Four Hours, Thirty Seconds

Chapter 31

Four Hours, Thirty Seconds

Big Ben tolled in the distance. Fletcher took out his solid gold pocket watch and adjusted the time. He put it back in his pocket and grinned, relieved to be finally free from the hospitality of the M.L.E's detention facilities. He stepped out onto the pavement and reached for his cigarettes. He started to light one, in anticipation of that first smooth drag, when he perceived that he was not the only denizen on the otherwise desolate street corner. A vision of a woman leaned against the street lamp, wearing her leopard print mini like it was a second skin.

The thin bow-legged wizard approached her with pride in his fine linen robes despite the fact that they were wrinkled from being slept in. "Wha's a right bit o' totty like you doing all alone on this dreadful street at this dreadful hour?"

She accepted when Fletcher offered her a smoke. "Waitin' for someone like you, papa."

He lit the fag for her. "You're not from around 'ere are you?"

"I jus' got off the boat, mistah, what's it to ya?"

"A girl like you needs representation." He walked a circuit around her fine ebony body.

"And what if I like bein' free?"

"Then you're taking a risk; you never know what skulduggery you're bound to run into out 'ere."

"Nu-uh." She removed Fletcher's hand from her bum. "I'm na that kind of 'free', mistah."

He merely smirked. "What's your fee?"

She took a long sultry drag and blew it in his face. "Three...for thirty minutes you won' soon be forgetin'."

"You could be making twice that under my... protection. Not to mention work with a roof over yer 'ead."

"What does a girl have ta do ta come by such protectin'?"

"An interview would be in order." He sneered at her raised eyebrow. "Think of it as an investment."

With that she led Fletcher to a small car that was in pristine condition, save for a large scratch on one of its sides.

Fletcher regarded the vehicle with amusement. "I see you got a nice and convenient mobile base of operations 'ere, but we'll 'ave to get you set up with your own place just the same." She opened the door for him, and he got into the back seat but frowned, however, when she entered in the front. "What are you doing all the way over there, girl?"

Shacklebolt dropped the act. "Scum like you make me sick, taking advantage of people down on their luck..."

"Didn't you 'ave an accent a second ago..."

"Especially when we both know the going rate is ten!"

"Shakin' me down, eh?" Fletcher said with a knowing wink. "I'm willing to negotiate, dearie."

Just then Moody dispelled the Confundus Charm to reveal himself in the seat next to Shacklebolt. "Really, Fletcher, not five minutes out of lockup, and here you are soliciting an officer of the Ministry."

"Moody!" Fletcher tried to get out but found the doors were now magically bound, secured by Shacklebolt's Imprisonment Jinx. "Don't you 'ave anything better to do 'n bust my bollocks? This is entrapment, you know!"

"We're not here to bust you, Fletcher," Moody replied. "Who do you think arranged for your release?"

"You did? Why?"

"You know how lazy us wand-bobbys are, Fletcher; we thought it better to bring you out to us."

"I'm not sure I like sound of this," Fletcher said warily. "What do you want?"

"The only thing you have of worth: information."

"What's in it for me?"

Shacklebolt pointed her wand at Fletcher. "How about I not turn you into a rat?"

Fletcher was not intimidated. "That'll do for starters, but if you're making me out to be your snitch on the street, then I demand some bloody compensation. After all, I got kids to feed."

Shacklebolt narrowed her eyes but lowered her wand. "I suppose it wouldn't be enough that you would be helping us for the common good?"

"Show me your tits, and I'll think about it." He laughed.

"I think I will turn him into a rat."

"Patience, sir." Moody cast the Muffliato Spell to afford him and his partner some privacy. "Fletcher and I have this dynamic where we insult each other, he lies to me, I torture him, and somewhere between that parlay we arrive at some flavour of the truth." He paused when Shacklebolt retrieved a small black container from the car's glove box. "Is that what I think it is?"

She nodded. "No offence, but we're going to have to fast track this." She tossed the box into the seat next to Fletcher.

"Eh, now, what is this?" He gasped when the box opened. "No...."

The Boggart was free. It swirled about briefly as a black mist before taking on mass. Fletcher's face turned pale as his worst fear was realized.

The Boggart spake. "Mummy was right! I've done everything for you: cook, clean, bear your demon-spawn, and I've gotten nothing in return!"

Moody snorted. "Fletcher, you mean all that nonsense about you having kids is the truth?"

Fletcher retreated, trying in vain to open the door. "Yeah, it's true! Call it off!"

"Business first." Moody presented the black market wand. "What can you tell me about this wand?"

"It's one of mine, blast it!" Fletcher shielded his face as the Boggart started hitting him with its purse. "It's from my redwood line, in fact; I ran a special on those!"

"LIMP-DICKED BASTARD!"

Moody waved his wand, and the Boggart stilled. "I'm going to need a manifest of your clientèle."

"You're dreaming." Fletcher struggled to regain his composure. "I market my wands as untraceable."

Moody sighed and released the Boggart.

"Mundungus isn't even yours, husband!"

"You filthy whore!" Fletcher shrieked. "I knew there was no way that little runt could come from my loins!"

"What can I say? I needed a man...a real man...like your brother!"

Moody halted the Boggart again. "Sheesh, Fletcher, is this what you go home to every night?"

