by Tim Marquitz
She rolled her eyes as I forced the pimp to his knees. “I know that. I mean…oh, never mind.” Scarlett cast an exasperated glance up at the sky.
I chuckled and smiled at Wally. “Be a good boy and you won’t get shot.” Letting loose of his throat, I reached down and pulled his coat open and wormed my hand past the collar of his shirt. Wally stiffened and looked to Scarlett.
She raised her hands. “Don’t look at me. His perversions are his alone. I’m not a part of this little…” she wiggled her fingers at us both, “whatever it is.”
My hand wrapped about the heavy chain that hung low against his chest, the cold metal tingling against my fingers. I snatched it up and sighed as the necklace popped into view. There in my palm sat a silver pentagram; the same one that had punctured my hand when Wally and I first tangled.
The amused expression on Scarlett’s face morphed into one of rage, deep lines carving a trail from her crystalline eyes. “Damn it, Frank. He is working for Lu—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off before she could get started, “he isn’t.” I leaned against the pistol, grinding the barrel into Wally’s face. He grunted and tried to sink into the wall behind him. “You and I are going to have a little chat. And so you’re aware, those perversions my dear cousin back there alluded to aren’t just confined to the realm of sex. I like to mix my pleasures. Meat is meat, you know, and there are plenty of ways to satisfy a hunger if a person is creative enough. And, oh, trust me, I’m more than creative.” I let the gun slide down his cheek and across his chest until the barrel nestled uncomfortably in the bunched cloth at his groin. He started to tremble.
Scarlett made a disgusted face and turned her back on us. I was pretty sure she knew I was bluffing or she wouldn’t have let me take it this far, but still, her response only helped reinforce my threat, intentional or otherwise.
“Wha-what do you want?” Wally stumbled over his words as he tried to spit them out.
The Bull Dog’s hammer came back with a loud click as I glanced down at his feet. Though there weren’t any distinguishing marks on the heels of his boots, I was pretty certain the size was a match for the bloody prints in the apartment; the ones nearest the wards. Maybe the other guy was Jack. That kind of screwed the sheep named Presumption. “Where’s your partner?”
“I don’t know who you’re—”
I wiggled the gun, pressing it against one of his testicles hard enough to hurt. “I wonder what kind of respect a nutless pimp would get out here on the streets. Think your girls would stick around? What about your clients?” Another push of the gun had him squirming. He might not have the answers I was looking for, but I figured if I pushed hard enough, I’d get something. “You know who I’m talking about, so stop fucking lying.”
Wally tore his gaze from the gun at his crotch and looked up at me. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I…I…”
A tilt of my head and a little more pressure on the gun made sure he understood he was running out of time. The trigger squeaked as my finger eased against its resistance. “Tell me where Jack is.”
His eyes narrowed, and then he nodded quickly. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you.”
Though she didn’t make a sound, I saw Scarlett’s shoulders slump out of the corner of my eye, and I suddenly had a newfound respect for her. For all her angelic morality, it looked like she would have let me do what was needed so we could stop the Ripper.
I grinned. There was hope for her yet.
Ten
Though it turned out that Wally didn’t know anywhere near as much as I hoped, he knew just enough to be useful.
After getting all the information I could, I slammed the pistol grip into his skull and knocked him unconscious. While I was tempted to just shoot the bastard, I couldn’t be sure as to his part in the murders as he hadn’t confessed to anything more than knowing about them. Still, I couldn’t let him run off and warn folks Scarlett and I were coming, so I dragged his stupid ass to the nearest police headquarters. There, I tossed him on the steps once I was sure I wouldn’t be seen, and then pounded on the door hard enough to splinter the wood.
I’d heard officers spilling out of the station as I ran down the alley to meet back up with Scarlett. Though I couldn’t be sure what the bobbies would do with Wally, it was a pretty safe bet they’d keep him until at least morning, if only to tend to the knot on his head and try and figure out where it came from. That would give us enough time to follow up on what he’d told us without his interference.
