Mr. Wolf crossed the street, and unlike a person traveling in polite society, the crowd didn't want to part or in any way acknowledge his existence, leading to more than one shoulder bump. Finally, he got to standing in front of the Thistle Inn. It was apparent that groups of men and women had outgrown the buildings' insides and spilled outside onto the grass surrounding the building. Milling around the door, standing in small groups of two and three in the grassy and hard-packed clay areas to the sides of the building, talking, joking, gambling, smoking, and drinking.

Every few minutes, the wait staff, mostly women. With one or maybe two fa'afafine, continue the Pacific tradition of boys raised to perform the tasks and live as girls, but only to be something other here in New Zealand. All the servers were dressed in blue and black wool skirts, cut to show their shoes, just a touch of their calf for ease of movement. Unfortunately, for the servers, the outfit's bodice was not for ease of movement, revealing just enough cleavage to ensure that the patrons would not pay too much attention to the coins given out as change and want for the cold.

Mr. Wolf grabbed a beer from one of the waitress's trays as she moved by dropping a coin in its place in a single motion. From across the road, Emma watched as he joined and left the groups of merrymakers. Looking for that one person or people paying a little too much attention to the social butterfly that was Mr.Wolf.

"What do we want to happen?" asked Amelia

"Well, with any luck, he will find the men we are looking for and make them interested enough to attack him," Emma replied.

"What if they hurt him?" Amelia asked.

"Oh, trust me when I say that simple street thugs will not be able to hurt Mr. Wolf. Well, at least not too much," Emma replied.

"You seem quite comfortable with Mr. Wolf," she prompted her.

"Is he an object of your affection?" Aliela replied.

"My dear, you are my brother's fiancée. But this does not give you access to all My business activities. He is an employee for what it is worth," Emma replied.

"Quite correct, Emma. I should not infer anything about your employer-employee relationship, Captain," Amelia tilted her head and cocked her eyebrow. Emma looked at her cocked eyebrow and thought, "Damn. How did I fall for that?".

"Why are you asking?" Emma asked with curiosity.

"In the last few days, you have been wonderful. No one was here to help. Then you appeared, and you and your strange little friend were able to almost find Kincade. You seem most capable and remarkable. I am very grateful. However, I don't think you are what you pretend to be. If I was to be asked, I would say that you and Mr. Wolf are anything but not a Lady and her servant." Amelia said.

Emma stared at Amelia. "What is it she wants? We are helping her." she thought.

"Mr. Wolf and I may not be exactly what we appear to be, but we are good people," Emma said. Amelia flicked her eyes at Mr. Wolf as he wandered in and around the drinkers. Emma watched Amelia's gaze, "Well…I am a good person," she finished.

"Please don't misconstrue my intent. I am grateful. And, whoever you wish the world to believe you are, I will act accordingly. I just want you to know I am a friend. And when we find Kincade, I shall owe you a debt that cannot be easily repaid," said Amelia.

"Well, of course. Our help was never in question. My brother is important to me. And, I know he will have a fine bride," Emma reached out reassuringly and held Amelia's hand, patting it a few times, before turning to watch Mr. Wolf; she continued a scan of the crowd, hoping to see if anyone was watching or making some sort of move as the winds drove the clouds across the face of the moon.

The crowd of revelers started to thin as the night wore on. Mr. Wolf found that his effort had been for nothing. Sat down next to the door on a free bench. With his elbows on his knees, pulling out a pot pipe from his pocket, tapping the dregs out of the bowl. Gave the pipe stem a couple of sharp blows, clearing out any ash blocking the flow, finishing with a few experimental puffs. Opening up a small yellow pouch, he sat watching the crowd as he gently took a few pinches of tobacco and sprinkled them into the bowl resting in his palm. Striking a match against the bench, he held the flame to the tobacco, puffing until it lit. After talking to every person there, he'd found nowt about Big Ron or Dumb Reg. But he'd found out that plenty of people knew who they were and, in turn, were frightened by them. The stories painted the two as bone breakers, kidnappers, and thieves-for-hire. But they were not killers. In some ways, they would have fit right into his own crew. Glancing over to the alley where Emma was waiting and watching. Mr. Wolf thought that she would be happy with that small amount of news. It meant that Kincade was alive.

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Mr. Wolf's eyes cast across the ally where Emma should be, and sure enough, there she was. The bench bowed as someone sat next to him.

"Got any weed for me, chief?" a man's voice asked. Without even looking, Mr. Wolf held the yellow tobacco pouch out.

"You can tell a lot about someone with that question," said the man, taking the tobacco pouch in hand. "You didn't even look up to see who I was. That's a sailor's trait, sure is. But, then again, no sailor would wear 'em goggles. So, I would call you a flyer," finished the man handing back the pouch without opening it.

