Chapter 14: The Price of Rats
The olfactory assault on Lou Scarelli's gambling dens sent a shockwave of bewilderment and anger through his organization. His enforcers, usually quick with their fists or saps, were powerless against an enemy they couldn't see, smell, or punch. Scarelli himself, a man of volcanic tempers, was reportedly incandescent with rage, demanding answers his underlings couldn't provide. The loss of income was significant, but the loss of face, the public display of his vulnerability, was arguably worse.
As Dr. Finch predicted, Scarelli's immediate suspicion fell on Desmond Fitzpatrick. This new, sophisticated rival, with his talk of "modern methods," seemed the most likely culprit for such an unorthodox attack. Tensions between the two factions, already simmering, ratcheted up several degrees. There were reports, relayed by Mickey's ever-attentive Goblin ears, of minor skirmishes in neutral territories, glares exchanged in dimly lit bars, and veiled threats passed through intermediaries.
Elias, however, knew that Scarelli wasn't one to let a mystery lie if he could beat an answer out of someone. While his main suspicion was Fitzpatrick, he would also look for easier, closer targets to vent his frustration and extract information. And Mickey O'Halloran, who Scarelli's investigators Silas and Benny believed was Elias's easily intimidated informant, was a prime candidate.
Sure enough, two days after the "Stink Bomb Offensive," as Mickey had privately dubbed it, Silas and Benny found him. They weren't gentle this time. Anya, from a discreet rooftop perch that Elias had ensured was equipped with a clear escape route for her, watched with detached precision as they cornered Mickey in a narrow alley near the old port, far from his usual haunts. There was no pretense of a polite chat.
"We know your 'Mr. Thorne' was behind the stink at the dens, rat," Silas hissed, his cold eyes promising pain. Benny, the broken-nosed thug, cracked his knuckles. "Mr. Scarelli is very... unhappy. He wants to know how it was done. And he wants to know everything about this Thorne."
Mickey, for all his Goblin-enhanced slipperiness, was caught. He feigned terror, which wasn't entirely an act. "I don't know nothin' 'bout no stink, I swear!" he babbled, shrinking back. "Mr. Thorne, he just has me run errands! I just told you what you wanted to hear before!"
Benny backhanded him across the face, a sharp crack that echoed in the alley. Mickey yelped, tasting blood.
"Wrong answer," Silas said calmly. "We have ways of making even rats sing."
Elias, receiving Anya's terse, coded signal about Mickey's capture via their dead-drop system (a loose brick in a specified wall), felt a flicker of cold calculation. He had anticipated this. Mickey was a tool, and sometimes tools were put at risk. But Mickey, despite his flaws, had become a surprisingly useful asset. Losing him permanently would be an inconvenience. More importantly, allowing Scarelli to successfully torture information out of one of his agents, even a low-level one, would set a dangerous precedent. It would signal weakness.