Jupiter Myth

XXXIX

Florius! So this was the Balbinus mob again.

Florius must be the second man Petronius was hunting, the one he had already chased for a long time. It had seemed personal: well, he and Florius certainly had reasons for a feud. Petro had slept with the little Florius wife-which led to the breakdown not of their marriage, but his own.

I racked my brains to remember what I knew. I had met Florius-back in the days when he seemed like a worthless and harmless hanger-on. His marriage to a gangster's daughter was incongruous; Florius, a shambling, feeble, untidy bundle who spent his days at the races, gave the impression that he had been chosen as Balbina Milvia's bridegroom simply because he was a soft pudding the family could push around. It had looked like a ploy to protect her father's money. If her papa were arrested, his property would be forfeit, but Roman law has a fine respect for marriage; if Milvia's dowry chests were labeled "sheets and coverlets for the bride and her future children" they would probably be sacrosanct.

Petronius and I had chased down Balbinus, whose vicious gangs had been terrorizing Rome. We eliminated him, incurring the hatred of his widow. Petro then complicated everything when he decided to bed dear little Milvia. She was ten years younger than him and thought he was serious; she even talked of them marrying. Florius cannot have taken that well-if he knew-which he probably did, because Milvia was dim enough to tell him everything. If she hadn't, her spiteful mother would have done. I had heard that the mother then made the married couple stick together (to protect the money), but life in their house must have been a strain ever since.

If Florius really had been a soft blob, there would have been no problem. But I could remember watching how he straightened up after his father-in-law died. His moment had come. Florius immediately started plotting to take over. Remnants of the Balbinus organization still existed, though weakened. Florius would be welcomed. Underworld associates love crime lords' relatives; they have a big sense of history. His mother-in-law, Flaccida, was hoping to regenerate the family empire, and when Petronius Longus rebuffed pretty Milvia, even Milvia may then have supported Florius' new career. Being married to the top enforcer would suit her. She had always claimed to be unaware of her late father's occupation-but she loved the money.

Florius threw himself into racketeering. His dead father-in-law had shown him how to do it. His rise must have been swift. The description of that third man ordering Pyro and Splice to dispose of Verovolcus, while he was callously sitting tight, showed a totally different character from the vague lump absorbed in his betting tokens whom I had first met. Florius was now a full villain.

I myself saved up tangling with crime lords for special occasions, days when I wished to toy with suicide. But Petronius presumably kept his eye on the reviving gang. He wanted to finish what he and I had started. He was planning to obliterate them. They probably knew his intentions.

I feared for him in Britain. Here, Petronius stood on his own. At least in Rome, with the seven vigiles cohorts in support, he had had some chance. The best backup on offer in Londinium was me. And I had only just learned of the predicament. With the old Balbinus mob, a mere hour Was enough for them to pounce and tear a victim apart.

So Florius was here. That meant Petronius Longus was virtually stand-ing at the gateway to Hades, ready to tramp in after the guide with the downturned torch.

???

What was I to do? Find him. Tell him Florius was in Britain.

I guessed he knew. I hoped he did. That was probably why he had been sent here himself. So, find him and give him some cover-but where would he be?

I considered all our leads. The henchman, Splice, had been marched off to custody among the troops, awaiting the torturer. Top suspects Norbanus and Popillius were being watched by the governor's men. Florius would be Petro's priority. I crossed town and headed for the wharves. I guessed Petro would be at the warehouse where the baker had been murdered. But he was not. I found Firmus, the customs man, who freely showed me what he and Petro thought had been the killing ground. He led me to one of many great stores that fringed the shore. Totally anonymous in the packed row of identical buildings, I could see why the gang chose it. It was sturdily constructed, fully secure for money or contraband. There was easy access, by water or even by road. All sorts of characters frequented the docks, too. Even hardened criminals from Rome-who tend to have distinctive habits and style-would merge in. Down here by the river, nobody would think twice if there were frequent movements in and out. And when they killed someone, nobody would hear the screams.

"Petronius was here at first light," said Firmus. "He wanted to talk to the ferryman-but the ferryman's gone sick."

"What with?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"Fear."

"Didn't Petronius try to find him?"

"I think he tried. No luck. After that Petro disappeared."

I gazed at him. "So how will you get in touch with him if something happens at this warehouse?"

"It's not my job," Firmus demurred. "We are only keeping watch, as a personal favor to Petronius."

"His famous charm!"

"He's a good sort," said Firmus. Well, I knew that. "He's doing a good job, that none of us would like to tackle. Maybe he's stupid, but you can tell he's the kind who thinks somebody ought to do what he's doing, and if it's not him it will end up being nobody."

"True." I balked at following the logic, but his feelings were clear.

"The customs service doesn't have the manpower for this operation," Firmus insisted. "Nor any support from higher up." The pleasant, sunburned, roly-poly officer was sounding bitter now. "They see us as petty clerks, just turning over tax. We know what happens. We tell the ones in charge. They just pay us cobnuts and won't even supply elementary weapons. We told the governor there is a large-scale operation working here, Falco. That poor sod the baker was murdered on my patch. But I've given up sticking my head over the fortress parapet."

I gave him a look.

Firmus was unrepentant. "I'm not being paid danger money," he said baldly.

"Don't you get military support?"

"You are joking! So why should I and my men be stuffed, while the soldiers just play around and take backhanders from everyone?"

"Including from criminals?" Firmus exploded. "Especially the criminals!"

I let him rave. If he told me any more I was liable to get wound up myself.

"I'll mention you, if I see Petro," Firmus relented.

I nodded. "Thanks. Now tell me something, Firmus. If the criminal action happens on the wharves, why is my friend Petronius Longus spending time at that bathhouse several streets up the hill?"

Firmus pursed his hps. "It's a nice bathhouse… Excellent manicure girl. Blonde. Well, sort of." He came clean. "He's watching someone. Someone who uses that stinky brothel next to the baths."

"What, as a customer?"

"No, no. He's a flesh peddler. It's his local office." I caught on. "And this someone features big in the gang?" A guarded look clouded the customs officer's normally open face. "I believe so."

I took a chance. "We know who it is. I need to find Petro to warn him and to back him up. We are looking for a top man called Florius."

"Well, good for you," commented Firmus, in a distinctly quiet voice. He had known all along. I wondered how many others also knew, but were too scared to say.