Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, I’m just borrowing things for a while and I promise I’ll put everything back exactly how I found it when I’ve finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

Rating: See chapter 1.

Spoilers: See chapter 1.

Notes: See chapter 1. I shamelessly nicked a line from The Full Monty. See if you can guess what it is. ;)

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

30th September 1938, Evening

It was close to midnight when Boyd, Grace and Stella finally made it back to the agency. Drake had insisted on keeping the police away, and he had several of his lackeys clear up the mess left by Vine, Hoyle and Greene. Boyd wasn’t particularly sorry to see any of them go, but it left him at a dead end as to where to find McQueen.

Drake had also insisted on having his own doctor patch him up. He had then stayed at the club to oversee the tidying, but he had sent Stella back with Boyd, stating it would be safer for her. No one argued; they were all too shell shocked and bone weary.

Stella was remarkably calm now she knew Drake would survive, but Grace seemed to be withdrawing. As Boyd drove the Bentley back to the agency, he reached over and took her hand.

“Don’t think about it,” he said softly.

“Think about what?” Grace asked, her voice hollow.

“What almost happened,” Boyd replied. “You can mull over the ‘what ifs’ until they start to consume you. They’ll eat you up alive and you don’t want that to happen. Yes, you could have died. But Frankie is…was an excellent marksman. He knew what he was doing, and he ended up saving your life. You could have died, but you didn’t, and that’s what you need to concentrate on. Not the almost dying, but the fact you’re alive.” He squeezed her hand and returned his full attention to the road.

There was still a light on downstairs in the agency, but Boyd went through the door cautiously. He’d just about made it in the room when he found his arms full of Eve.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded to know once she had released him. “I’ve been worried sick! I tried to call the club several times, but there was no answer. I’ve been hearing news of a shooting!”

Boyd looked at her sharply. “Heard from whom? How?”

Eve gave him a withering glare. “Peter, darling, try to remember who I am.”

“Piss off,” Boyd snapped, stalking over to where he kept the whisky and pouring four healthy measures.

Eve looked at him for a moment before glancing at Grace and Stella. “What’s happened?” Her eyes widened as they fell on Stella’s bloodstained clothing. “Oh my God, there was a shooting. What happened?” she repeated.

“Sit down, Eve,” Grace said suddenly, her voice gentle.

When Boyd handed Grace a glass, he studied her face for a moment, then nodded slightly to himself when he saw her expression was clear. He was worried she would go into some sort of shock, but she once again seemed to be in control of herself.

“What’s happened?” Eve demanded to know again, her voice laced with steel and panic.

Slowly, with the occasional input from Boyd, Grace told Eve what had happened and how Frankie had saved her life. Boyd sat next to Deep Throat, holding her hand tightly; Eve in turn was gripping him that hard that her knuckles were turning white.

To everyone’s surprise, though, she didn’t cry. “Cigarette me, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered.

Grace lit two and handed one to Eve. “I’m sorry. I understand how you must be feeling.”

Eve smiled gratefully. “I know you do. Frankie was much more than my driver or bodyguard, he was my friend.” She wiped at her eyes roughly. “Shit.”

“At least it thins the playing field out,” Boyd stated dryly, looking around the office. “Where’s Baby Face?”

Eve frowned. “I thought he was with you.”

It is a well known fact that silence can be deafening, though very few people believe that until they have experienced it. At that precise moment, in the Old ‘N Cold Detective Agency, the silence was so loud Boyd actually thought he had gone deaf.

At Eve’s words, Boyd’s hand stopped, invariably, halfway to his mouth with the glass. “We haven’t seen him,” he replied slowly.

“He hasn’t been back here,” Eve said. “I’d have known if he had.”

“Stella, when did Spencer leave The Jade Flower?” Grace asked.

The red-headed woman looked surprised at being spoken to. “He didn’t get out of the car when we arrived at the club. He said something about checking a few things out, and that if you asked, Boss, to tell you he’d be back later.”

Boyd stared at her with his dark eyes. “Did he say how much later?”

Stella shook her head. “But Spencer did say he would call back here to pick you, Miss Lockhart and Mrs Foley up and bring you to the club for the last show.”

“What time is that?” Eve asked.

“It usually starts at eleven.”

“Shit!” Boyd exclaimed, slamming his drink down on the table and standing up abruptly. “Where the fuck is he?!”

“Peter,” Eve said.

“Language, please,” Grace murmured simultaneously.

Boyd glared at them both. “Yes, that’s my name, don’t wear it out. And yes, language is what we use to communicate. Congratulations to you for pointing the bloody obvious out!” He started pacing. “I have almost lost everyone here with this fucking case; I will not lose Spencer.”

“Well let’s look through these notes to see if he’s left us a clue,” Eve said, gesturing to the pile of papers on Spencer’s desk.

Boyd grunted. “I doubt it, and even if you found something, good luck trying to translate his handwriting.”

“Bad?” Grace asked.

“Does the term ‘spider scrawl’ mean anything to you?” Boyd replied.

Stella held up a piece of paper, turning it every way before finally deciding it was useless. “This will take us all night,” she murmured.

“Not necessarily,” Eve replied, lighting another cigarette. She glanced at Grace. “Do you want one?”

Grace smiled. “I’m trying to quit,” she said, looking at Boyd.

Eve rolled her eyes. “As I was saying, I’m waiting for some information from work. That’s how I knew about the shooting. I was on the telephone with a colleague and he told me the rumours.”

“You work fast,” Grace observed.

“We have to.”

“It’s true that walls have ears where the spooks are involved,” Boyd told Grace with a smile and a wink. The banter was forced, but everyone knew they had to remain positive about what was going on.

“Does Baby Face have a lot of contacts you wouldn’t necessarily know about, Boyd?” Grace asked.

He shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. Anything’s possible, Grace.”

A sharp rap on the front door made everyone jump and Boyd’s hand went straight for his gun, but Eve shook her head. “I’ll get it.”

She crossed the room and opened the door, admitting a non-descript man of average height and build, with close-cropped dark hair and wide eyes. He was holding a file, but Boyd paid little attention. Used to Spencer’s handwriting, he had just spotted something on the desk that made his blood run cold.

“Thank you, darling,” Eve said to the man, taking the file and dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

“Who was that?” Stella asked curiously.

“A colleague of mine, Handy Andy,” Eve replied somewhat absently. She opened the file and took out several sheets of paper, two of which contained photos. She spread them on the other desk and started to study them.

Boyd, having picked up the paper from Spencer’s desk, scanned it quickly and straightened. He turned at the same instant Eve looked up.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Eve nodded slowly. “Oh my God.”

Grace looked from one to the other and then to Stella, who shrugged. “Did we miss something?” The Rose asked.

Simultaneously, Boyd and Eve answered. “Tommy McQueen is both The Noose and The Blade.”

TBC