The Circassian. "Wrong Side"

by Bob Bidecant

  Part Five. London.July.1888.

  5.1

  Jacobson felt the carriage slow down as his driver peered through the thick fog to distinguish the house numbers.

  ‘Can you see it yet, Edward?’ Jacobson called to him through the thin material that separated them. Although Edward knew London well, he had never been to this area before, but he used to be a hansom cab driver and knew the London streets were usually numbered with the lowest number closest to the centre of the city and odd numbers were on the left, it was a good tip to remember during London’s many fogs.‘Difficult to make out, it’s a bit of a pea souper tonight.’ He replied. The street curved around a small park and was occupied mostly by foreign dignities. Finally they stopped outside a large building. Jacobson looked up at the grey building that used to be white. Edward jumped down and stood by the carriage, he waited until the main door had been opened and the host stepped outside. Only then did he open the door. Jacobson stepped down unaided, normally he opened the door himself, but tonight he was trying to impress some potential investors for his East End project. Evdokimoff knew Jacobson visited anybody who showed an interest in his project and had contacted Jacobson via his Consulate, arranging the meeting in his London home.

  ‘Good evening Lord Jacobson, thank you for coming. Welcome to my home.’ Evdokimoff said warmly as he held out his hand to Jacobson.

  Jacobson shook his hand firmly and then handed his hat and cloak to a servant. He stopped in the hallway and looked around at the exquisitely furnished house. Artwork and statues from around the world adorned every possible space.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me, Count Evdokimoff. What a wonderful house you have.’ Evdokimoff smiled graciously and waved his arm towards a door. They entered a large white room with high ceilings that held two identical chandeliers above the largest mahogany table Jacobson had ever seen. The walls were adorned with Russian artwork, depicting hunting scenes, battles and many beautiful women. Evdokimoff poured out two Cognacs himself, allowing Jacobson a few moments to take in the expensive surroundings. He handed the glass to him and invited him towards a large open fire in the centre of the room surrounded by several large brown leather chairs and a bearskin rug that stretched the length of the entire fireplace. Jacobson was a very rich man and not easily impressed, but he had only ever seen grandeur on this scale at a royal level. Evdokimoff impressed him. Jacobson continued speaking to the Count without yet acknowledging the others in the room.

  ‘I consider myself a hunter but I must say I am not sure I could be brave enough to stand before that monster,’ Jacobson indicated to the bear. ‘Did you shoot this beast?’Evdokimoff feigned shyness

  ‘I did.’ He said smiling. The mutual admiration was now over and the Count could see Jacobson starting to relax in his company. He began the introductions.

  ‘Lord Jacobson, these gentlemen are interested in your proposal for the new housing in East London. If it is viable they are prepared to invest in you.’ He then introduced him to Mikhailovich and two Polish businessmen, They swapped cards and nodded to each other.

  ‘And lastly to General Ivanov, he is a Russian General, have you met before?’ Evdokimoff watched Jacobson’s face as he looked Ivanov directly in the eyes. Jacobson knew exactly who the General was, and his background and he hated the man, he hid his feelings and smiled courteously. The small, fat man, who was responsible for the death of countless Polish and Russian Jewish boys, did ignored his acknowledgment.

  ‘Please, let’s sit down by the fire, it is a little less formal,’ the Count said simply, as he sunk back into one of the lush brown leather chairs, inviting the others to do the same. The chairs were set in a semi-circle around the fire that made it easy for him to speak to them all without turning his back to anybody. Jacobson began to explain.

  ‘It is not just housing but more sanitation and street lighting. The East End of London has the highest crime rate in England, possibly higher than Europe. Streets are inadequately lit and robbing and murders occur on an hourly basis after dark. Even our Police Constables are forced to wear special protection around their necks to prevent being garrotted. We need more Doctors, especially ones who came from Russia and Poland and who can speak to the locals.’ Jacobson stopped and took a sip of his Cognac. ‘I have already made several proposals in the house of Lords to demolish the slums and provide better housing.’

  ‘And what was the response, do you have their backing?’ One asked.

  ‘I have all of their backing and support, but no Government money. The plan has to be completely independently financed. The Government is busy expanding the Docks to take bigger ships, Warehouses to store goods and more trains to take it from London, it does not care about the people whose homes are demolished to make way for the expansion. They are evicted and have to move to the already overcrowded slums of the East End.’ Evdokimoff listened to Jacobson with growing admiration.

