After an evening of probing Barry and the rest of the gang of misfits, Sigurd begrudgingly took them at their word. The next day, he left Mia and Nia in their care and set off to meet the reputable information broker.
“He'll be operating an inconspicuous stand in a dark alleyway, a little ways away from one of the square's roads—he'll be recognizable, and make sure to bring some spare coins. Trust me, you'll need them!" he recalled Barry instructed.
Following the directions, Sigurd went down the indicated, lone alleyway. It was quiet and dark, and in the middle of the path, there was a single man. Next to him was a stool and a block of wood.
The man was shifting his gaze, alternating between the alley's exits, when he saw Sigurd approach. A warm smile drew on his rugged face.
Sigurd returned the smile and waved, “You're the shoeshine guy, right?”
“Shelly's the name, the one and only, best shoeshine in town!" the shopkeeper replied. “Take a seat!”
‘He may be the best in town, but he doesn't have a lot of business,' Sigurd thought, sitting on the stool. ‘It might have to do with his connections, assuming Barry is to be trusted. Or it might just be a slow day.’
Shelly excused himself and grabbed Sigurd by the boots, placing the soles on the board in front of him. Taking an old rag to them, he started to polish the boots.
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“So, where'd you hear about me?" Shelly asked. “You're a new face, after all.”
“We have a mutual acquaintance of sorts," Sigurd replied. “He told me you're the guy to ask if I need info.”
Shelly stopped shining the boot and stared into Sigurd's eyes momentarily before resuming, “Word gets around and I do cater to gossip, but I don't know how useful I'll be. Try me.”
“Alright," Sigurd leaned in. “I've heard you may have knowledge of the latest... criminal activity in town?”
Again Shelly stopped and stared at Sigurd. He shook his head, “Nope, can't say I've heard a thing about that. I imagine it would be interesting to know.” He took to shining the boot again and added, “What do you do for a living?”
Barry's words echoed in Sigurd's mind, “He'll deny everything, pretend not to know, but that's why he'll need to be persuaded.”
“I'm nothing more than a simple adventurer," Sigurd replied nonchalantly. Heeding Barry's advice, he pulled out a golden coin from the pouch he brought and waved it in front of the shoeshine's face, “How about now? Have you heard anything?”
Shelly stopped shining and grabbed the coin. He proceeded to bite down on it—hard—and nodded in approval before stuffing it in his back pocket, “Yeah, I might've heard something. The criminal underworld is one that's always looking for their next cash cow.”
“Oh? Is there anything in particular that stands out? Any victims in need of aid?”
“It's hard to say, there's so many of them daily," Shelly finished shining one of the boots before moving on to the other. “My memory's a little foggy, you know? These things happen with age.”
Sigurd rolled his eyes and handed the man another coin.
Shelly nodded after verifying the second coin, “Would you look at that, my memory’s cleared up! Yeah, now that I think of it, there's a particularly nasty crime syndicate harassing a baker's family. It's real despicable!”
“Well, that's not good," Sigurd feigned surprise, leaning back. “But I'd love to help them out. Do you know their address?”
“Oh,” Shelly strained, his face contorting. “I might’ve, but, gosh there’s so many numbers and things to keep track of, and so many bakeries! It’s not easy for an old man like me.”
“For goodness’ sake!” Sigurd protested grunted. “Here!”
Shelly took the third coin and verified it, pocketed it, and smiled, “It’s a pleasure doin’ business! Now listen well, I’m only gonna say this once...”