Monk walked into his pawnshop and closed the door behind him. "I got nothin' stolen, an' don't yer stand there like the judgment o' the Almighty. Yer put off me customers. Worse than buildin' next to a garbage dump, yer are."
"Good morning to you also, Smiler," Monk replied, making his way through the piles of pots and pans, musical instruments, flat irons, several chairs, and an endless variety of odd china. "I'll go as soon as I learn what I want to know."
"Then yer in fer a long wait, 'cause I in't got nowt stolen an' I don't know nowt about owt." Smiler glared at him.
"Of course you don't. And as to what you haven't got, I don't care," Monk responded.
Smiler looked surprised, then his eyes narrowed.
Monk remained exactly where he was. "But I could always become interested," he observed. "Nice sextant you have there. Pity it isn't at sea, doing some good."
Smiler's expression became even more dismal, as if he were staring at the ultimate disaster.
"When Mr. Durban was trying to prove that Jericho Phillips was responsible for the boy's death, did he speak to you about it?" Monk asked.
"Which boy's death?" Smiler retorted.
Monk was about to snap back with Fig's name, then he saw the wider opportunity and seized it. "Reilly," he replied. "Or any of the others?"
"'E asked everyone," Smiler told him. "Like I said, I know nowt about it, or anythin' else. I buy things as people need ter sell, an' I sell things they need ter buy. Public service, it is."
"I know you do. I need to buy information."
"I don't give away nowt."
"Neither do I," Monk agreed. "At least not often. You tell me what I want to know, and I'll pay you by not coming back here to keep on asking."
Smiler pulled down the corners of his mouth until his face was a mask of tragedy. "No better than Durban, yer aren't. Pick on the easy ones an' twist them, an' all the while creatures like Phillips, Pearly Boy, an' the Fat Man cut people's throats like they was rats, an' wot do yer lot do about it? Nowt! Absolutely, bloody nowt!"
"The Fat Man's dead," Monk told him.
"Yeah? Maybe." Smiler was skeptical.
"For certain," Monk responded truthfully. "I saw him go down, and I know for sure he never came up. I was there."
Smiler gave a long sigh. "Then yer done summink right fer once. But yer made an almighty mess o' gettin' Phillips. I s'pose someone got ter yer too, just like they did ter Durban. Yer can't beat the devil. Yer'll learn, if yer live long enough." He sighed again. "Which I doubt."
Monk swallowed. "Who got to Durban?"
"Ow do I know?" Smiler asked sadly. "'Arbormaster, magistrates, men with money and their heads in politics. Lumpers, fer all I know, judges too. Yer cut off one arm, an' while yer lookin' for the second one, it'll grow the first one back again. Yer'll not win. Yer'll just end up dead, like Durban. No one'll care. They'll say yer were a fool, and they'll be right."
"They won't say I didn't try!"
Smiler pulled an exaggerated expression, curling his lips downwards. "An' what good'll that do yer, in yer grave?"
"I'm going to see Phillips hang, I promise you," Monk said rashly. He could feel the rage boil up inside him and see in his mind Phillips's sneering face in the dock as the verdict came in.
"Yer'd best slit 'is throat, if yer can catch 'im," Smiler advised. "Yer'll not catch him fair, any more than Durban did. After 'im like a terrier with a rat one minute, an' the next he backed off like 'e'd been bit 'isself Then six months later, back after 'im again. Then out of the blue sky, 'ands off an' leave 'im alone as if 'e were the Lord Mayor o' the river. Durban din't call the tune, I can promise you that. An' neither will yer, for all yer swank coat an' yer quality boots. Yer'll end up just like 'im, bitin yer own tail. I'll give yer ten shillings fer them boots, if yer don't ruin 'em first?"
"So someone's protecting him," Monk said acidly. "I'll get them too. And I'll keep my boots."
Smiler gave a sharp bark that with him passed for laughter. "Yer don't even know 'oo they are. An' before yer start threatening me, like Durban did, I take bloody good care not ter know either. Offer's open on the boots."
"Who is Mary Webber?"
"Gawd! Not yer too?" Smiler