by Sam Gafford
“Right, then,” he said. “Where is it? And where’s that bastard Cohen?”
“I—I don’t know. He knocked me out. I guess he just left me here and took off.”
“Really? Just left you here, eh? Not a nice partner then, is he?”
“He’s not my partner. I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
He bent his head down and glared at me out of the top of his eyes. I felt my blood run cold.
“Listen to me, you little piece of shit. I am not a man to fuck with! You hear me?” His voice was quiet, which made it all the more terrifying.
“Yeah, yes, I hear you. I’m not lying. I don’t know what’s going on.”
He shook his head and stood up.
“I told Mr. S not to use amateurs. ‘Don’t go all cheap,’ I says to him. ‘Let me do the job. I’ll get you what’s you want. But does he listen to old Gaffer? No, he does not! He goes out and hires that shit for brains Cohen to do the job. And does Cohen show up with the goods?”
Gaffer paused.
Nervous, I stammered, “Um, he doesn’t?”
“Damn right he don’t! Now I gots to track this little shit down and get what Mr. S pays for. And you don’t know nothing.”
“No, I don’t. I swear to you.”
“I can kill you right now, you know. It’d be easy. Maybe a slice here or a slice there. A quick stab in the right place. Or I could just beat you to death. Maybe that would give Cohen the right message, eh? Tell him that we aren’t the type to mess with?”
Gaffer would do it. I could tell that killing to him was as simple as breathing was to me. I had to think fast.
“But that wouldn’t get you what you want, would it?”
“What’s you mean?”
“If you kill me, you’ll never get the goods. Cohen will disappear and you’ll never find him. What will Mr. S think of you then?”
“So now you do know about this? And you acting all innocent like.”
“I’m just saying that I can get Cohen for you, but without me you’ll never find him. The man is a magician! He’ll vanish into one of his many East End holes that only I know about and never come out again. If you want to find him, you have to let me go.”
Gaffer stared at me and gritted his teeth so violently that I could feel the spit coming out of his mouth. Suddenly he screamed and leapt backward. “Aarrgghhh!!!! For a book! All this crap for a fuckin’ book!” He smashed the table against the wall and kicked the bureau drawers on the floor. I tried to move closer to the door and the drawer. Until that moment, I hadn’t realised that Gaffer and I were after the same thing. For all I knew, Cohen had cheated Gaffer and the mysterious Mr. S in some other deal. But now we were connected because of the prince’s diary.
“What the hell is so important about a fuckin’ book? This makes me so mad!”
Slowly, I got my feet under me. They were still a little shaky, but they would have to be steady enough. I felt for one of the drawers with my right hand.
“Naw, I don’t like this, not one little bit, I don’t!” Gaffer shouted. He grabbed the small bed and started ripping it apart. “You! You are going to take me to that two-bit bastard and you’re going to do it right now! Not tomorrow! Not next week! Right fuckin’ now!”
Gaffer lunged towards me, and I swung the drawer as hard as I could. It smashed into his head and broke apart in my hand. I felt the impact of the wood shattering all the way up my arm. Gaffer spun around and fell back towards the remains of the bed. There was a gaping wound on his scalp that was gushing blood into his eyes.
“You son of a whore! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”
He jumped at me, but with the blood in his eyes Gaffer was practically blind. I dodged him, and the force of his leap carried him full into the wall. He left a bloody mark as he bounced back onto the floor.
Amazingly, he was still conscious, even if stunned. I quickly got to my feet and ran out the door. I could hear him stumbling after me, bellowing all the while.
“I’ll get you! I knows your face now! You’re not safe from me!”