  ‘It is a shame we are on opposite sides,’ he whispered to Mikhailovich. ‘He is obviously a man of great conviction and he speaks with passion.’

  ‘Do you want to call it off?’ Mikhailovich asked him.

  ‘Absolutely not. We are on opposite sides, remember!’ The tall grandfather clock chimed nine times, Evdokimoff looked at the clock then turned his head to his Mikhailovich and nodded.

  Mikhailovich stood, excused himself and left the room. General Ivanov stood without speaking and followed him outside. Evdokimoff cursed as he saw Ivanov leave the room.

  ‘How much longer must I sit and listen to this drivel about poor Jews?’ he scowled at Mikhailovich. ‘I did not even want to come here in the first place.’ Evdokimoff stepped out of the room and stood behind Ivanov listening to him complain.

  ‘You are here because I need you here.’ Evdokimoff said sternly as if to a child.

  ‘May I remind you that I am a General.’ Ivanov sneered as he turned to face Evdokimoff.

  ‘And may I remind you, General, that I am a Count. At first I asked you politely to attend, but you declined, then I insisted, and you refused and finally I had to order you. Now, General, I am ordering you to go back into that room, sit down and shut up.’ The General turned red and his face twitched with anger, nobody had spoken to him in that tone for many years. But Evdokimoff was a count and he had to do as he was ordered. He turned and re-entered the room. Jacobson smiled politely at the General and nodded. The General stared back at him without speaking, poured himself a very large Cognac and sat down.

  ‘As I was saying to your colleagues…’ Jacobson began.

  ‘Don’t bother repeating yourself.’ Ivanov said rudely and looked at the fire. They continued talking for almost an hour. Only the Russian said nothing the entire time, he sat there bored, making it obvious he was uninterested.

  ‘Lord Jacobson may I borrow these two gentlemen for a few moments, we need to discuss some other business. I am sure General Ivanov will keep you entertained for a short while.

  ‘How much longer are you going to be?’ Ivanov said bluntly. Evdokimoff gave him a cold look and left the room with the two Polish business men. Jacobson walked to the drink cabinet and poured himself a fresh coffee, he didn’t really want one but he had enough alcohol for one evening and it also meant he did not have to speak to the Russian he was alone with.

  He turned at looked at the General. He was old and unfit now, but Jacobson knew he had killed more with his pen than most had with weapons, his signature alone devastated complete families and villages. As a young officer, the General he had been instrumental forcing Jewish families to hand over their sons for compulsive Russian military conscription. To ensure his quotas were met he had been responsible for ordering boys as young as eight to be taken from their parents. Marched in oversized boots and heavy coats during the freezing depth of winter across Russia. They were destined for the Cantonist youth camps. Those who did survive the trip were then subjected to fifteen years of military service.

  Jacobson
hated the man with a passion. But he was not in Russia, he was in London and the guest of a Russian Count, he pushed his thoughts out of his mind and waited for the two Polish businessmen to return.

  Jacobson heard a carriage stop outside, the horses snorting in the cold air.

  ‘It’s a bit too early for Edward,’ he said to himself under his breath, as he walked to the large bay window and moved the heavy drapes to one side. ‘Or maybe the Count has more interested investors arriving?’He leaned closer to the glass and looked out into the dark London night. The fog was too thick to make out the two figures that stepped down from the cab and walked briskly towards the house. He heard the front door open and close again and then the door to the drawing room flew open.

  Putchin and Jaak, dressed in black cloaks and top hats walked in and looked around. Jacobson turned and smiled, ready to introduce himself to the two new potential investors, but he stopped. Something about the two men was wrong. Putchin pointed at the General who stood up angrily, Jaak walked towards him.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ He barked in Russian.

  Jaak’s arm came from under his cloak. He pushed the small thin dagger through the General’s throat. Jacobson dropped his cup and gasped. The fragile bone china splintering into a hundred pieces as it hit the marbled floor. The General grabbed Jaak with one hand and lifted the other towards the small hole in his throat. Blood seeped through his fingers as he attempted to stem the flow. Jaak removed the knife and stabbed the General repeatedly in the face, penetrating one eye as he did. He spun the General around to face Jacobson, then waited until he was sure Jacobson was watching. Jaak’s arm came around the face of the General and then back again, the knife slicing deep through his jugular vein and across his windpipe. Jaak held him up for several seconds, his face completely expressionless, almost bored.

