TimeRipper

by D E McCluskey

  Pete bowed theatrically low and removed the dirty cap off the top of his, even dirtier, head. ‘Oh, my lady, why didn’t you say it was yourself. Lady Annabelle! I am humbled to be in your service, and I’ll perform your request, post haste,’ he replied.

  This performance cracked Bert up.

  ‘Would you please just go and see if they’re in there?’ she shouted, her patience at these two buffoons was wearing thin.

  She heard the slap across her face a few seconds before the sting of it caused her to wince. Reeling backwards, she saw Burt looking at her with a furious expression on his face. ‘Don’t you talk to us like that, you whore. Not after we’ve so graciously decided to help you out and go and see your friends.’

  ‘You know what, Burt? I’ve decided that I’m not going to tend to Lady Muck’s request here. I do believe that m’lady can go and right royally fuck herself,’ Pete growled before pushing her hard in the direction of the road.

  Annabelle went sprawling from the step of the busy pub, into a small, dirty puddle in the middle of the road. A gang of young boys who were stood by, smoking and watching this little commotion, almost fell over themselves laughing as she splashed onto the floor.

  ‘And stay out, you slag. That’ll teach you to bark orders at us,’ Pete shouted, more playing up for the crowd’s sake than for Annabelle’s.

  She pulled herself up, out of the muddy road, and brushed the dirt from her apron. She looked at the two men who were gawping back at her, then gritted her teeth before stomping in the puddle and storming off in the direction of Fournier Street. She could hear them laughing behind her back.

  When she turned the corner, she looked through the dirty window of the other side of the pub. She had to cover her eyes to shield the glare from the streetlight overhead. She could just about make out the people inside through the grime of the windows and the smoke inside. Carrie and Rose were sat quietly in the corner. Neither of them was talking.

  In frustration, she rapped on the window, attempting to get their attention, but they obviously couldn’t hear her over the hubbub inside.

  ‘Carrie!’ she shouted and banged some more, ‘Rose!’

  All the noise and the shouting caught the attention of Burt and Pete, again, who rounded the corner to see what all the fuss was about. ‘Oy, you,’ Pete shouted as Burt grabbed her, holding her tightly around the waist, almost squeezing the breath out of her as he picked her up. ‘I thought we told you to sling yer hook. This is yer last warning yer mad trollop, now… git!’

  Burt dropped her onto the pavement and hocked a spit her way as she lay there. ‘Don’t let me catch you around here again. Next time, we’ll not be as nice,’ he growled.

  As they walked back around to the front of the pub, Annabelle looked up at the clock tower on Christchurch. It read ten-forty-seven. She needed to get the attention of Carrie and Rose, and quickly. She took off, further down Fournier Street, desperation turning her stomach. How can I get them to see me?

  As she continued down the street, her feet tripped on a large iron bar that must have fallen off a horse and cart. She picked it up and looked at it, then ran back towards the pub window she had been banging on not minutes before. Without thinking too much about it, she swung the bar crashing it into the large pane of glass.

  It shattered everywhere, slivers covered her, slicing her skin, and covering many of the patrons of the pub too. They were jumping out of the way of the dangerous shards coming their way as she shouted through the open window.

  ‘Carrie, Rose! Mary’s in trouble. We need to go and help her. Come on.’

  The two women inside the pub were already on their feet.

  Everyone was gawping at the mad woman outside holding an iron bar who was staring wide eyed back into the pub. As she dropped the bar, the clang was deafening in the shocked silence, and it snapped her back into the dangerous reality she was in. Carrie and Rose had seen her and were making their way through the crowd, towards the open window. They both climbed out, careful not to cut themselves on the vicious slivers poking out of the frame.

  ‘What the Hell are you doing?’ Carrie shouted at her.

  ‘I’ve been sacked from the Princess Alice. Mary’s there alone. She’s being forced to do the late shift. I couldn’t hang around as the bastard landlord physically threw me out. We need to get back there as soon as possible.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Rose said.

