From Hell

by Tim Marquitz

  The hookers had come out of hiding, as well. That made things more interesting. While there’d been a few here and there as I made my rounds of the local bars, the numbers had picked up drastically since I’d come into the Twat.

  Yeah, I said it.

  The women were scattered about the bar as they looked for their first score. Early in the drinking shift, the men still had some cash to spare so there was plenty of activity in and out the door. The hookers drifted from table to table, tarted up and wearing as little as they could get away with up top. There was plenty of flesh on display, many a cup runneth over, making my surveillance that much more exciting. A quick dip to whisper in a man’s ear gave me a decadent view of the hills and valleys. It was enough to make me want to go spelunking, but Uncle Lou would be pissed if he found out. I was supposed to be stopping a killer not cavorting with the local happiness guild.

  By the time I’d gotten around to that depressing thought, my drink arrived. I paid the woman and gave her a little extra on top to ensure she’d come back around often but not big enough to arouse suspicion or too much interest. I just wanted a steady flow of beers without any questions. She seemed to understand and left without any fuss, giving me a dotted grin of appreciation.

  Drink in hand and the first sip teasing my taste buds, I let my eyes wander from the women to the men, saddened by the effort. Soft, pale and pleasing skin was replaced by grimy lines and bearded chins. They weren’t much to look at, let me tell you. Hardened by lives in the dark and dirty interiors of London, I swore I could hear their faces creak when they smiled. Life hadn’t been easy for them and each and every one had seen their fair share of death at their jobs. Men died all the time, caught in a machine or trapped under rubble.

  Just in the short time I watched them, three scuffles had broken out about some inconsequential thing or another. While none were particularly brutal, each quelled almost immediately after they started, there was no doubt there was plenty of pent up hostility brewing just below the surface. I watched the men complain and manhandle the women whose asses would soon be chafed against the wall in some back alleyway and left to pick up the coins cast in the mud. They weren’t really showing humanity in its brightest light.

  I sighed at the thought. Any of these men could be the killer I was looking for.

  Whitechapel stewed with the anger and despair of its populace, a pot ready to boil over and scald the surrounding neighborhoods. It was no wonder the Ripper had chosen the area to commit his crimes. He knew as well as anyone else the value of the lives here. While there might be an outcry at his cruelty, eyes drawn to it through the newspapers reporting of the murders, no one looked twice at a man taking what he wanted from the women who worked the streets. Sadism was the norm and no one would say much of anything as long as the woman could earn her wages the next night. That was simply life for the Whitechapel hookers. My mother’s disapproval rumbled in my skull and I found myself nodding. She wouldn’t have done well in this era, not that things had worked all that out great in hers. My stomach knotted with memories.

  I growled and shook the past from my head, drowning stray thoughts with a deep swig of my beer. This was a job my uncle had sent me on not some personal vendetta against abusive men. I’d have to be satisfied with ridding the world of just one of them on this trip.

  My gaze slowly wandered across the bar, shifting from the factory men, who gathered close as though they were so used to the contact they didn’t know when to separate, over to the outlying tables where the crowds were sparser.

  There were a variety of men taking advantage of the tavern’s services. An older man sat at a table, one of the women perched on his lap. The two cuddled and shared a drink. She ran her hand through his beard—and probably his pockets—but he didn’t seem to mind whatever she was doing. He grinned, a crack lightening in the wild forest of his face.

  Another group of men sat at a table near the opposite side. They leaned and whispered, their voices not carrying outside of their circle. I’d bet one of Baalth’s nuts these weren’t factory men grown ignorant of personal space, but criminals in the middle of planning a heist of some sort. That pretty much ruled them out. While I was curious as to what they had in mind, the killings had been a solitary venture. Jack hadn’t escaped notice this long by flapping his gums.

  A third table seated a broad man with a pug nose. There was no mistaking his predilection for fighting. It might not have been his job, but from the looks of him, it was something he did often. He wore his coat, even in the relative warmth of the bar, and the sleeves clung to his shoulders and biceps as if he’d forced them inside. His eyes were narrow and kept me from seeing the color. One meaty hand rested on a mug of beer while the other cupped the hip of a redheaded woman who hovered at his side. She smiled and leaned in close, whispering something, her full lips brushing his ear. He sat there stone-faced, as if his features had been carved in granite, barely nodding as she spoke. He didn’t even glance at the woman’s assets on display just inches from his face. That drew my attention.

