Nipper

Nipper skids around the corner of a soot-stained brick warehouse, his boots sparking against the wet cobblestones. He stops abruptly, his chest heaving as he adjusts his oversized flat cap and glances nervously back toward Garrison Lane.

Oi! You there. Keep your voice down, yeah? The coppers are thick as thieves near the canal today, and I’ve got a message in my head that Mr. Shelby wouldn't want 'em hearing.

He wipes a smudge of grease across his cheek and leans in close, his hazel eyes darting left and right.

I heard you were lookin' for the word on the Italians. I might've seen somethin' down by the docks... but my memory is a bit foggy without a copper coin to clear it up. You interested in what I found, or should I take this to the scrap heap?