“Have you lost your senses?” Malarkey shouted.

“Keep your voice down, Malarkey,” said Garrick, twisting the needle a fraction. “Or you may startle me into popping your heart like a rancid bag of pus.”

From his position, Malarkey could not see the tattooist. “Where is Farley? Have you murdered the old geezer?” he asked quietly.

“Not murdered,” replied Garrick. “I etherized him is all, and rolled him under the stairs. I am not an animal.”

“What you are is a dead man, Garrick,” hissed the king of the Rams.

Garrick smiled and his teeth were like corn husks. “I would be a dead man already if you had had your way. Isn’t that the truth of it, Your Majesty?”

Malarkey paled slightly as it occurred to him that if Garrick was here, then his murder boys were more than likely getting their eyeballs examined by mud crabs in the Thames.

“It was a contract from a valued customer. Business is all.”

“I appreciate that,” said Garrick, who had surmised as much. “But I need to know the name of this customer whose value outweighs the risks of crossing swords with yours truly.”

“That’s a name you ain’t extracting from me,” said Malarkey, who had borne terrible tortures before now.

Garrick sighed, as if it were a tragedy how people drove him to commit acts that were against his nature. “Let me tell you a story before you makes up your mind proper. It is the story of Samson and Delilah. Samson was a great Israelite warrior who laid low all before him, a little like your good self, Otto. But then the treacherous Delilah chopped off his precious hair and drained his power. It’s a brief story, but I think you get the point.” With every phrase, Garrick slipped the cold needle in a whisper further toward Malarkey’s heart.

Malarkey’s face was drenched with sweat, but he held firm. “Shave my head then, you devil. You will get no name from me.”

Garrick expected this resistance from a man of Malarkey’s reputation, but he had another card up his sleeve.

“Personally I think that whole head-shaving business is a euphemism for stealing the man’s power, but I know how fond you are of your gorgeous head of hair, so my threat to you is that if you do not tell me who put the black spot on my head, then I will...”

“You will shave my head. This is old news, Garrick.”

Garrick made a noise that could be described as a titter. “No. I will burn your scalp with my little bottle of acid, so that no hair will ever grow on your crown again. And then, in one month, when the men have bellyache from laughing, I will return in the dead of night and kill you.”

Malarkey’s lip twitched. “That is a powerful threat. A man would have to be soft to ignore a threat like that.”