As it turned out, he’d more than just one partner. Wally was part of a local cabal into the dark arts. Satanism.
That thrilled Scarlett to no end, let me tell you. My hopes of snaking that by her were shot down when the pimp had started to yap.
“Do you still refuse to admit that Hell is involved?”
Sitting outside a rundown home, at the edge of Whitechapel, where Wally had directed us, I had to admit I was even less certain than ever. I knew damn well my uncle was hardly a paragon of innocence and that he’d manufactured far more than his share of chaos in the world, but it didn’t make much sense to do it so blatantly. And why would he send me to investigate the murders if all they did was confirm Hell’s involvement? What could he hope to gain by that?
He and God had settled into a cold war, of sorts, in recent years, neither side making any overt moves that would upset the relative peace that had settled over the eternal battlefield. These murders, if they led back to Lucifer’s doorstep, would do exactly that, and I couldn’t see how that benefited my uncle. There had to be more to it than some power play.
“Lucifer has nothing to do with it,” I told her, forcing the words out to sound confident.
“What about the others?”
I sighed because that was exactly what I didn’t want to think about. What about the lieutenants?
While I didn’t imagine Baalth would do something so stupid—he was in too tight with Uncle Lou to rattle that cage—I could imagine a few of the others taking the chance if it suited their purposes. Asmoday, for one, Belial, Belphegor, and quite likely Royce, as well, were all possible suspects. None had taken too kindly to the idea of peace with Heaven, however informal, preferring to wage war until the golden throne burned in the skies. If they could stir the pot and get away with it, they would, no doubt about that. They wouldn’t necessarily risk open defiance of Lucifer’s wishes, but a subversive ploy to draw the two sides back into conflict wouldn’t be something out of the realm of possibility.
“I don’t know,” I answered. There wasn’t much point in trying to lie to her.
Scarlett knew what the demon lieutenants were capable of, especially given the circumstances of her birth. But even if I cleared my uncle, Metatron might not care if it turned out the others were involved. Under Lucifer’s charge, the lieutenants were his responsibility. The chaos they committed was on his shoulders, and they knew that all too well. If things went south, they’d be the ones to capitalize.
“Damn it.”
Scarlett gave me a sympathetic look before turning her attention back to the ramshackle house. I’ve always liked to think of myself as being different than her, my background and experiences far less sheltered, far less narrow in their focus, and yet, at times like this, Scarlett often proved just how similar we really were. As much as I wanted to refute a demonic bias for a more realistic view of the world and our respective sides, I was just as much a blind sycophant as she was. We both followed orders and trusted those giving them, even when we questioned the commands themselves. I could easily picture the lieutenants stabbing Lucifer in the back, but it wasn’t something I really thought about…until now. The image soured my stomach. Fortunately, Scarlett gave me an easy out.
“There’s no point waiting any longer,” she said.
I had to agree. We’d watched the house Wally had directed us to for a couple hours by then. No one had come or gone since we’d been there, and dawn was creeping up behind us while we waited. Streaks of lig
ht had crept into the sky, setting the dark clouds to glowing. Though it hadn’t rained on us, it looked as if it were getting ready to. That wouldn’t stop London from waking up, though.
There hadn’t been but a couple of pedestrians who stumbled through the area during our vigil. Mostly drunks who tied one on a little too tight, and they were gone as quick as their leadened feet could carry them. No one else out and about, if we were gonna do something foolish, now was the time.
“All right. Let’s go.”
Scarlett nodded, and the two of us dropped down from the roof of the low-lying apartment across the street and went over to the home.
The white paint of its exterior had long since been worn to gray by exposure. It had peeled back in several places, revealing the blackened, rotting wood underneath, furry mold having claimed its surface with a vengeance. The windows at the front were boarded and reinforced with a haphazard array of wood pieces in varying lengths and shapes. There was no uniformity to it, just a bunch of random pieces slapped onto the frame and nailed into place. It wasn’t much in the way of security, but there was no way anyone could make their way through the window without alerting the folks inside.
