The Fox of France - Chapter 333: Joint Strike

The two undercover agents opted for knives to avoid making too much noise. This was the worker’s district; using guns here would create too much commotion, alerting the workers and making a successful escape challenging. They thought two against one, facing an unarmed worker representative, was a sure bet.

At that moment, Fekin swiftly turned into a narrow alley, where the walls were close enough to touch with outstretched arms. The two agents followed but found the alley deserted, not a soul in sight.

“Cursed, he spotted us!” They swiftly drew their knives and chased forward. They were convinced the worker rep had turned a corner ahead.

The alley was tight, allowing only single-file running. Leading officer Tony suddenly heard a thud from behind, signaling Jim had stumbled. Tony glanced back only to be shocked by what he saw.

Jim lay motionless on the ground, either unconscious or worse. Meanwhile, the worker they pursued stood calmly nearby. Fekin, upon entering the alley, had swiftly climbed onto the adjacent roof. As Tony and Jim sprinted underneath, he struck from above, knocking Jim out cold.

Tony realized they had walked into an ambush. He didn’t have time to comprehend how their assailant appeared behind them or took down Jim. But observing the smirk on their opponent’s face and their unperturbed demeanor, Tony, the officer, knew the tables had turned.

He leaped back, attempting to create distance, simultaneously drawing his revolver from his waist, aiming at the approaching worker and cocking the gun—only for it not to fire, a finger preventing the hammer’s fall.

That finger belonged to Fekin. Quicker than Tony, as he leaped backward, Fekin closed in. Just as Tony raised his gun, Fekin’s finger pressed against the hammer. With a twist, the barrel shifted direction.

Tony struggled to wrestle the gun, preventing Fekin from seizing it. At the same time, he wielded a butterfly knife in his left hand, lunging at Fekin. He didn’t expect to land a hit, aiming to push his assailant back, securing his firearm.

But Fekin was faster. His right hand swung, striking Tony’s wrist, deflecting the knife’s path. Then, with a half-step forward, Fekin fiercely slammed his right shoulder into Tony’s chest.

The impact sent Tony flying, losing grip of his gun. Crashing to the ground, lucky it was the slums; the soil cushioned the fall. On richer streets, he might have blacked out from the impact.

Despite this, it was a hard fall. Tony felt agony throughout, his bones seemingly ready to shatter. He struggled to rise, a foot planted firmly on his chest.

Looking up, Tony saw the worker holding his revolver in one hand, a butterfly knife in the other, smiling as he inquired, “Why were you following me?”

“We, we were just observing your suspicious activity… I warn you, I’m a policeman! Don’t be foolish, drop the gun, you’re a lawful citizen…”

“You’re a cop?” Fekin stared into Tony’s eyes, saying, “You see me as suspicious, yet pull a knife? Don’t try to deceive me; that guy there merely passed out. I’ll ask him later. If your story doesn’t match, I assure you, your fate will be grim.”

“We… we were only…”

Fekin chuckled coldly.

“It was Rayne, Mr. Rayne, who ordered us to act, to eliminate those worker representatives…”

Fekin sneered and pressed harder, causing a distinct crack. Tony’s rib had snapped, piercing his lungs and heart, blood gushed from his mouth and nose. In a blink, Tony was gone.

Fekin turned, repeating the act, killing Jim. Though the Thames River wasn’t far, erasing evidence would be easy. However, Fekin worried for other worker reps facing similar dangers—few possessed his skills. He also desired to leave a message for the police. Using their blood, he inscribed a note on their clothes: “This is the fate of capitalist lackeys! – Fekin.”

With this done, Fekin hastened toward the Rod Textile Factory.

Thankfully, the reps at Rod Textile remained unharmed. Fekin briefed them and asked, “Scared now? Leave if you’re afraid; there might still be time.”

“Fear what? We’re already living like this, death’s just a matter of time, what’s to fear?”

“Exactly!”

“Who’s scared? Useless!”

Fekin surveyed them, saying, “Since no one’s leaving, I’ll share something more secretive. Those wanting out can leave; after I reveal this, anyone cozying up to the rich, I’ll wipe out their families. You all know, I had a background in the underworld. In that world, credibility matters, promises hold weight. If I say I’ll slaughter their families, I’ll do it!”

“We don’t have traitors here!” they echoed.

“Alright, do you all know about the ‘Barter Fair’?” Fekin inquired…

After discussing the planned strike, Fekin returned to Petticoat Lane, finding the butcher to alert everyone to stay cautious.

“They’ve begun their move.”

“Boss, what do we do?”

“They’ll kill; why wouldn’t we?” Fekin said. “They dare enter our turf, we’ll make them regret it.”

“Yeah!” The butcher nodded, asking, “But what if they send a lot of people?”

“Send a lot?” Fekin chuckled. “Butcher, in Ireland, I learned a new tactic: the flipside…”

Throughout that day, gunshots and bloodshed echoed across London’s slums. By nightfall, nearly half of the undercover police dispatched didn’t return. Yet, the bodies of the two slain officers were delivered.

“Is there no law left? No justice!” Sir Hugh, the newly appointed Chief of Police, faced the bodies and the provocative message, shouting furiously. “Isn’t London’s slum still His Majesty’s land? Tomorrow, gather all our forces; we’re going there. We won’t retreat until we reclaim this lawless ground!”

Simultaneously, on that night, representatives from the Textile Workers Union began evacuating discreetly. Jacques Gallant had sent intel: the London police showed signs of massive deployment.

Though Rayne was wealthy, he maintained his diligent habits. He rose at dawn, had breakfast, reviewed reports, then strolled onto the balcony.

The air in the affluent district was slightly better than the slums, farther from factories and smokestacks. But it couldn’t compare to the countryside. Rayne gazed toward the slums, spotting smoke rising from a couple of places.

“Good, they’re taking action. I always said, the police must be stern and decisive, show those poor souls who’s in charge! It was high time; let’s see who dares… hahaha…”

Yet, before Rayne’s laughter faded, an explosion nearby shattered windows, startling everyone.

“Take cover!” Before Rayne comprehended, his bodyguard tackled him on the balcony. Then came the blasts and gunfire from outside.

The bodyguard shielded Rayne as they retreated indoors. Alongside his wife, children, they sought refuge underground, securing a safer area.