  Just then, Pete and Burt made it around the corner, both rubbernecking at the large, smashed window. Pete eyes the three women before looking at the floor where the iron bar was lying, surrounded by smashed glass. ‘What the fucking hell have you done here, missus?’ he asked slowly, ignoring the moaning and complaining of the patrons peering out into the street.

  ‘You three, over here now!’ Burt demanded stepping towards them.

  ‘Leave them to me,’ Rose whispered as she made a self-defence stance, raising her arms towards them and bending her legs to give herself a lower centre of gravity.

  The two men saw this and stopped.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Pete asked, looking more than a little taken aback.

  ‘I dunno, mate. Can we just hit her?’ Burt replied.

  ‘Yeah, she’s only a little woman,’ Pete said, as he made his way towards her. ‘I won’t hurt her too much, though,’ he laughed.

  Rose anticipated his advance and kicked her leg high, catching him square on the chin. He dropped, like a stone, onto the pavement. Burt, shocked by what had just happened to his friend, ran at her. Rose caught him by the arm and spun him back in the direction he came from. His arm was so far up his back, with his thumb twisted somehow, that he couldn’t move a muscle.

  ‘OK, mate,’ Rose whispered in his ear. ‘This is what’s going to happen. Me and my friends here are just going to walk away from this little melee, and you are going to tell the pol—’

  She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence as a heavy, wooden truncheon caught her around the back of the head. It was her turn to fall like a stone onto the pavement.

  Carrie and Annabelle turned to see three policemen behind them. They had come from the direction of Fournier Street; no-one had seen them arrive.

  ‘Right, you lot, don’t any of you move a muscle,’ one of the officers shouted. ‘You’re all coming with us.’

  Another policeman grabbed Carrie and the third grabbed Annabelle. Before they knew it, they were all in shackles and forced onto their knees in the broken glass. The third policeman was on the floor next to Rose, checking her pulse. ‘She’s alive!’ he announced. ‘She’ll have a head on her in the morning, though.’ He shackled her and then slapped her across the face, hard enough to wake her up. Which she did with a groan.

  ‘What happened here, Burt?’ the policemen holding Rose asked the large man.

  ‘These three are trouble, Phil. This one’s been giving me and Pete here…’ he gestured to his colleague who was still out cold on the floor, ‘…some grief at the door. She was saying these two are in some sort of trouble. Then the mad cow smashed the window, and the others climbed out of it. They’re all crazy as shit-house rats if you ask me.’

  ‘OK, ladies, you’re all going to spend the night courtesy of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, tonight, and no amount of wriggling or shouting is going to stop that,’ the first policeman stated. ‘Do you wanna press charges, Burt? You know, for him lying there on the floor?’

  Burt looked at Pete, who was just starting to moan on the cold floor. He smiled. ‘Nah, I think the stick he’ll be getting from being beaten up by a cheap sort will be enough for him.’

  ‘You weren’t doing too good yourself there, Burt,’ Rose spat as the policeman dragged her off in the direction of Brick Lane Police Station.

  ‘Officer, can we talk about this?’ Carrie spoke to her captor in a calm, placid voice. ‘We have a friend who’s in mortal danger. She’ll be the next victim of Jack the Ripper if we’re not there to save her.’

  ‘Oh yeah, the
next Jack the Ripper victim, eh? Oh, well remind me to give frigging Spring Heeled Jack the heads up, eh? Now, all of you shut your whore mouths and come quietly,’ the policeman snarled.

  ~~~~

  Mary Kelly was having the worst night of her life. It was nearly midnight, and Annabelle had not come back for her with the others. The landlord wanted to see her in his office after the shift, and she had a good inkling what it was he wanted. If the looks and the rub ups that she had been receiving all night were anything to go by, she didn’t think it would be a talk about a promotion. Why did I take this shift? she thought as she very nearly spilt another pint of ale over a customer.

  ‘Watch what you are doing, you stupid cunt,’ scolded the drunk customer. ‘That’s the third drink you’ve poured over me today. What is this? The public baths?’ The men at the table all erupted into laughter as if it was the best joke they had ever heard. Then the man grabbed her arm and twisted it.

