TRUE CONFESSIONS
Current mood: blessed

3:23 AM - 24 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

DVD EXTRAS- ALTERNATIVE ENDINGS...
Current mood: aroused

Here are two different alternative endings... which of the three do you prefer?

"Fuck me, you left it a bit late there, Warner. I thought I was a gonner!" Trimp was easing the champagne cork from the bottle, in the first class cabin the French police had managed to swing for him.
"Had to make sure he was completely off guard. You know how crafty he is."
"Still, For a minute I thought our eleberate charade might have been rendered pointless." He looked Warner up and down before adding, "Are you gonna stay in that garb, Freddie. Have you taken a shine to it?"
"You must be kidding sir, I don't know how the French stand it.." Warner began to remove the white jacket. "It'll take me a week to get all this wax from my hair and as for the ridiculous 'tache..."
"I think it suits you," said Trimp, warming to his theme, "and that smell....Very becoming! I've got to say Warner, you're very good at this disguising lark."
"If you don't mind sir." Said Warner good naturedly, "Did we have to go to those lengths?"
"Yes we did. That fucker was no mug. We took him for granted the last time and it cost Terry his life. I realised that he was vain and conceited and liked to think he was always one step ahead. That eleborate charade on deck with me mistaking you for him, played out for all to see was exactly the lengths we had to go to. I knew he'd be watching and he would have loved it. Thinking I was an idiot. Well I was an idiot, but not the second time."
"His face was a picture sir, When he turned round. He looked surprised, like how could a man of such taste be sticking it too him."
"You did stick it to him didn't you Warner?"
"Yes sir, I did. It was sudden and it all happened so quick but yes, I stuck it to him good."
"Well then, all that remains...." Trimp poured the champagne into two glasses and handed one to Warner.
"To us!"
"To us, sir!"

At first  he thought it was just another large piece of driftwood, one of many you see bobbing in the water, but as they got close they could see it was a man. He shouted to his ship mates in some foreign tongue and they brought their boat over. As it got closer one of the sailors reached over to snag it with a hook on a large pole. They dragged it to the side of the boat. It took four of them to reach over and haul the body onto the boat. It landed on deck and omitted a low moan. The men could only speculate as to how long the body had been in the water, but one thing was for sure, He was still alive.... 

Alternative ending number 2:

St John's Hospital, St. Louis, Missouri. 28^th May 1903

Tumblety wasn't well. The winter had been tough on him. He was recovering well though. The sisters told him he was as strong as a horse. He would soon be out and about.
That made him smile. He looked out of the window into the gardens. He was as strong as a horse. He would love to ride again. He looked good upon a horse. Everybody looked at him. He was like Alexander the Great. Next week maybe. He would buy a new horse. He lay back in the bed. He was tired. It was a nice tired. Dreamy. He thought about Severin Klosowski. He had read about him in the papers just a month ago. He had changed his name to George Chapman. Thank God. Polish was such a barbaric language. He had done good work. Poisoned how many wives? Hah! Severin, my boy... he hadn't even really married them. He had done excellent work. Now he was dead. Hung. Such an inglorious end for his apostle. Fitting in a way. Perhaps in a thousand years people would worship the barber as a saint, and him as a God. A God of Death. A God of Science. Not a bad way to be remembered.

The nurse entered the room. Bustling and cheery. He wished he had a knife.
"Doctor Tumblety. You have a guest."
Tumblety was surprised. Nobody came to see him. Only his sister and she had been earlier. He looked up at the tall man in the doorway. The face seemed familiar.
"Thank you nurse," said the man. "Could you leave us for a while?"
"Of course."
The man smiled at Tumblety. It was a nice smile.
"Hello. I'm Job."
"Do I know you?"
"You knew my brother. And his friends. Growler. Samuel Trimp. Remember them? They remember you."
"Oh, God."
"I'll be quick. It's nothing personal."

Job picked up the pillow and held it over Tumblety's face. Tumblety was strong but he was old. Job waited a good five minutes after he had stopped struggling. He replaced the pillow and combed Tumblety's hair. He smiled.

"Sam? Growler? Mary? No. They've gone. Didn't even say goodbye. Thank God for that." He went to the door. "Nurse! My friend has had a seizure. I... I think he... he might be..."

The pretty nurse rushed in. She bent over Tumblety. Job felt a long forgotten stirring in his loins as he watched her shapely behind.
"Oh, yes! You beauty! You're back!"