In any other neighbourhood, people would have come out of their homes to see what was going on. In the East End, however, it was business as usual and no one took any notice. I ran down the street and kept running until my lungs felt as if they were going to explode. Gasping, I ducked into a small alley and flattened myself against the wall. There were plenty of people on the street, but no one looked at me and I never heard the Gaffer. As my breath eased, I started to relax a bit. I slowly made my way back home, knowing that I must have looked a mess. My head was throbbing and every step seemed to take an eternity. My mind rambled as I walked and I don’t remember how I got home. Eventually, I climbed the steps to Mrs. Hutchins and managed to open the door. Once inside, I collapsed on the sitting room sofa.
*
Sometime later, I awoke to Ann shaking me.
“Albert! Albert, wake up! Wake up, please!”
Slowly I opened my eyes.
“I’m awake,” I said groggily, “I’m here. What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten minutes now! And look at you! You’ve got a new lump the size of an apple on the side of your head, your clothes are filthy, and you look terrible. Why would I think something is wrong?”
I looked at her. She was a vision of deep concern, and yet her face was still the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.
“I’m all right,” I said. I tried to sit up, but the room seemed to spin around me. Ann grabbed me before I could fall and laid me back on the sofa.
“Oh, yes, you look just fine to me. Everyone nearly faints when he tries to stand up. I’ve sent Mrs. Hutchins for a doctor.”
“What? You didn’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest a bit, that’s all.”
Ann wasn’t convinced. She could tell that it was more serious than I was letting on.
“Here,” she said, “drink this.” She put a glass in my hand and I drank it down. Brandy. For the second day in a row, I had been given brandy after being knocked unconscious. I failed to see what good it did.
Coughing, I drained the glass and gave it back to Ann.
“Now are you going to tell me what this is all about? I come downstairs to look for you and find you practically half-dead on the sofa, looking as if you’d been in a war. What happened to you?”
I smiled weakly. “I don’t suppose you’d believe I just fell down, would you?”
She smiled back and the tension broke. “Not hardly. Unless you have a habit of falling down over and over again.”
“I am notoriously clumsy.”
“I will have to remember that. Just as I will remember that you cannot answer a direct question. What happened to you?”
I slumped back against the sofa. The cool fabric felt comforting to my aching head. I contemplated lying to Ann and simply telling her that I had been robbed. After all, it happened every day to people in London. But we had only begun to know each other and I didn’t want to build a life upon a lie. So I decided to tell her as much as I could without betraying any confidences.
“I was on an errand . . . for Wendell. He asked me to try to find something he wanted, and it took me into the East End. I’m afraid that my questions weren’t met with eager friendship.”
“That would appear to be an understatement. What did he do?”
“Well, one fellow punched me and then kicked me in the head. I didn’t like him very much after that.”
Ann laughed. “I should think not. And there was someone else?”
I shifted on the sofa, trying to regain my sense of balance. “Yes. He threatened me, but I managed to hit him with a drawer first.”
Her eyes widened. “A drawer?”
“Yes, from a bureau. They can be quite effective weapons, you know.”
I laughed and she joined me. “My drawer-swinging he-man!”
“Don’t knock w
hat works! Anyway, I managed to get away from him and came home, and here I am.”
“And what about your errand for Wendell?”
“Ah, yes, that. I’m afraid to say that I was not successful, but I think I will be able to find what he wants.”
“Hopefully at less of a risk to you.”
“Indeed! I am not used to so much physical activity. I thought that a writer’s life was supposed to be much quieter than this!”
“I suppose it depends on what kind of writer you want to be! Perhaps you will write about all your adventures someday.”
I laughed half-heartedly. “I hope that this is all the adventure I have for a while now.”
Suddenly Mrs. Hutchins came bursting through the front door and into the room. She had an older gentleman in tow who looked as if he had dressed in a hurry.
“Oh, thank heavens, Mr. Albert! You’re awake! You gave us an awful scare when we couldn’t wake you up!”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hutchins, but I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Well, Dr. Williams is going to take a look at you anyway. Doctor?”
The elderly man came forward, and I could now see the black bag in his hand. In later days, I would come to know it as a Gladstone bag and recognise it as one commonly carried by doctors. It opened at the top and the doctor reached inside.