  ~~~~

  Kosminski watched as the man twisted the witch’s arm. Although he was in a group of other men, he looked like could be in the pub alone. Could this be our man? he thought.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’ he shouted at her and pushed her to the ground. He then glared at her and walked off.

  No, that’s not him. He wouldn’t have made a show of himself like that, he thought, a little disappointed. He ordered himself another ale and sat back on his table watching the night’s pantomime continue.

  Mary wandered through the tables, occasionally talking to the customers, but mostly avoiding the grabbing hands, and lecherous advances, that frequently came her way. Kosminski watched as she spent some time talking to another woman. He couldn’t make out her face, but he knew that she wasn’t one of the witches because they were all barred from this pub. She looked rather friendly with this woman, and it confused him quite a bit. He’d seldom seen them fraternize with anyone other than each other.

  He watched, with interest, as they stood in conversation for almost five minutes. It looked like she might have stayed longer if the landlord hadn’t seen her dallying and yelled at her to get on with her work. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ he heard her say to the mystery woman. ‘I’ve got to get this done.’ The woman waved her hand to her in a familial, friendly dismissal. With a smile, Mary continued around the bar.

  He walked over to where the mystery woman was sitting and made a point to pass her, making as if he was going to the latrines. He gave a cursory glance in her direction, but she turned away from him at the last moment, checking something in the large purse she had on the table next to her.

  Fuming, he continued towards the back of the pub and outside to the privy. I’ll get a good look on the way back, he thought as he relieved himself against a fence. He buttoned himself up and returned into the bar area. His eyes immediately darted to the mystery woman’s location, but there was no one there. He scanned the room and found her standing at the bar, with her back to him, while Kelly poured her a drink. ‘Bollocks,’ he murmured under his breath and returned to his seat. He picked up his ale and took a long drink from the tankard.

  All night long, she avoided his gaze as he tried, time and time again, to identify her. Inevitably, he was beginning to succumb to the effects of the ale, and his vision was becoming blurred. He checked his pocket watch and was surprised to see that it was getting on for two-forty-five in the morning.

  ‘Come on folks, time for yers to get off home to yer loved ones, or to yer beds,’ the landlord shouted as he was on his way to the bar to get one last ale. ‘That means last orders, yer feckers, now git. I got a bed I want to get to too, you know.’

  ‘Just one more for the road?’ Kosminski slurred as he made it to the bar.

  ‘Are you mutton, sir?’ the landlord asked, giving him a look like he wanted to punch him in his face, just for the sake of it.

  ‘Deaf? No, why?’

  ‘Because I just told you to fuck off home, that’s why.’

  This caused raucous laughter from a group of drunk men who were standing at the bar finishing off their own drinks. As they laughed, Kosminski snapped into a kind of sobriety, realising that he might have given himself away. He was relieved when he saw Kelly stood in the far corner. She was once again talking to the mystery woman. Who the hell could she be? he thought. She’s ruining my plans.

  ‘Come on, fella, you’re out on your heels you are,’ he heard the landlord growl before he felt himself being lifted and dragged towards the door, an event that took some doing, considering his size.

  As he was pulled, he looked around and saw the woman pass something to Kelly. Was it a note? That was the only thought to pass through his head before he was unceremoniously hauled outside into the cold, night, air.

  ‘Go home, sir, and sleep it off, then you can come back tomorrow and do it all again.’ The landlord was laughing as he turned back inside the emptying bar, wiping his hands on the dirty apron tied around his waist.

  Kosminski lay, dazed, on the pavement. His head had cracked on the kerbstone, and once the dizziness had cleared, he rubbed at it, checking to see if there was blood. There wasn’t, although he knew there would be a considerable lump there in the morning.

  He sat up, and the world tilted around him, causing nausea to take a grip of him. He struggled uneasily to his feet and rested against a lamppost by the front door of the pub. All the good—or bad—intentions he had planned for tonight had gone down the drain.

  He’d gotten himself far too drunk to do anything.