Mr. Wolf looked up, scanning the body for clues, and rested his gaze on the face of this new man. To Mr. Wolf, it seemed as if a sasquatch had put on a suit.

"At your service, mate. Now, by the look of you, I would say you are Big Ron," said Mr. Wolf.

"Also at your service, mate. I hear that you've been showing a bit of interest in my do in's. People who look for me already know what I can do for them. So, what is the guy's name? And where can we find him?" asked Big Ron.

Mr. Wolf laughed. For a moment, he took a puff on his pipe. Then he pointed the steam at Ron.

"Well, his name is Kincade Rollins, and you know where he is," said Mr. Wolf.

"Sorry, chief. Don't know the guy," said Big Ron.

"So, where is the other guy?" asked Mr. Wolf as he looked around for a shaved bear.

"He is around. He's always around," said big Ron, who was starting to look slightly annoyed.

Taking a few puffs on this pipe and looking across the street and into the ally to see Emma, Mr. Wolf tipped his head left towards Ron. Mr. Wolf reached under his jacket and removed his cleaver, slamming the blade down into the bench, where Ron could not get it.

"You took a guy. A few days ago. We want him back. We want him back bad," Mr. Wolf said, looking Ron in the eyes.

"Can't tell you about my old jobs. Let's call it a professional certainty. I don't know what I did. Because I don't ask. And so, now. When you ask me questions, I don't know now. Eh, that is a certainty. Case you were wondering," said Ron as he watched Mr. Wolf wrap his hand around the cleaver handle and look to Emma, who had crossed the street behind Big Ron.

"I got a couple of knives, too. And that girl will not help you," said Ron, tilting his head toward Emma.

Mr. Wolf pivoted from his seat and attempted to wrap his right arm around Ron's neck. Ron responded from his seated position. He stamped down on Mr. Wolf's foot and grabbed his collar, pulling forward. The unbalanced Mr. Wolf fell ahead of the bench, landing heavily on his palms. Ron took the opportunity to rise from his seated position and ran at Emma.

Emma watched as Ron rushed her, and the same thing happened to everyone who saw raging rhinoceros running toward them. Time slowed.

In the time between the tick and tock, Emma watched Ron. He had not straightened fully but had remained stooped over and running. Emma's mind reeled with options, and a knife was in her hands. Emma planted her back foot and angled her body into a fighter's stance. But it was too little too late. Ron drove his shoulder into her midsection, slamming Emma onto her back, forcing the breath from her, first when she hit the cobbles and then as the total weight and mass of Big Ron's body crashed onto her, driving the rest of the wind out of her body leaving her gasping for air. Big Ron scrambled to his feet; pulling Emma up, he spun her until her back was against his chest, spinning the both of them to where Mr. Wolf had been knocked down.

Mr. Wolf advanced on the two of them, cleaver in hand. "Are you alright?" he asked Emma, who took a breath and coughed, then raised her hand to her face and said, "No!" Then she reached one arm forward, balled up her fist, and pulled back her elbow into Big Ron's stomach.

"Aw, that almost hurt," said Ron, placing a long, slender blade on Emma's neck.

"Ron, you need to understand this, mate. We are seeking our friend. You give him to us, and you live. If you make this hard for me, we will do things to you that you will not like," Mr. Wolf warned Ron, waiving his cleaver in the air.

Ron grinned. "And what are you going to do? Nuff'in is what you going to do. You ponce."

Mr. Wolf raised his left hand. A smaller knife was concealed in his palm. Taking another step toward Ron and Emma, he flicked out his hand, launching the blade at the instep of Big Ron's foot. The knife sped true and fast; the point hit and bounced off Ron's boot, making an unsatisfying clanging sound on the cobblestones.

"Knew you were a sailor boy," Ron sneered. "Running around your little boats barefoot, tossing knives at people's feet. But, you see, you're not the only sailor in the world. And brass plates and cobblers are cheap enough," Ron said.

"So what do we do now?" Mr. Wolf asked Emma.

"I would like a little of our famous, 'Killing 'em' right about now. If you don't mind, that is," Emma gasped as she pulled at Ron's forearm.

Mr. Wolf looked at Ron, trying to devise a plan that saved Emma, and left Ron dead. Dumb Reg would be around, and we won't kill him. And, he will lead them to Kincade. Probably.

Mr. Wolf watched Ron's calm and mean eyes. They were eyes that had seen horrible things. Horrible things that Ron had done himself. Big Ron's dead fish eyes suddenly turned white as they rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the ground knees first, dropping the knife.

Emma breathed deeply, doubled over. Only to look up and see Hutchins's smiling face, broken shovel handle in hand? "Hutchens to the rescue, again, eh?" smirked Hutchens.