"Remind me again why you are tagging along." John Wither looked at Crissly, while she frolicked through the harbor districts narrow alleys.

"Because it's dangerous alone out here?"

"I'm not convinced."

"I can help you interrogate that woman?"

"Still not convinced."

"The station is soooo boring."

"That seems about right."

A cab, pulled by a steam powered mechanical horse, had brought them out of the inner city, up to the boarder of the harbor.

The harbor district was by far the most unwelcoming place in all of Swindon. The streets were mostly frequented by sailors and whores, greedy eyes were watching from the dark and the night brought the very possible danger of sudden death.

Their police uniform were like shields, that protected them from most low lifes. Even if the law wasn't the only player in the game of controlling the city, killing a representative of the Crown was repaid with a visit from the Inquisition and when the Crown's zealots were to come, it wouldn't matter who was guilty. If the Inquisition came to the harbor, there would be no harbor afterwards.

Nevertheless, their rank didn't make them invincible and Wither always kept his hand close to his revolver.

From the outside, Cloverfield was nothing more than warehouse. The windows were barricaded, as were the doors and any other openings. The only entrance they could find, was a single backdoor, guarded by a musclebound, bald headed giant with a thick black beard. He could have been Gus McGill's twin, if it wasn't for the hair color.

"Notin to see 'ere. Scam", the giant growled when they approached him.

"Hello! How are you?" Crissly leaned towards him like a curious child.

"Peachy. Now beat it, Missy."

"You seam lonely. Do you have a wife? I can get you one, if you want."

The giant raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

"You know, there is this woman, Emilia, and she would looove you. I could bring her along next time. For small fee, of course."

The process of thought was clearly visible in the doorman's face.

"She pretty?", he asked.

"Well, you know. In that brisk, pristine kind of way."

"Sure...sure I know...Fine, get in."

When he entered Cloverfield, Wither was hit by a wall of screams and oven-like heat. Dozens of men stood around a pit, cheering, waving fists and money. Wither had to use all his strength to even reach the counter, where a grumpy bartender polished some dirty glasses with an even dirtier rag. Fighting to stay afloat, Wither clung to the counter, as the patrons were like waves crushing against the coast of Swindon.

"Name's Benny. What can I do for you, Officer?"

"Hello, Johnathan Wither. I'm looking for a lady who can share some delicate information."

"Then you should give the pit a try."

The first thing he saw, was a mountain of moving meat in the middle of the pit. The shirtless man moved down there around his opponent and his fists rained down like a cascade. Suddenly he tried to charge and seconds before the collision, his opponent, a redheaded, skinny woman made a quick step to the left and the man ran into the pit wall. He staggered back, the woman kicked him in the back of the knee and he fell. One moment later she was sitting on top of him, beating the man until he stopped struggling.

The crowd went ballistic, so that Wither had to cover his ears. The woman left the pit, where Benny was waiting for her, a clean shirt and a bottle of brandy in hand.

"Miss? Excuse me, Miss."

Once again Wither had to fight the crowd, as he tried to reach the woman. When he stood in front of her, the bottle in her hand was already half empty.

"Excuse me, my name is Jonathan Wither. May I have a moment with you."

"Fuck off, blue-belly."

"I can pay."

She paused and took a long look at him.

"Wither, was it? Follow me."

Clover, as she called herself, was Irish. She had red hair, brown eyes and her face was covered with freckles. Her throat showed clearly visible scares from a garrote wire. All in all, she was a sight to behold, not necessarily pretty but surrounded by an aura of confidence.

She brought Wither to an office on the second floor of the building. It had a desk and a couch, the remaining space was stuffed with file cabinets.

Clover sat down on the table top and took another sip from her brandy.

"I'm listening", she said.

"I need information about the Skinner. Anything."

"My, my. Only interested in the exceptionally delicate, aren't ya?"

"Do you know his identity or not?"

Clover gave Wither another long look.

"No. And it drives me crazy. I can name you every cutthroat in the whole city, but this one never leaves any tracks. Or witnesses, for that matter."

"That's a shame."

"But I may know where he's hiding."

"May?"

"Well, let's say, there's a place near the city, that nobody has left alive yet. Could be a ghost story, but my gut tells me otherwise."

"And what would it cost me, for you to tell me about this place?"

"I usually let no chance slide to rip off a bobby. But the Skinner is very bad for business. So my only demand is, that you stay alive and tear this guy a new one."

"We have a deal."

When Wither left Cloverfield, Crissly was waiting for him at the exit.

"Where in Crown's name have you been?", he asked.

"I don't know", she answered happily.

"Did anyone ever tell you, that you seem a little strange sometimes?"

"Maybe. I never listen."