  Unless the guy was blind or liked to bugger boys, there was no way he’d pass up the opportunity to cast a glance down her blouse. The fact that he didn’t made him suspect in my book. The woman stood and ran a hand across his shoulders, disengaging and walking toward the crowded front of the bar. I couldn’t blame her. She wasn’t gonna get paid with stone face. His eyes drifted to me, and I felt the chill of his attention.

  I let my senses loose, more out of habit than anything. It was always good to know what I was up against before I started something. A loud noise grabbed my attention just as I did. My head snapped around to catch the start of a fight, several of the factory workers swinging at each other as the redhead and the other women scrambled to get out of the way. It was then my senses tingled, a spider crawling along my spine. Vague recognition whispered at the wisps of magical energy, but I couldn’t be sure where I’d felt it before.

  As the fists flew, I turned back toward the man at the table only to find him gone. My eyes darted around the bar, and I spied him just as he slipped through the door, his muscled frame making him easy to identify. The flutter of my senses dulled at his departure.

  I jumped out of my seat and ran after him. Unfortunately, the scrappy workers had infected their companions. The fight spilled over into a full out brawl. Men crashed into one another and chairs and tables went flying. The musky scent of beer welled up as mugs toppled to the floor. I stomped through a puddle of spilled alcohol as I fought my way through the jostling crowd. The amber liquid pooling on the floor was a sad sight, but there was no time to mourn the loss of the innocent alcohol. I did manage to squeeze in a quick dose of revenge, however.

  As the crowd jostled me, I snatched up a stool from near the bar. It was a solid thing, thick wood at the seat, stumpy legs like tree trunks; heavy. I put it to good use right away, thumping a man across the back as he stumbled into me. The stool collided with his spine, wood crashing into bone and meat. He let out a short, sharp gasp and dropped into the crowd. I kicked him aside and raised the stool over my head. Folks scattered.

  Finally outside, I tossed the stool back into the tavern. Dusk had settled in overhead. I looked up and down the street but the man was nowhere to be seen. I spotted an alley just a few dozen yards from the tavern and ran to it, thinking it was the closest cover to be found. He had to be there. At the corner, I peered around only to realize I was wrong. The man wasn’t there; only small piles of trash littered the narrow passageway. To be sure, I crept down the alley, stepping gingerly around the detritus to keep from making too much noise. About halfway down, a soft breeze tickled the back of my neck. I spun around to see Scarlett standing about ten feet back, grinning at me.

  “I knew I’d find you playing in the trash.”

  “And you came here for me. What does that say about you?”

  Her smile slipped from her luscious lips to be replaced by a sneer. Scarlett only had two expressions: smiling becau
se she was making fun of me or pissed because she wasn’t as witty. I much preferred seeing the latter.

  I grinned. “It just so happens, I was out here for a reason.”

  She put her hands on her hips and jutted out her chest, a sure sign I was about to have my ear gnawed off, but she never got started. A parade of heavy boots stomped up to the end of the alley. I glanced around Scarlett as she turned, both of us spotting the dozen or so men sealing off the exit. Each carried a short truncheon or knife of some kind, several of them holding blackjacks that hissed as they shook them our direction. The men glared, and I could feel the heat of their eyes as they approached.

  Scarlett sighed and glanced over her shoulder at me. “What did you do now?”

  I shrugged. With me, it could have been anything.

  Seven

  “You aren’t wanted here,” the first of the group said as he closed. Average of build and height, he wasn’t very threatening. He waved his little club my direction like a schoolmarm who’d caught me diddling under the desk.

  Scarlett shook her head and gave me her “I knew it” look before returning her focus to the gang that had cornered us.

  “We can work this out, right?” I asked, not because I was scared, but I was hoping to drag some information out of him before he and his friends tried to cave our skulls in. The look on the guy’s face made it pretty clear we wouldn’t be settling anything peaceably. Scarlett crept back toward me so we were side by side.