  Jacobson held the table to support himself, his breathing came in short bursts at the shock of what he had just witnessed. His stomach wanted to empty itself but nothing came out. He shook so badly his teeth chattered. He had never been so terrified before. Jaak let the General fall to the ground then stood over him and spat on his body with contempt. He took three steps towards Jacobson, and stopped directly in front of him staring at his face. Jacobson believed the man was about to kill him, he stood with his mouth open his two hands held up in surrender. His mind raced as Jaak stared in his face. He knew he had to tell him he wasn’t a threat, to explain that he was not a colleague of the Russian.

  ‘Thank you.’ Was all he could think of to say. ‘Thank you. This man was also my enemy.’ Jacobson spluttered the words out to the young man with long black hair and straggly beard. Blue tinted glasses hid the true colour of his eyes. Jacobson could not hold Jaak’s gaze and he averted his eyes to Putchin.

  ‘I am a Jew, I hated this man.’ Jacobson said. Putchin replied in broken English,

  ‘You will not be harmed, this man is our enemy, he is an enemy of Circassia, but you did not see our faces or hear our voices.’ Putchin told him. Jacobson nodded and Putchin motioned Jaak to follow him.

  ‘Thank you; he is an enemy of the Jews also.’ Jacobson’s voice trembled as he spoke. Jaak turned and casually walked out without hurrying. Putchin walked behind him and closed the door behind them. Jacobson heard the front door open and close, his legs became weak and he collapsed into a sitting position on the floor, one hand still holding the table for support. He listened to the horses hooves slipping on the cobblestones as the carriage drew quickly away. He looked up as the drawing room door was thrown open again. Evdokimoff entered carrying a pistol followed by Mikhailovich who was also armed. Behind them, two very frightened Polish businessmen, huddled together.

  They looked around the room, Mikhailovich bent down to check the General and Evdokimoff ran to Jacobson.

  ‘Are you hurt? What happened?’

  ‘I am uninjured thank you, two men entered, one killed the General and they left. It was over so quickly.’ Jacobson was shaking, he had never seen anybody killed before, especially that close.

  ‘Did you see their faces? Could you describe them to the police?’Jacobson was silent for several seconds the answered slowly and thoughtfully.

  ‘I am sorry Count Evdokimoff but I did not see their faces they wore masks.’ He lied.

  ‘Did they say anything?’ the Count asked him.

  ‘They never spoke a word.’ Jacobson replied. Evdokimoff helped him to a seat and then left the room taking Mikhailovich by the arm. As he closed the door behind them he looked at Mikhailovich.

  ‘He blatantly lied. He did not give them up.’ Mikhailovich said excitedly. Evdokimoff spoke calmly.

  ‘No, he didn’t did he,’ he smiled. ‘We have got him Androv. He is the banker.’

  5.2

  Jacobson was driven home. He took a bath and then returned to his living room and sat in an old but comfortable leather covered chair, staring into the fire that was crackling in the large fireplace grate. Detective Kelly sat opposite him, waiting patiently for him to answer his question. The two men had known each other for some years now. Kelly worked privately for Jacobson when he needed information, but today he was at Jacobson’s home to take a statement about the General’s killing.

  Kelly looked around at the old fashioned decorations. The smell of the leather was comforting, somehow reminding him of his home in Truro, Cornwall. He looked at the large clock that sat above the fireplace. It was getting late. He tried to stifle a yawn but failed.

  ‘Lord Jacobson?’ he said quietly in his Cornish accent.’ Shall I come back in the morning, if it is not convenient now?’

  ‘I am sorry Detective Kelly, I was trying to think, no their faces were covered and they did not speak, there is nothing more I can add. Do you have anything more on them yet?’

  ‘A politically motivated assassination, without a doubt…’ Kelly began.

  ‘Well that’s s fine piece of police work.’ Interrupted Jacobson, he hated people stating the obvious. Kelly ignored the remark and continued. ‘The killers are probably half way back to Eastern Europe by now. They do a job and then run. The home secretary has advised the Russians to improve the security for their diplomats when they are in London. Basically Sir, they have upset so many different countries, everybody wants to kill them.’

  ‘So you have no idea who did it?’

  ‘Not a clue to be honest, the Russians aren’t telling us anything, they probably know and will sort it out themselves.’ Kelly closed his notebook and went to stand up. Jacobson waved his hand for him to remain sitting.

