shuddering with cold, and relief.
    Ollie made his decision. He lowered his hand with the knife in it.
    “Into the water,” Durban directed.
    Ollie squawked with indignation, his voice high and harsh.
    “The knife!” Durban said patiently. “Not you.”
    Ollie swore, and tossed the knife. It fell into the water with only the faintest sound.
    Monk stifled a laugh that was far too close to hysteria.
    Ollie turned and stumbled up towards the street and the darkness swallowed him up.
    Another figure appeared behind Durban, slighter, and moving with an ease