  “We ain’t working nothing out. Tell him, Al,” another of the men said. This one was thin and wiry. He looked like a whiskerless rat, his nose jutting out from his face. It was as sharp as the blade he held in his bony hand.

  “You’ve been asking too many questions, bloke,” Al went on. “The people of Whitechapel don’t need your help and don’t want it. The Committee doesn’t need you, either. It’s time for you to go away or we’re gonna bash your teeth in, you hear?”

  It didn’t take but a second to realize these men worked for Charles Braun, the other half of the Vigilance Committee. He’d apparently decided to take a more active role in keeping me out of their business.

  “Actually, it’s my tongue that makes the words come out. I’d still be able to talk without my teeth, just so you know.”

  Scarlett groaned as muttered comments rippled through the group, all of them unflattering.

  “You’ve a way with people, Frank.”

  “It’s genetic.” I winked at her without taking my eyes off the men. Their demeanor told me they’d come for a fight. It didn’t matter what I told them or agreed to, they wanted blood and weren’t gonna walk away without it being spilled. They just didn’t realize it was gonna be theirs.

  Rat boy inched forward, holding his knife out before him. His nose twitched as he approached. Scarlett reached for her blades, but I set a hand on her forearm. Her frigid glare fell on me.

  “Ah, ah, aaaah. What would Jesus do?” I asked. While not entirely sure myself, having never met the guy, I figured he wouldn’t start hacking up a bunch of humans whose most dangerous weapon was their stupidity.

  She shook my hand off, but her fingers moved from her swords. “Don’t ever speak of the Son. Were he alive, he would descend from Heaven if only to save me from your insolence”

  I forced a serious face and nodded. Scarlett was touchy when it came to the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Hostess or whatever the last one was. She hated when I joked about them, as if she expected me to have the same kind of reverence she did. That wasn’t the case.

  “Jesus saves? Of course he does; he’s a Jew.”

  Scarlett growled and clenched her fists so tight the knuckles glowed white.

  “You might want to pay attention, sweetheart.” I pointed at rat boy as he leapt forward, apparently feeling left out of the hostility. He wasn’t for long.

  She spun about and grabbed Rat’s wrist. A sharp twist snapped the bones with a crack. He screamed and dropped the blade, going silent when Scarlett slammed her fist into his jaw. Teeth clacked together and he dropped the moment she let go of his arm.

  “Get ‘em,” Al yelled, his voice like a struck match.

  “I blame you,” Scarlett told me as she settled into her stance.

  There was only enough time for me to nod before the rest of the thugs charged. Al came straight at me. I’d expected him to hold back a little after Scarlett’s display, but he apparently didn’t hold rat boy in high regard, being dropped by a woman and all. His machismo was gonna get him hurt.

  Al stomped over his buddy, planting a boot in his ribs as he launched himself at me. While Baalth regularly kicked my ass for sparring mistakes, there was one lesson that had stuck after a particularly uncomfortable violation of my temporal integrity: Never leave the ground in a fight. Momentum is a motherfucker.

  I sidestepped and latched onto Al’s arm, turning my hip into him. His eyes went wide, and then he was sailing over my shoulder, feet flailing in free fall. He let out a short, sharp gasp just before he hit the ground with a meaty slap, going silent an instant later. The stones vibrated beneath my feet at the impact while his truncheon bounced away, disappearing into the trash. Certain Al was out of commission I turned to the others just in time to catch a blackjack to the face.

  Stars exploded in my brainpan as my head snapped sideways on my neck. The sand and gravel in the sack crunched, setting my ears to ringing. My cheek throbbed, and I looked back to the guy who’d thumped me. A smile oozed to my lips at his obvious surprise. He’d expected me to go down, but I’m not that easy. I wasn’t even getting dinner out of this.

  “You hit like a girl,” I told him.

  With no magic empowering his weapon, he didn’t stand a chance of taking me out. He stood with the blackjack swinging uselessly from his fingers as if he’d come to the same realization. The guy was likely still contemplating that when I kicked him in the coin purse. He shrieked and went fetal, hands clasping at his busted junk.

