Alex’s glazzies caught the flash of silver. A fine, shiny little necklace dangling from the throat of a trembling devotchka. Two malchicks were on her, all grabby rookers and filthy grins. He leaned on his cane, watching for a tick, then stepped into the scene with a sharp tap-tap on the gravel.

“Oi, my droogs.” He called, voice all sing-songy. “What’s the vesh here? A charity racket? Doesn’t look like yours to take.”

The malchicks froze, their glazzies narrowing, but one glance at his wicked smirk sent them scarpering into the dark. The girl sagged against the freight car, her posh coat all crumpled. Alex chuckled, stepping closer.

“Well, well..” He purred, tilting her chin with the tip of his cane. “Daddy’s little ptitsa, out where she don’t belong. That pretty spark around your neck says he’s got plenty to spare.”

He grabbed her wrist, firm but playful. “Now, don’t fret, love. I’ll keep you safe… Least till daddy pays what’s due, righty right?”