“Mr.—Besame, isn’t it?” he said. “I am Dr. Williams and I’m just going to examine you. How long do you think you were unconscious?”
“Ah, I don’t know. I don’t remember what time I got back home.”
“We’ll just assume it was for a little bit then. Please hold still.”
The doctor examined my head, and I winced painfully when he touched my lump.
“Hmm. Very tender. Please look directly at me.”
He looked into my eyes while I tried not to blink.
“Uh-hm. Pupils are slightly dilated. Can you stand?”
“I’ll try.” I slowly lifted myself off the sofa. Ann helped brace me up.
“Squeeze my hand,” the doctor said.
I held his hand and squeezed as hard as I could.
“That’s enough,” Dr. Williams said. “You have a slight concussion, Mr. Besame, but I think you’ll be all right. You need to get some rest. With Mrs. Hutchins and Ann’s careful ministrations, I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate you coming so quickly,” I said.
“Think nothing of it, young man, I would happily be woken up any evening for a piece of Mrs. Hutchins’ delightful cake.”
Mrs. Hutchins laughed and blushed slightly. “Now, Dr. Williams, you know you can come by anytime for a little bite to eat.”
“And I assure you that I shall do that very thing, dear lady, but if I could also have a moment of your time as well. It has to do with your son.”
Mrs. Hutchins face darkened and all joy left her face. “Oh, yes, of course. Why don’t we talk in the kitchen, Doctor? You’re all right with Mr. Albert by yourself, Ann?”
Ann widened her eyes in mock exasperation. “Unless he decides to go off on another adventure!”
Sitting back down on the sofa, I replied, “Not tonight, Ann. Here I am and here I stay. If Mrs. Hutchins could bring me a bit of cold supper in a bit? I don’t believe I’ve eaten since this morning.”
“Of course, Mr. Albert, won’t be a moment. Doctor, if you care to follow me?”
“Lead on, dear lady, lead on!”
They left the room, and Ann proceeded to clean my face like a cat washing one of her kittens. “I swear, Albert,” she said, “I am going to have to keep a closer eye on you. Here I am, thinking you were at work all day, and you’re running around the East End chasing some books.”
“Well, it was not the day I had in mind when I left here this morning.”
“And what else did you do today that you haven’t told me?”
I thought for a moment, thinking there was something I was forgetting. Suddenly it came to me. Arthur’s party!
“Oh, yes, we’ve been invited to a party tomorrow night.”
“What?” Ann nearly shouted. “Are you serious? Whose party?”
“Arthur Machen and his wife, Amy, are throwing a party tomorrow night. We’ve been invited. Wait, it is still Saturday, isn’t it?”
“Only for another hour or so. I cannot believe this. Did you accept?”
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond. It seemed that Ann was making much more of this than I had anticipated.
“Um, yes?”
“Albert Besame, I simply cannot believe you. If you were not already injured I would smack your head myself!”
“Why? What’s the matter? I thought you would enjoy going to a party!”
“Of course I will! But honestly! You give me not even a day to prepare?”
“Prepare what?”
“Myself, of course! Oh, and you too. You simply have no idea, do you, you sweet, simple man?”
“Idea about what? I don’t understand what you’re so concerned about.”
She looked frustrated and started explaining it to me as one would to a child.
“This is a party, Albert, and there are things that must be done to prepare for a party. I have to find the right dress, my hair has to be done right—and you! We have to find you a good suit! Oh, this is too much. One day. I shall never get it done in time. Mrs. Hutchins!”
I sat there stunned while Mrs. Hutchins came back from the kitchen. “What’s the matter, Miss Ann, is Mr. Albert fading again?”
“He should be so fortunate. No, Albert has just informed me that we will be attending a party at Mr. Machen’s tomorrow evening!”
“Oh, my. Tomorrow? Why didn’t he tell you earlier?”
Stunned, I looked around but could find no help in the room. “I only found out about it today myself. I didn’t know earlier.”