  A body flew past me and crashed into the wall, kicking up a swirl of gray dust as it knocked the mortar loose. The thug slid down the wall to lie limp in the piles of debris on the alley floor. The remaining thugs held their ground. Scarlett had taken a toll on them while I’d danced with Al and his buddy. There were only five still standing, and none of them seemed all that interested in being the next in line. Their hesitance made my next move easy.

  I pulled out the Webley and cocked the hammer back. The sound echoed in the now silent alleyway.

  “I thought you said—”

  A raised finger cut Scarlett off before she could finish. That was all it took. Not two seconds later, the last of the men had turned tail and run out of the alley, leaving us alone with their fallen comrades. I smiled and eased the hammer home, slipping the pistol back into my pocket.

  “Sometimes a bluff is as good as the real thing.”

  Scarlett snorted. “That deluded motto explains your sex life.”

  I raised an eyebrow and glared at her. Scarlett grinned wide, brilliant teeth shining. She’d clearly been spending too much time with me. “Good one.” Bitch.

  She chuckled and walked to the end of the alley, carefully peering around the corner. Her smile slid from her lips like mud washed away by rain.

  “What is it?”

  “You feel that?”

  The tickle of her senses washed over me so I turned mine loose. For a moment, I felt nothing but Scarlett’s presence, her power overwhelming in its brightness. I willed my senses to focus, blocking her out, but it was slow going. Unlike Scarlett, I wasn’t a natural talent at magic. My inherent abilities were dimmer than hers, less sensitive. Where the flutter of butterfly wings might warn her of a presence, it took a brick to the face for me to recognize the same energies.

  Without waiting for me, she started off. I raced to catch up. A cold sweat dotted my brow as I pushed to rein my senses in tighter, to target them. Around the corner and a few meters down the walk, I finally caught a glimmer of what she was chasing.


  Little more than a wisp, there were hazy traces of residual magic dotting the air like bread crumbs. They were as delicate as a faery farts in a hurricane, but Scarlett walked on with purpose, tracking them with apparent ease. A bloodhound on the trail, she turned down a side street, and then came to a sudden stop. I walked up alongside her and followed her gaze across the road. That’s when it hit me.

  The vague energy Scarlett had picked up was the same as what I’d noticed during my flight from the police. It was also the same I’d hit on at the bar. My stomach tightened into a knot as things fell into place. The guy I’d followed was lurking across the street. He was either hoping to avoid us or was waiting for the opportunity to spring an ambush, but that wasn’t what bothered me. Baalth hadn’t said anything about magic before I’d left Hell, but here it was, plain as warts on a leper. It didn’t make me feel good about confronting the guy now that I’d had a good chance to examine the energies he was putting off.

  Whoever he was, he wasn’t normal.

  Dilapidated tenements sat jumbled just the other side of the walk. A gas lamp flickered at the far end of the street, but it did little to illuminate the small apartments swallowed in shadow. There were plenty of places for our guy to hide.

  Scarlett drew a deep breath and started across the street at a measured pace. That didn’t help my confidence any. She was always the fearless one; God by her side, yea, though I walk, blah, blah, blah, and all that. The fact that she looked uncertain worried me. Neither Lucifer nor Baalth mentioned the likelihood of supernatural involvement.

  “You sure about this?” I whispered.

  Scarlett shrugged but kept walking. She eased her swords from their scabbards without a sound. I followed suit, only a little more comfortable with the Bull Dog nestled in my sweaty palm. The mystical reverberations grew as we crossed the road, but as we drew closer, the feeling changed.

  Normally, the magical presence of a living being exudes a different kind of energy than an inanimate object. There’s more warmth to the feeling, a sense of life that radiates off the person. Most humans barely flicker, their auras dim and cool. My uncle, however, burns like the sun when he’s not holding his power in check. Scarlett is more like a cozy campfire you’d curl up next to on a cold night. The trail we were following was little more than the flicker of a candle, and it had chilled somewhat since we started across the street. The sense of humanity, of living matter, was fading to be replaced by the still, calm energies that rippled like the surface of a lake. Scarlett glanced at me with the same puzzled expression I presumed I wore.