  ‘Detective Kelly, did you find out any more about the man Mikael was supposed to meet last week?’ Jacobson asked. Kelly reopened his book and turned a few pages back.

  ‘The police officer? Yes Sir, his name was William Sinclair, he only joined the force last year when he retired from the Army. He had a distinguished military career, so he was automatically issued with a Sergeant status. All we know about him is that he has kept himself to himself since his wife died earlier this year. He went to the pub a couple of times to meet an old Army colleague, and he visited a young man in Bethnal Green Sanatorium every week.

  ‘Bethnal Green Sanatorium, why?’ Jacobson was surprised. Kelly had to check his notes again.

  ‘The young man served in the same Regiment as Sinclair.’

  ‘Do you think that it is a coincidence that the police Sergeant that was murdered, drank in the same pub as the barmaid that got killed. Within days of each other?’

  ‘With due respect Lord Jacobson, there is a murder every other day in Whitechapel. So yes Sir, it actually could be a complete coincidence.’

  ‘Thank you Detective, please keep me informed of any updates.’ Detective Kelly rose from his chair, folded his notebook and placed it into his pocket then left. Jacobson did not turn his head as another person entered and sat down opposite him, he spoke quietly, without lifting his gaze from the fire.

  ‘Did you hear everythi
ng?’

  ‘Yes. Are you all right, you look pale?’Jacobson answered but his mind was somewhere else.

  ‘I didn’t hear them knock at the door.’

  ‘What?’ said Gur Lavi

  ‘When I was in the drawing room I heard the door open and close, but I didn’t hear anybody knock.’

  ‘Maybe they opened it themselves.’

  ‘Yes that is possible,’ Said Jacobson. ‘Or, somebody on the staff knew them.’Jacobson looked up and continued.

  ‘There was something familiar about the killers face. I can’t put my finger on it. I am sure I have seen him before but I can’t remember where.’

  ‘Who’s face? The Circassian? What do you want to do about them?’ Gur Lavi asked him.

  ‘Hire them of course.’ Answered Jacobson.

  ‘How do we make contact?’

  ‘Just let it be known that we want to contact him and then wait.’ Gur Lavi went to leave.

  ‘Oh and another thing. I need to know why Mikael’s friend, the policeman and the barmaid were killed. I am sure there is a link somewhere. I need someone to find out more about the boy in the sanatorium. Do you have anybody available?’

  ‘Levi has just got back from Estonia. I will use him, he is a good man. Why are you so interested in the policeman, it was a robbery that went wrong wasn’t it?’

  ‘The policeman was murdered on the same night that he came here, to my home,’ Jacobson reminded her. ‘And the note was written in a pub where the barmaid was killed the following night. Coincidence?’

  The discussion ended and Gur Lavi left Jacobson to his fire.

  5.3

  Levi was always hungry, he had been hungry since he was thirteen. Nearly starved to death on a forced march by Russians when he was a boy, he had a permanent requirement to eat. He opened the door to a small café situated in Vallance Road for the second time that day. The owner smiled as he came in.

  ‘Can’t get enough of my pie and mash, Levi? Didn’t they have any food in Estonia?’Levi laughed as he sat down. The pie and mash shop was empty.

  ‘This was left for you.’ Said the owner. He gave Levi a note, it was from Gur Lavi. He read it and then stuffed it into his pocket as his food arrived.

  At Seven O’clock that evening he sat in the Hope and Anchor pub, as the note had instructed him to. Levi saw the door open. Everybody turned and stared. Gur Lavi ignored all the stares and sat down next to him and ordered two small beers.

  ‘Hello Levi. Are you busy?’

  ‘No, not right now why?’

  ‘I have a job for you. Are you available?’

  ‘That is why I am here.’ He smiled.

  Gur Lavi explained Jacobson’s concerns.

  ‘The boy’s name is Joshua Andrews, formerly Abromovich. A Russian Jew. We want to know what the connection is between him, a barmaid and the policeman who came to Jacobson’s house. The same night the policeman was strangled and the following night the barmaid was stabbed to death. The police believe it was just a complete coincidence. We need to know if it was or not. Can you have a look around and come back to me with anything you find?’

  ‘Of course, when do you want me to begin?’

  ‘Tomorrow if you can. Leave messages in the pie and mash shop.’

  ‘Tomorrow is fine.’ Levi answered. Gur Lavi left the pub without touching the beer, Levi poured it into his glass and finished it.

