Dirtyhands was building an empire. He had a sharpshooter and a spider, but he needed someone who could fight hand-to-hand and never be scratched, someone who had an even balance of morality and ruthlessness.
Someone like him. Someone like you.
You were a worker at the White Rose. Not an indenture, and far less fun for the men (and sometimes women), but a curator, deciding what a man needed after a few exchanged pleasantries, while also managing to steal watches, brooches, etc.
One night you had successfully paired up twenty-three men and nine women, and made a good haul of valuables, all by ten o'clock. It had been a good night and you expected it to stay that way... until the Bastard of the Barrel walked in.
Even at fifteen, the boy had made quite the reputation for himself, and although avoiding business with him was preferable, meeting with him was inevitable.
"Mister Brekker, I never took you as the type to look for a good time." you said, using the husky voice you always used for possible clients.
"I'm not. There is a matter I need to discuss with you." His voice was raspy, like stones scratching against each other.
My spine straightened. "What business?"
He picked up his infamous crow's-head cane and brought it to his other side.
"Employment."