Lost Boys of London [EN]

Chapter 6 - Tinkerbell

" The awful thing was that Peter thought this funny."

 - Peter Pan, JM Barrie - 

The dirty boozer, dubbed the Jolly Roger, was buzzing at this time. Under the glow of a red lantern, all kinds of scum gathered: Drunks, sailors, thieves, and riffraff.
When the mob of bobbies turned up there with the boy by the collar, the female owner wasted no time to invite them most politely to her premises for a parley.

The woman was Isabell Nichols. With her blonde curls and upswept hair, she was known by every man in London. A small silver bell tinkled softly on the velvet ribbon around her neck. This choker was her trademark and, along with the establishment in the former pewter forge, had given her the nickname: Tinkerbell.

The small room was filled with objects that might once have been elegant. Now, however, the jacquard curtains were bleached, the wood of the furniture was faded, and the gold paint was peeling. Captain Hook knew that many of the constables and sergeants were also frequent guests of the whores here. But he could not be wrapped around the finger when it came to the murder of children.

"Please, sit down," spoke Tinkerbell politely, pointing to a worn wingback chair.

"I'm not going to waste my time with you, Mrs. Nichols," he declared coldly, placing the wrapped package on the table. "Either tell me where Pan is hiding, or I'll arrest everyone in this shithole and make sure you all hang before dawn."

Tinkerbell stared at him with wide eyes as if he were the devil.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Captain." she gushed, and James Hook's lips puckered. Five children were dead, and his patience wore too thin for any more games. He pointed to the package in front of her.

"Open it." he hissed. "It came from this place, and we have witnessed the boy who delivered it." Hook didn't miss the color draining from her powdered features. Then, hesitantly, she pulled it towards her and slowly opened it. Wrapped in the rough paper lay a small, severed child's finger.

The red-painted lips opened and closed like a fish out of water. Her eyes lingered on the gruesome contents, then she suddenly dropped it as if she had burned herself and got up so quickly that her chair toppled over with a thud.

"I have nothing to do with this!" she exclaimed. Her voice was now hoarse and brittle. "I was passing these on! I didn't know what was in them! I KNOW NOTHING!"

"Where. Is. Pan?" repeated Hook in slow, menacing words. From his overcoat pocket, he pulled out a worn map of London and placed it on the table.

He could see that she was still struggling. Whatever it was that connected her to Pan, it made her hesitant. Hook banged his fist on the table. A small inkwell clinked as he did so. He had no sympathy for this pack. Five small crosses marked the sites of the murdered children. Twins, a boy from a finer home, and a little boy with many red-blond curls. He was lost forever to their mothers.

"WHERE?" he repeated icily.

Then she slowly pointed to a spot on the map with trembling fingers:

Kensington Gardens.