Fletcher had become visibly shaken. "I'm telling you, Moody, most of my customers are middlemen...they buy in bulk! There's no way I can account for every wand!"

"You said 'most'," Shacklebolt commented. "We're not interested in the buyer who wants one hundred wands, just the buyer who wants one."

"No, I have an obligation to my customers!" Fletcher's face had gone from pink to red. "I don't care what you do to me!"

Shacklebolt waved her wand toward the Boggart. "Well, I guess we'll leave you two lovebirds in peace, then."

The Boggart resumed its torment by taking a different tack. "Come, me husband, make love to me; give us another child..." It pinned Fletcher down and started to unbutton his trousers.

"You can't do this, I have rights!" Fletcher pleaded, struggling against the Boggart's superior strength. "C'mon, Moody, tit for tat, eh? After all, I gave you the tip on those kidnappings."

Moody shook his head. "Not good enough."

"I gave you Stoker, too, didn't I? The bloke that sold me the proper wands!"

This gave Moody pause as he reflected on the name. "Stoker... "

"What is it?" Shacklebolt questioned.

"A lead I didn't 'follow up on'," he replied, pondering upon the comment made to him earlier by Madam Trelawney. "Fletcher, did Stoker happen to buy one of your crap wands?"

"As a matter of fact, he did; he said he needed one for a big job," Fletcher said desperately. "Could'a been that very one you showed me, now that I think of it!"

Her interest piqued, Shacklebolt recast the Silencing Spell. "Am I to understand that this Stoker person is somehow involved in the kidnappings to which Auror Murphy from Wolf Squadron was assigned?"

Moody nodded. "Yeah, and from what I heard, Murphy was very cross when he found out that Reuben and I rescued the Weasley brothers.... This can't be a coincidence."

"I agree," Shacklebolt said. She waved her wand to stay the Boggart once more. "Fletcher, where can we find Stoker?"

"Oh, we're back to the niceties, eh, now that I 'ave something you want? Well, what about my wants?"

"What do you want?"

"I still wouldn't mind seeing what's under your top, love." Fletcher sneered without shame. "Just a quick peek to get the image of wifey's saggy milk bags outta me 'ead."

Shacklebolt's response was detached. "I feel so sorry for your wife."

"I'm willing to bet they look like the tops of little chocolate cupcakes, yeah?"

"Maybe you should direct all of that affection to someone more deserving." She allowed the Boggart to continue and exited the car.

The Boggart assailed Fletcher with renewed aggression. It hiked up its dress and straddled him. "Don't deprive me, husband."

Fletcher had had enough. "When Stoker wants to lay low, he hangs out at his Muggle girlfriend's flat on the corner of Linden and Purves, just a stone's throw from the Kensal Rise railway station!"

"You know how needy I get when I'm on the blob...."

"THAT'S ALL I KNOW! I SWEAR! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!"

Sniggering, Moody aimed his wand. "Riddikulus!" And the Boggart turned into a puppy. When Shacklebolt opened the door from the outside, Fletcher bolted and ran down the street, screaming. Moody stepped out of the car and regarded Queenie, who was looking quite pleased with herself. "You're terrible, you know that?"

Embarrassed, she laughed...that bubbly, endearing laughter of hers...and averted her eyes. Still holding the cigarette between her fingers, she put it to her lips and inhaled.

"That's not a vice I thought you would indulge in, Queenie."

She expelled the smoke from her lungs. "It's been years since I last smoked, not since I had...," she trailed off and stamped out the cigarette when she noticed her reflection in the glass. "Shit! Why didn't you tell me I'm still dressed like a bloody prostitute?"

"Probably because I wasn't the least bit offended by it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Turn around, please."

Moody obeyed. He could hear the sounds of her clothes re-transfiguring. "Were you speaking in your native accent earlier?"

"Why?"

"No reason." He shrugged. "I liked it."

"Thank you... You can turn around now."

He joined Shacklebolt by the side of the car. Her clothing was back to normal, but her hair remained undone, formed around her shoulders in tight little curls.

"I'm going to need a bath and a change of skin when this is all over." She hugged her chest tighter and shuddered.

"Being eye-humped by a hundred-year-old biddy is no walk in the park either," Moody scolded. "And on top of that, being ordered to grind up against my superior officer... I'm inclined to lodge a formal complaint."

Shacklebolt snorted. "I'm afraid it's an occupational hazard for people in our line of work. Why do you think the Ministry made you sign all those waivers before you joined up?"

"C'mon, Queenie, you don't really expect someone to sit down and read all three hundred pages of that legalese nonsense, do you?"

"That's why they give you a week to turn it in, Alastor."

Big Ben's quarter bells tolled, reminding the Aurors that time remained an enemy. Moody retired to the vehicle's passenger side; it wasn't until he opened his door that a shrill cough from Shacklebolt garnered his attention.

Moody regarded her folded arms and the way she tapped her foot impatiently, yet a sly smirk betrayed her. He came about and opened the door for her, and she sat herself aloofly, ignoring the lopsided grin on his face. "Seriously, I didn't have to sign those waivers right then on the spot?"

"Get in already," Shacklebolt said, with a serene expression. She waited until he was inside and buckled up before starting the car.

"Er...is that thing house trained, sir?"