The January rains came down as a cascade, and it was something that kept most people indoors and off of the streets, certainly at this time of night. Perched atop one of the roofs overlooking an unremarkable municipal street lay Shay Alden, concealed beneath a heavy grey wool blanket that broke his silhouette to an indistinct shape that the eye might pass over, mistaking for a part of the structure. The blanket was soaked through at this point, so it hung heavy to his body, but the rain never bothered Shay. Two years on the Western Front had all but acclimatized the Irishman to poor weather. There were periods of the war where he felt he’d never be dry again, and on evenings like tonight, he simply was glad he wasn’t up to his knees in mud in the miles and miles of zig-zagging trenches, wondering when a bullet might find him, or a loosely aimed shell would crash down in his trench and end everything in an instant. However, here in London, he was safe from those who would seek to end his life, but he never let his guard down. A single mistake would compromise him, and that simply would not do.

His reason for being perched atop a building in the driving rain in the midst of winter was a simple one. Two days after Christmas, Shay was seated with Samuel Addley, a fellow Rougher whom Shay was not particularly close with. The man struck Shay as a rather intense lad, his attention to his personal grooming and tense mannerisms gave Shay the impression that Samuel Addley wasn’t unlike a shark; smooth and graceful in his way, but when he unpredictably snapped, there wasn’t much you could do to abate his rage. Still, Shay felt comfortable around the man. Past calling him “Mick” on occasional as a playful rib at his heritage, Sam had never made Shay feel unwelcome, and that night, surrounded by Christmas decorations and patrons who were either eager to get away from their families or had none, Shay knew what Sam was asking him was serious when he actually called him by his real name.

[I]Shay, I need you to keep an eye on my sister. Word is, she’s leaving her flat late at night and I want to know why… and I need a man I can trust to keep her safe.[/I]

The words ran through Shay’s mind as clear as when they were uttered through a cloud of Sam’s third cigarette. Shay agreed, and he accepted the payment of a pack of cigarettes and bottle of whisky more as a thank-you gift than payment for spying on Sam’s sister. And so, for a month, Shay had staked Vera’s apartment, night after night, and when she did leave, always just before midnight, Shay followed discretely at a distance, twice even passing her on the street, face downturned, so she would disregard him as a threat, just someone going for a late night stroll, perhaps to the pub or back. After two weeks, he’d discovered her meeting with a man on the same street, where she purchased what looked like some kind of drug from the man. The exchange only lasted a minute or two at most, so it wasn’t as if she were exposed for long. Shay didn’t make assumptions, so he had to know for certain what she was up to. 

A week prior, he’d wrapped his war-time Enfield rifle in a thick blanket and walked unmolested down the street, no one sparing him more than a passing glance. Finding a fire escape for one of the taller buildings lining the street, Shay had set up his perch at 2245h, knowing he’d be waiting well over an hour for the woman. However, he wanted to see when the street pusher would arrive, and who else he made deals with, wanting to read their faces. Through the  2.5x magnified sight of his rifle, Shay had a slightly clearer picture of the street below, able to make out faces and better see what they were handing off. When Vera Addley showed up, as predicted, just before midnight, the exchange happened and Shay saw the brown bag that was stuffed into one of Vera’s pockets with haste. It was almost certainly a drug of sorts, but impossible to tell which. He’d have to tell Sam about it, that much was certain.

As it turned out, the rest of the week had been scarce trying to find Sam, and near impossible to find an appropriate moment to talk to the man about Vera. The night before Vera’s next scheduled pick-up, Shay managed to pull Sam to the side before him and a couple of the others managed to run barrels of rum down to the docks. 

[I]“Sam, you ought to know that I’ve certainly watched Vera purchase some kind of drug from a street pusher. I couldn’t tell what it is because it was in a bag, but she’s been going to the same man on the same street at the same time each night… I had to make sure. She’s due tomorrow night just before midnight.”[/I] Shay had said.

Sam nodded, clearly managing his building anger. [I]“Okay, okay. Not what I wanted to hear, but okay. You do what you were doing, make sure nothing happens to her, and I’ll be waiting for her back at her flat for when she gets back.”[/I] He grasped Shay by the shoulders. [I]“You’re a good man, Shay. Good man…”[/I] he said, walking off to rejoin the others. Sam swore loudly and kicked a discarded bottle, it shattering against a wall. The others turned to look at Sam, some throwing inquisitive glances at Shay before Sam waved his hand in dismissive irritation. [I]“I’m fucking fine! Let’s get this job done, boys.”[/I]

And so, on this rainy evening, Shay set up perch for what he’d assumed would be the last time, watching Vera’s beautiful face through the crosshairs of his optics and the as of yet unidentified street pusher. The transaction went as usual, and Shay began to relax when suddenly, someone called out to her, prompting her to turn and pull out a revolver from her pocket. Shit, she was carrying? His entire body tensed as he moved his crosshairs to the alleyway near where Vera and the dealer were standing. Subconsciously, his thumb pressed the safety lever forward, releasing the trigger block.