  ‘Time for some food.’ He said to himself. He was hungry again.

  5.4

  It was midnight and the streets were deserted. The woman looked up at the faded sign above the Bethnal Green Sanatorium and knocked on the back door. The old man opened the large green wooden door. He smiled at her, a wide toothless grin.

  ‘Are you smiling or in pain? she thought. She made the sign of the cross as she entered.

  ‘Come on hurry up they are already here.’ He said pulling her along by the arm. She lifted her hand up to her mouth to avoid the smell. It was musty and she could smell boiled eggs. The old man laughed.

  ‘They feed em boiled eggs to stop em shitting the beds, you get used to the smell after a while.’ Polly jumped as she heard a scream from one of the rooms. She held the old man’s arm tightly, she wished she had drunk more of the gin had earlier for Dutch courage.

  ‘He’s not violent is he, Mr Tyler?’ She asked the old man. ‘I’ve got the creeps coming in here.’

  ‘No he’s just horny love don’t worry. And there’s a few bob extra in it for you. We got a few paying spectators. What’s your name love?’

  ‘Polly.’ She replied. Polly looked anxiously around as she followed the old man down the dark corridors. The middle aged whore had never visited the Sanatorium before but she was desperate for money. Her boyfriend had been fired for being drunk and the rent on her slum was already two weeks overdue. She had offered her services to the landlord in exchange for cash but he wasn’t interested and he wanted payment by the morning. She finally went to an old lady that could find anybody work. She dealt with perverts, most of them were financially independent businessmen who only wanted to watch others degrade themselves without involving themselves directly. It was a thriving trade in the East End. The woman offered her nearly double her normal rate to have sex with a male patient who had become well known for the size of his penis. Her parting words of advice were,

  ‘Get drunk before you go, and slap some lard on your crack. He has got a bloody enormous cock.’

  Tyler held her arm as they reached the room. He held his hand up to her nose.

  ‘Blimey your hearts beating out of your chest. Here take a couple of snorts of this, it will calm you down.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked looking at his hand.

  ‘Just something we use to calm the patients. It’s as harmless as snuff go on take a good long sniff.’ Polly sniffed the powder in his hand and the sneezed.

  ‘Don’t waste it you silly cow,’ He stopped and put his arms on her shoulders. ‘Look girl, these buggers give a bloody big tip if you put on a good show. And squeal a lot like it’s hurting you, the more they think it’s hurting you, the bigger the tip, they love that.’

  As she entered the room she looked at the naked man standing in front of her. His large penis was already erect and she felt herself becoming more aroused than scared as she looked at it, the cocaine that the old man had given her was already making her head swim. A quiet cough startled her and she turned to look in the direction it came from. She could see only the silhouettes of several men sitting in the shadows. With a small lamp to light up the area around the bed, the rest of the room was in darkness with only glowing red cigar ends showing that anybody else was there. She stripped off her dress and underclothes leaving her stockings on. The cigar end began to glow at a faster rate and she started to enjoy exhibiting herself. She crawled across the bed on her hands and knees, making sure her backside was facing the spectators. The man joined her quickly on the bed kneeling behind her. He was inpatient and pushed his penis into her vagina as soon as he was in position. He pushed hard, not caring if she was ready. She gasped in pain. There was no need to pretend, it hurt a lot. She had never experienced such a large penis before and the pain was excruciating.

  ‘Slow down.’ She called out but he had no intention of doing so. He forced harder each time penetrating deeper inside her until his hips slammed against her behind. She cried out in pain.

  ‘That’s it, good girl.‘ called out Tyler.

  ‘Oh...God…it… fucking…hurts, make him stop… Mr Tyler.’ Tyler grinned, the perverts should tip well tonight.

  ‘Go on Polly, scream a bit more.’ He called to her. The cigar ends glowed faster in time with his thrusts. He pulled her hair forcing her head back, enjoying the pain he knew he was causing her.

  ‘Fuck her arse.’ called a voice from the shadows.

  ‘No,’ she cried out, but he withdrew his penis and forced it into her anus. She had tried it a few t
imes to get extra cash but never with a man so large. The pain shot up through her back into her brain. Her legs started to go numb. She struggled but he slapped her, squeezing his fingers around the back of her neck, he forced himself all the way into her. The man squeezed her neck harder as he forced himself into her. Her cries got weaker as she passed out. She gasped once and her body became limp. He pulled her hair back and began to climax. He stopped, his whole body shuddering. He withdrew his penis and pushed her forward onto the bed. She lay still without moving, Tyler watched from outside the doorway shaking his head. Then he walked to the main door to let the spectators out. The figures in the shadows left the room one at a time and dropped coins into the old man’s hand as they passed him. None spoke. He touched the peak of his cap closing the large door behind them as each one left.