The front door, however, was different. Though the paint had been worn down and covered with dirt, it was clear the door was a more recent addition to the home. The surface was marred and pitted, tiny pieces cut and hammered from its surface, but the wood that showed underneath the scarring was brown and sturdy. There was none of the fuzzy green or black that stood out like it did on the walls. No, whoever had installed this door had purposely tried to make it look like the rest of the house, worn and worthless.
I ran my hand over the surface of the wood, feeling its thickness against my fingertips. It only confirmed my thoughts. The door was solid, meant to resist a determined effort to get inside. My eyes glanced back to the windows. They were probably equally as reinforced on the inside as they were outside. I nodded to Scarlett. Folks in these parts only put that kind of effort into home defense if there was something to protect. Or they had something to hide. It looked like Wally had been honest with us after all.
Scarlett and I had already discussed the plan of attack, once more deciding not to use lethal force unless we needed to. As much as both of us wanted to kill Jacky boy, especially after seeing his latest masterpiece, we both knew the powers that be on both sides of the fence were far better suited to punish the bastard. Our goal was to take him alive and let the bosses fight over who got to show him the error of his ways.
I raised a finger, then two, then three, and put my boot to work against the frame of the house, just to the right of the door. Unlike the thick wood of the door, the wall hadn’t been reinforced or even taken care of. It gave way with a crack, knocking the securing bolt from the wall with a clatter. The door swung open without resistance as Scarlett stormed inside. I followed right behind.
Panicked voices rose up, echoing all around us. While I’d expected there to be several people inside given what Wally had told us, it sounded more like we’d stumbled across a commune. Ratty blankets littered the floor of the first room, each squirming as the people beneath battled to get to their feet. Ragged men clambered to their feet, their eyes glowing in the gloom. Silver shimmers cut the air as a handful of them came at us while the others scrambled to get their bearings.
Scarlett leveled the first of them. A quick one-two put him away, his blade clanging off the wooden floor into silence as it disappeared in the tangle of blankets. She started in on a second as I came face to face with another.
His breath made the trash outside smell delectable. Rotten teeth gnashed together as he thrust a foot-long, narrow blade toward my throat. But for all the ferociousness of his stench, he’d clearly never used a knife before. I blocked his clumsy attack aside with ease and sunk my fist into his solar plexus. He gasped and seemed to deflate, curling up in front of me like a dying spider. A knee to the face quieted his gurgled attempts at drawing air. He hit the floor alongside Scarlett’s second victim, her third slumping down on top of him a moment later.
I backhanded another of the men and kicked him into the others gathering at his back. While there were quite a few stepping up to engage us, there were even more who clearly had no interest in doing so. Wild-haired men and women skirted the room to slip out the door at our backs. They clutched their meager belongings and filed out in wide-eyed terror. I caught a glimpse of Al scurrying amidst the group. I nearly choked when I saw him. A cold, knot formed in my guts as I watched him flee the room.
Scarlett blasted another of the more courageous men, lifting his feet a good six inches off the ground after her fist crashed into his jaw. He fell back and crumpled to a stop in the crook of the wall several feet away. The display slowed the rest of them and gave me a moment to take stock of the worrying thoughts that were filling my skull. I didn’t like what I saw.
Several of the other men looked familiar, as well, and it only took me a second to realize why. Just like Al, they were part of the group that attacked us outside of the bar. These were Committeemen, the ones working for Charles Braun and his German goon, Hans. They hovered menacingly, but none seemed in a hurry to advance. We might not have tossed them a beating the last time we’d run across them, but they saw what we did to their pals.
“Where’s Jack?” I asked, taking advantage of the lull.