Their voices would have normally carried in the night, but the rain drowned out the conversation, but this clearly was not an expected or wanted encounter – the gun on Vera was a testament to that. He watched the man, gauging his intent. The tight grip on his revolver was sign enough that he was here to kill. Shay lined up the post of his sight just under the man’s eye and as he had done dozens of times before, let out a slow exhale that joined a depressed trigger moments later. Shay watched as a ragged red hole of the powerful .303 round punched through the man’s eye and blew apart a brick in the wall behind him, along with bits of bloodied skull and brain tissue. He racked the bolt with a forefinger and thumb, his left eye not leaving the offset scope. Another tried to find shelter, and Shay drove the point home by putting a round through his bicep. The bolt racked. Another went down when Shay’s sight went to his leg, and two seconds later another had a shot through the hip. They were quick, sloppy shots, but the entire exchange of fire only took ten seconds. His magazine still had six rounds, and he searched for the other gang members who would try to harm Vera, who wisely fled. He followed her with his rifle and his teeth gritted when he caught sight of the Paddy wagons rounding the corner, cutting her off. Moments later, Vera was slapped in cuffs and taken out of sight by the constabulary. 

“Fuck.” Was all Shay managed to mutter as he gathered his rifle and the soaked blanket and hurried down the fire escape as fast as possible. He had to get to Vera’s apartment and warn Sam as soon as possible, especially before the cops had a warrant for searching her property.

~ ~ ~

[I]Four days later…[/I]

Halloway Prison wasn’t unlike every other prison Shay had seen in his life, the same monolithic structure with high barbed wire fences and the same dour guards standing watch. The only thing that made this place different was that it was for the women, and so Shay and Eli Lindsey were confident in relaxing as they waited for Sam to secure Vera’s release. It was unlikely, after all, that they’d run into anyone who might recognize them here.

Both men leaned against the Peugeot, about half way through their cigarettes. “I’m surprised you aren’t sporting a shiner for Vera getting snagged by the coppers.” Eli said, exhaling an acrid cloud between pursed lips. He rarely used his fingers after igniting a cigarette. Shay flicked some ashes free with a thumb and took a drag. “Was bad luck, is all. Sam has a bit of a temper, but he isn’t irrational. Had I not been there, miss Vera would have likely been shot, and there’s not much you can do about coppers showing up. Thank the Lord miss Vera didn’t shoot at the Adders herself, or she’d be in a world more trouble. Ah, here we are.” He said, nodding as the outer gates were opened to let Sam and Vera out. As Sam approached, Shay flicked away his smoke and climbed into the driver’s seat, Eli heading around front to crank the engine.

“Shay, take us to the Tawdry, eh? Vera deserves a drink, and I certainly need one after this.” Sam asked, his voice tense but not unkind. Shay nodded.

“Of course.” He said simply, the vehicle turning over and Eli climbing in, smoke still dangling between his lips. Shay put the vehicle in gear and started on a course down the now-familiar streets to the Tawdy Countless. Eli and himself remained silent as Sam chastised Vera for a number of things, the narcotics being paramount about it. Both men in the front bench didn’t dare butt in, preferring to be ignored for as long as possible. It was impossible not to feel bad for Vera; everyone made mistakes, and she happened to be in a spot where it came back to bite her. Shay wondered if Sam would have been easier on her if the Jolly Roughers hadn’t suffered a hell of a setback when the coppers had raided the gang the year prior. Probably not, he decided.

Eli suddenly spoke, breaking the brief silence as the siblings came to an impass. Shay inwardly groaned when Eli put him on the spot, asking him to reveal his role in these events. Shay spoke, his voice soft and melodic. “Begging your pardon, miss Vera, it was me who was the rifleman that night. I was asked to keep an eye on you and keep you safe, and so I did.” He said, without elaborating further. He didn’t want to toss out more information than he absolutely had to.

Not long after, Shay pulled the vehicle up to the curb in front of the Tawdy Countess and headed inside with the others. Making a straight line for the bar, Shay was hoping Vera wasn’t in for a world of hurt. He caught Vera’s eye as she walked past with Sam, and Shay looked at her with apologetic eyes. He’d saved her life, so why did he feel like a damn villain?