  Gurin couldn’t sleep, he got to the sanatorium late and decided to stay there for the night and sleep on the spare bunk rather than return to his rented accommodation, but the sound of a woman screaming woke him. Not uncommon in the hospital, he stood up and checked on Jaak who was still sleeping.

  ‘A women screaming. Music to your ears, eh Jaak?’ Gurin said quietly to himself. Now fully awake he placed his hand on the door handle and began to open it when two shadows passed. He stopped and waited. Another man walked passed and then only moments later, Tyler the old doorman shuffled hurriedly in the other direction. Gurin opened the door enough to look down the corridor, it was empty so he stepped outside the room and shut the door slowly behind himself, then walked quietly in the same direction as the doorman. Gurin heard him speaking in a soothing voice to a woman who was sobbing He stopped outside the room and peered inside. The old man sat on the bed with a naked woman in her mid-thirties. She was obviously distressed and moved as if in great pain.

  ‘Come on Polly get dressed now, you have to go, I have to lock up, love,’ he dropped a handful of coins onto the bed.’ You put on a good show girl, they tipped well.’ She sat up and slapped his arm and face several times. He put his arm up to protect himself. Polly was furious.

  ‘Put on a show, you old cunt, I wasn’t putting on a show. You said he wasn’t fucking violent,’ she slapped his arm again as he tried to help her off the bed. ‘He nearly fucking choked me to death.’ She picked up the coins and counted them quickly, her lips mouthing the numbers as tears ran down her cheeks.

  ‘You think that’s all I’m worth, for getting my arse ripped open and then throttled?’ She pulled her hand back as if to throw the coins but kept them in her hand. Tyler held his hand in front of his face in case she changed her mind and threw them at him.

  ‘I can’t give you any more love, it’s fifty-fifty. Remember what we agreed?’

  ‘I agreed fifty-fifty for a quick one with one of your Looney’s. I didn’t plan for the fucking freak throttling me. You try it up your arse for Four bob. Give me the rest of the money, you robbing old bastard.’ Tyler was used to the language East End prostitutes could use, but he hadn’t had one give him this much trouble before. His manner turning suddenly uglier.

  ‘Well I ain’t giving you any more money, so get dressed and fuck off.’ He said angrily. Polly knew she had pushed her luck a bit too far, but she was determined to get more money for the ordeal she had suffered. She dressed hurriedly, the old man picking up her clothes and throwing them at her. Gurin stepped back and watched as she walked towards the door, followed by the old man who pushed her along. Neither saw him as they walked towards the main exit, arguing. They stopped at the main door. Polly knew it was the last possibility to get more money from Tyler.

  ‘Your last chance old man, give me more money now or I’ll go to the coppers and tell them about your little earner for the perverts.’ Tyler stared into her face, he wasn’t going to be threatened by an old street whore, he and spat out the words.

  ‘Tell em what you like! I can get a dozen better whores than you for less money, now fuck off. ‘ He said as he pushed her out of the door. She tripped and fell onto the gravel path cutting her hand. The old man turned around without looking at her. He disappeared into a room and shut the door, it was One O’clock in the morning and all he wanted now was a good sleep.

  Gurin was furious. He normally went home to sleep and like most of London, had no idea what was going on in the Sanatorium after dark. This one old man could jeopardise everything if the police were called and started digging around. He waited for the old man to lock his small room and then quietly opened the large wooden main door and looked outside. The woman was still sitting on the gravel nursing her hand. She squinted as she looked at him standing in the doorway with the light behind him.

  ‘What do you fucking want?’ she said angrily. Gurin spoke quietly.

  ‘I spoke with the old man and he has agreed to give you more money. Come back inside for a moment, please.’

  ‘Oh you have, have you, good?’Gurin beckoned her with his hand to step inside the building. She stood slowly and walked towards him. He shut the door quietly holding his finger up to her mouth to silence her. He smiled at her and she followed him back to Jaak’s room. She stopped suddenly when she saw Jaak lying on the bed, she was shocked when she saw the restraints.