“This is a problem, Miss Ann. I know Mrs. Machen’s parties. They are very popular and there are a lot of people from the art world who go to them. You never know who is going to show up. We are going to have a lot of work to do!”
“Albert,” Ann said to me, “I want you just to lie here for a bit. Mrs. Hutchins and I are going to go upstairs and ravage my closet. God, please let there be something I can wear.”
With a rush, they flew up the stairs and left me alone wondering what had happened. It had never occurred to me that going to a party was such an overwhelming task. Then again, I had never experienced such a thing with a woman before, and she obviously had an entirely different outlook on the importance of parties.
I lay there for a few minutes before I remembered how hungry I was and slowly made my way to the kitchen. There, to my surprise, I found Dr. Williams devouring what looked like half of one of Mrs. Hutchins’ cakes.
“Ah, young Mr. Besame, neglecting my orders to rest, I see?”
I stumbled through the kitchen and put together a small plate of cold meat for myself. “I would be resting if my angels of mercy weren’t upstairs jumping about.”
Dr. Williams returned to his cake. “Well, women usually need something to fret about. What are they doing?”
I sat down at the table with the doctor and ate slowly. My head was aching so badly that even the barest motion of cutting something made me clench my teeth.
“Apparently I made the mistake of telling Ann that we are invited to a party tomorrow.”
Dr. Williams looked up from his cake in surprise. “You only told her today?” He began to laugh. “Oh, my boy, you have so much to learn about women!”
“I didn’t think it was it was such a big thing. It’s just a party at a friend’s house.”
Dr. Williams looked at me with the utmost serious expression on his face. “My dear lad, is this not the first occasion that you and Miss Ann will appear together, in public, as a ‘couple’?”
“Well, I suppose it is.” I was mystified. “How did you know about that?”
He laughed again. “I have known Mrs.
Hutchins for many years now, and ever since my dear wife, Elizabeth, passed on ten years ago we have been very close. Also, I make it a habit to stop by and see her a few times a week to talk, laugh a little, and enjoy her wonderful cooking. Surely you did not think the affection that you and Miss Ann share for each other was not noticed by anyone else? It is all Mrs. Hutchins has talked about this week.
“So, really, given the circumstances, can you really be so surprised that she considers this so important?”
“I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way. I suppose it is a big event after all.”
“Women, bless them, are very sentimental creatures. You will find that Ann will remember all the significant events surrounding your life together and, should you wish to stay with her, you’d had better start remembering them too!”
We both laughed a bit.
“Did I hear you say that you needed to talk to Mrs. Hutchins about her son? Is there a problem?”
Dr. Williams became very serious. “Yes, I did need to talk to her, but with all due respect, Mr. Besame, I can’t really talk about it to you.”
“Of course, I understand. But I hope it is nothing serious.”
“Not at the moment. At least, I don’t believe so. But there could be. Her son, well, let me just say that he has had some problems in the past. His life has not been easy, nor has he made his mother’s life easy.”
“I have not heard much about her son.”
“Nor are you likely to.” Dr. Williams sighed. “I am not one to talk, Mr. Besame, but I sometimes fear that man. He has some ‘unhealthy’ compulsions. That is why he became a butcher actually, so that he could try to purge himself of these compulsions.”
“What kind of compulsion could a butcher have?” I asked, becoming uneasy with where this conversation was heading.
Dr. Williams leaned closer. “With blood, Mr. Besame, William has an obsession with blood. He has had it since he was a child.”
My own blood began to run cold. “What do you mean?”
“I really can’t say much more than I already have. Let me just say that, should you desire to get a small dog or a cat, I should watch it very closely if I were you.” Dr. Williams finished his cake and got up to leave. “For that matter, I would never leave Miss Ann alone with William either. For safety’s sake. And now I must leave, Mr. Besame. Do get some rest, won’t you? And enjoy your party tomorrow. Youth is for the young and all that.”