  He eased himself off the pavement, wiping the mud from his trousers, before attempting to walk off in the direction of George’s Yard. That was when the pain in his head flared up again, and he tripped over his own feet.

  He hit the pavement again, this time on his chin, and he went out cold.

  ~~~~

  He came around sometime later in a doorway of a shop a little way along from the pub. He had no idea how he had gotten there. As he tried to move his arms and legs, he found it difficult. For a moment, he panicked. Am I in one of those holding beams? he thought, before realising that it was only because he had been sitting in one position for far too long.

  He opened his eyes and looked around. After a few moments of double vision, the street began to focus. It was mostly deserted, except for a few stragglers a way off down Commercial Road, all heading off somewhere to continue whatever party they had been part of. As he attempted to get up, another wave of dizziness hit him, and he decided it would be best to rest where he was for another few moments.

  ‘…and don’t think of coming back here again for work. You were rubbish. If it wasn’t for your snatch of a mate, you’d never have worked here at all.’

  The gruff voice sounded familiar. It was the landlord shouting at someone, someone who he couldn’t make out from his position. Then Mary Kelly walked into his field of vision. She looked like she had been crying and was buttoning up her blouse.

  ‘Fucking tart,’ he heard the landlord shout into the night.

  His heart began to pound. I need to follow her. I can’t pass up this opportunity. He struggled one more time to get to his feet, but a cramp in his calf caused him to fall over again. Half in pain, but mostly just drunk, he pretended to be asleep as the woman passed him, almost as if he wasn’t even there. Through one eye, he watched her hurry her way down Commercial Street towards Millers Court.

  As she got a little further down the road, she stopped and looked around. Wrapping her shawl around herself as if she were cold, she just stood, waiting. He could tell that she was both nervous and scared. With a sly smile, he did his best to get up. He knew that he might not get another chance to get one of these women alone. I’ll call Abberline, he thought.

  ‘Abberline, are you there?’ he slurred into his wrist.

  ‘Kosminski, where are you?’ came the curt reply.

  ‘I’m sat in a doorway, outside the Princess Alice. I’ve been watching Mary Kelly all night.’

  ‘Why didn’t you let me kno
w you were there? Is she still there? Is she alone?’

  ‘Yes, and yes.’ He hiccupped into the device. ‘I’m watching her right now. It looks like she’s waiting for her friends, who I don’t think are coming. I’m going to go and get her. I’ll rip this one for you, sir, make no mistake about that!’

  ‘No! Do not do anything. Just follow her and let me know if she’s going home. If she’s alone, then this is the opportunity I need.’

  ‘Righty-o, sir, oh… Oh ohh, it looks like you’re too late. It looks like she’s got herself some company.’

  ‘What? Who is it?’

  Kosminski squinted his blurring eyes to try to get a look at who the newcomer could be. ‘To be honest, sir, I don’t know. It’s someone I’ve never seen before, but they seem to know each other, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Which way are they heading? I received word earlier that three women have been picked up, and detained for drunk and disorderly and criminal damage, at The Ten Bells pub. I’m looking at the map, and they all seem to be ours. All the signals are in one place, all of them except one. That’ll be Mary.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know who this person is, but I can assure you that she’s not alone.’

  ‘Can you follow them? Also, let me know if this person leaves.’

  ‘That will be a little harder than it sounds. I’m a bit…’ as if on cue, he hiccupped and giggled, ‘…inebriated at the moment, and I seem to be in some considerable pain after a few falls onto the pavement. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them, and even if I did, I’d hardly be inconspicuous looking like this. I fear my face is a little bit bloody.’

  ‘Kosminski, you’re fucking useless,’ Abberline hissed through the wrist device, and the connection broke.

  Aaron Kosminski blew air out of his mouth and promptly fell back asleep in the doorway.

  64.

  ‘Oh, Murder!’ The scream rose over Miller’s Court. Abberline was counting on the fact that, even though cries of this nature were very common in this area, possibly the worst in London, because of what had been happening recently, people might come running to investigate.