  ‘Sorry guvnor but I’m too sore if you or your mate wants a bit.’ She said, trying to arouse some sympathy.

  ‘So if you just want to pay me my money, I’ll be on my way.’ Gurin didn’t reply, he placed a chair behind the top of the bed and sat down. Jaak woke up and looked around.

  ‘It’s alright my dear, I don’t want sex.’ Gurin stood up, Two shillings in his hand. Polly looked at the coins in his hand and got braver, Gurin seemed like a pushover. She decided to see how far she could push him.

  ‘I reckon the papers will have a field day if they find out about the goings on here. Right in the middle of a Looney Bin.’ She said, waiting for a response. Gurin played along.

  ‘Polly we don’t want you getting upset and bringing the police here do we? Look here is Two shillings for being a good girl.

  ‘Three bob would be even better.’ She spurted out.

  Gurin added another shilling to his hand. Polly wished she had asked for four. Gurin closed his fingers around the money.

  ‘I tell you what Polly, my brother here hasn’t had a lady in years. If you’re feeling up to it how about giving him a quick suck and we will call it five shillings for everything?’

  ‘Five shillings for a suck,’ she said smiling, it seemed like her luck had changed. Then her expression became serious. ‘But nothing else, my arse is killing me. I won’t be able to sit down for a month of Sundays.’ Gurin smiled as he gave her the money. He didn’t understand what she was talking about anyway. He sat behind Jaak’s head and began to whisper to him. Polly laughed as she watched Gurin speak softly to Jaak.

  ‘You sure you don’t want to suck it and let me watch?’She laughed at her own humour.

  ‘He don’t speak English love, I am just telling him what you are going to do for him. You don’t mind me sitting here for a minute do you, I would like to watch.’

  ‘Up to you love, whatever makes you happy.’ She laughed again then grimaced as the pain in her backside returned. Gurin smiled and continued speaking gently with Jaak. Polly leant over the bed and lifted Jaak’s gown to reveal his naked body. She put her face down towards his genitals.

  ‘Oh God he stinks of piss.’ She said.

  ‘It’s not him, it is the bed, Gurin said. ‘You want the money or not?’Polly needed the money. She started to stimulate Jaak’s penis with her hand, keeping her head well back. Gurin growled at her.

  ‘Polly, we agreed a suck, not a hand.’ She knew by his tone that she had pushed her luck as far as she could. Better to get on with it and get home. She tried to ignore the smell as she used her mouth on Jaak.

  Gurin already had Jaak under his hypnosis. It took only seconds now and he was completely in a trance. Gurin waited until Polly’s head was turned the other way from him. He
slipped the restraints off of Jaak and slipped a stiletto blade under his pillow as he spoke.

  ‘Jaak,’ he whispered in Circassian as he stood back from the bed. ‘This whore is Russian. Enjoy yourself, but be very, very quiet. There are people sleeping.’

  Polly stopped and looked up at Gurin stepping backwards towards the door and leave the room. Jaak raised himself into a sitting position and placed one hand on her head . He grabbed her hair and pushed her face down onto his lap, hearing her gag as his free hand moved slowly under the pillow.

  5.5

  Jacobson pushed his plate away and summoned the servant to remove it. As he had done each morning the butler placed a folded copy of the morning newspaper on the table with a cup of tea. Normally he took the paper with him to read in his carriage on the way to work. But this morning the headlines caught his attention.

  “Second woman brutally murdered in Whitechapel, body found outside Synagogue.”

  He unfolded the paper across the white linen. The butler looked on anxiously, the print would rub off and create more work, washing the ink out of crisp white linen was difficult, but he remained quiet. Jacobson read the newspaper report and slapped his hand on the table.

  ‘Gur Lavi looked up startled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This damn newspaper. It is almost saying the last few murders have been committed by Jews.’

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘It says,’ “The mutilated body of a local prostitute known only as Polly was found behind a Synagogue yesterday morning. Last week Martha Lowe, a barmaid known at the White Hart public house, was found stabbed to death in the alleyway that led to the Jewish Association of Lawyers, and a Police Sergeant was attacked in his own home by two men only yards away from the Jewish Radicals club in Jubilee Street. A witness stated she saw a man of Eastern European features near the scene.”

  Jacobson was worried. This type of newspaper reporting could start riots in East London. Anti-Jewish feeling was on the rise with daily attacks on Jews reported. He stood and left for his office.