“Right here!” a man’s voice called out, and then a loud crack swallowed all the noise in the room. It was followed by the mule kick of something slamming into my left shoulder. My eyes spotted the muzzle flash from the adjoining room just as I was spun away by the impact, a searing heat welling up. It radiated across my chest and down my arm while I scrambled from the line of fire.
“Frank!”
“I’m okay,” I told Scarlett, her voice piercing the screeing hum that screamed inside my ears.
It was only a partial lie. Though my body would heal the wound easily enough, the bullet mundane and non-magical, it hurt as if someone had buried a burning brand in the meat of my shoulder and was wiggling it about. Realizing it was likely Jack himself who’d shot me only made me want to kill him even more.
The other assailants dispersed at the sound of gunfire, bolting passed us through the door. Their stomping feet sounded like thunder rumbling over a herd of bulls. Through it all, I heard the scrape of steel against leather as Scarlett pulled her blades free. She stepped to the side of the doorway where the shot had come from and was staring at me with narrow eyes. The shrill song of whistles split the morning air outside. On high alert thanks to the Ripper’s antics, the police would be there soon. We were running out of time and needed to finish this.
“Come on out, Jacky. I’ve something for you.” My fingers closed about the Webley’s grip as I pulled it loose from my pocket. I cranked the hammer back. The bobbies on their way, subtlety could go fuck itself.
“You won’t catch me,” Jack called out from the other room. A sharp crack followed his boast, and then another. Through the haze of my wound, I recognized the sound as wood splintering.
“Shit! He’s going out the back.”
Scarlett started forward but the roar of a pistol forced her back against the wall. The shot whined through the room and struck the far wall. A heavy thump sounded in the back room right after. Another blind shot ripped through the doorway and was followed by a muted crunch and the slap of boots on stone.
I ducked low and bolted through the doorway, gun leading the way. On the other side of the room, a window stood open the city. The light of dawn glimmered outside and I spied a flutter of movement on the street. The vague wash of mystical energy pinged my senses as I raced to the window. The brown-coated target of the Ripper’s back was less than thirty feet away, and I recognized him as the guy from the bar. I raised my gun.
“Don’t hurt me,” a small, terrified voice screamed, a flash of movement appearing just to the right of me.
I spun just as a woman toppled to her knees beside m
e and wrapped her arms around my thigh. She clutched to me with all her strength, nearly bowling me over as she pleaded, sobbing into my leg.
“Don’t…please, don’t.”
My eyes snapped back to the window to see Jack disappear around a corner to the accompaniment of screeching whistles. It was the second time he’d slipped away.
A growl slipped loose. “Damn it, woman,” I said, shaking her free of my leg. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
She fell away, staring up at me with puppy dog eyes. Her hands trembled as she held them between us. That’s when I realized I’d seen the woman before, too. She was the redheaded prostitute who’d been draped over Jack’s shoulder. My eyes darted to the window, and then back to her. Jack must have been planning on making her his next victim. She had no idea just how close she’d come to being hacked to bloody little pieces by the sick bastard.
“You need to go home and never come back here again,” I told her, motioning toward the open window as the whistles closed. “That was the Ripper, girl.”
Her eyes widened even further, hands moving to cover her open mouth. A tear slithered down her cheek.
“We need to go, Frank,” Scarlett said from the doorway. “We don’t have time for this.” She pointed at the woman’s draping neckline, drawing my eyes to the soft, pale flesh on casual display.
For once, I hadn’t even thought of sneaking a peek…not until Scarlett mentioned it, that is. A quick glance down the woman’s blouse would have to do, so I did just that, memorizing the view for later. Then I nodded to my sneering cousin and climbed through the window, grumbling as the maneuver tugged at my wound. Scarlett followed right after, and we ran down the street, circling away from the closing police.
Jack had gotten away—again—but the puzzle was starting to come together. At least now I had an idea as to where to look for him.
Eleven
Joseph opened the door, his eyes narrowing at seeing me. “Mister Yardlow.”