 
The End

7:12 AM - 16 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

DEPARTURES
Current mood: shocked

"Boss, can I have a word?"
"Sure, Job, pull up a chair. Drink?"
"Never say no, Boss. Thanks."
As Stan poured two drinks Job settled back into the chair.
"So what is it Job. What's on your mind?"
"I've been thinking."
"Good."
"I'm off Boss. My work here is done."
Stan felt his stomach lurch. "Eh. Off? Off where? You're the star turn! A sensation. People come from miles to see your act. What d'yer wanna spoil it for?"
"Boss, I don't want to spoil anything,"  said Job, not unkindly. "I never wanted to be an act. I came to avenge my brother's murder. That's done. Much as I apreciate everything you've done, it's a big old world out there and I need to get out and live in it. People to meet, places to see."
The men sat in silence for a few moments and then Job said quietly, "Plus, I don't want to stick around here anymore knowing what I know…"
"Knowing what you know about what?" said Stan, suddenly cagey.
"About you, Stan."
"Go on."
"Remember way back when, when I first met you in the opium den? We shook hands. I saw your mother. You were shocked. I said your secret was safe with me."
"Yes?"
"Well, it still is, hombre, though I'm finding it a bit of a burden and now my conscience is starting to nag."
"Because of what I… Because of what happened to my mother?"
Job paused, and then said, "And the rest."
"Just what did you see in that opium den, Job. Everything?"
"Yes. Everything."
"Why didn't you report it… Or tell the police?"
"Jonah. You treated him with nothing but kindness and respect. I was here only to even that score. That's all. Plus... It's over. Isn't it?
"Yes", sighed Stan. "It's over."
Job looked over the top of his glass at Stan. "If anything happens to Faye, I'll be back."
Stan almost choked on his drink. "Faye? Good God. I'd never..."
"Good. I'm glad. Look, I hate fuss. I much prefer it if I just slip away. Faye's a tough cookie. She'll get over it." Job got up. "Thanks for the ride Stan. It's been an adventure."
"Yeh. Thanks, Job. Take care."
Job walked out of the office, closing the door quietly behind him. Stan sat back down in his chair and sighed.

 
News came in two days later. A man, calling himself Frank Townsend and bearing a striking similarity to the sketches of Tumblety that Trimp had shown to the French police had booked a passage on La Bretagne, a steamer bound for New York City.

"Shall we search the ship?" asked Ettiene Verrault, Trimp's official liason with the French authorities.
"No. He's a slippy fucker. Like an eel."
The Frenchman looked puzzled.
"Anguille. You know slippy sloppy flippy floppy?"
"Ah. Yes. Very good, monsieur."
"Can you get me on board? Quietly. I'll catch him."
The Frenchman nodded. "It is done."

 
Tumblety stood on the top deck looking out to sea. He breathed in the salty air.
"Ah. So nice. So pleasant. A nice lovely cruise. Lots of men in uniform. Could life get any better?"
He looked down at the lower deck. He grinned. Yes. Life could get better.

Trimp had searched the lower decks. A fruitless exercise he knew. Tumblety would be sailing first class. But he wanted to savour his triumph. He had plenty of time now. He may as well enjoy the crossing.

 
He was watching everyone. These people were in his hands now. Many were planning a new life abroad. Trimp wanted to make sure they lived to enjoy it. With Tumblety on board, lurking, biding his time, you couldn't take anything for granted. He watched a young boy, no older than four, pulling a wooden boat on wheels across the deck. A man in a white jacket bent down and tousled the child's head. Trimp couldn't see his face. He had his back to him. But he recognised the smell. He raced forward, pushing past an elderly couple, not bothering to apologise. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and wheeled him round.
"Papa!" cried the little boy in alarm.
The man stared at Trimp, whiskers bristling in anger. He let hurl a stream of invective in French, most of which went over his head.
"Excuse moi," Trimp mumbled, his face red. Why did all Frenchmen have to douse themselves in that disgusting muck? They were playing havoc with his sinuses.
He hurried away to the bar and ordered a glass of wine. He was not a great wine drinker but it hit the spot and he ordered another. He took it outside. He sipped it as he leant against the guardrail, savouring the taste of the grape. Another whiff of cheap cologne. Strong. Close. He turned. A flash of sunlight on steel. A muffled cry.  A splash.

 
The end

11:52 PM - 12 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

FUTURE PLANS
Current mood: hopeful

Tumblety hugged Klosowski on the doorstep of the shop.
"You have to go? Really?" said the barber, tears in his eyes.
"Yes. Look, meet me in New York. We can start again. Things are different there. Look on this as a rehearsal."
"I no know what you fuck talk about. Rehearsal. Hah." The barber laughed. "Is metaphors? Yes? Metafuckingphors. I like."
"Yes. I like too." Tumblety felt the tears welling up too. He loved this man. Such a fortuitous meeting at just the right time. Tumblety was amazed they had formed such a strong bond and had the same thing in common. He was like a brother. No. He was an apostle, that was it. An apostle to his messiah. "Severin. I will call you Peter because you are like a rock."
"Eh?"
"Never mind. I will see you in New York. In the meantime, be careful, but try and keep your hand in when you get the chance."
He left.
"I won't look back," he promised himself. "I won't look back. I'll be heartbroken if he's not watching me." He looked back. Klosowski waved. He bit his lip and turned the corner.

 
Joe couldn't stay still. He wished he hadn't been sent home. Work stopped him from brooding. Work kept him sane. He decided to clean up his room. Since starting work as a cleaner, he had let things go in his own home. He picked up the letters Mary had sent him. They were sorry affairs really. Short and unsentimental. Hardly the stuff of romance. He tossed them in the bin. He bent down under the bed and pulled out the old newspapers and penny dreadfuls. No need for them. They were taking up valuable space. He picked up the knife. It was stained with rust. He tossed it into the bin. He dusted the mantelpiece. He went back to the bin and retrieved the knife. Best to keep it. You could never tell when he might need it again.

 
Trimp was enjoying a warm bath. It was evening. It had been a hard day. The press were slaughtering the police. He knew the sight of Mary Kelly's poor mutilated body would keep him awake all night. He had never seen such savagery. As he plucked a hair from his nostril he swore that one day he would perform the same attrocities on Tumblety, but he would make sure he was alive long enough to experience the full horror of it all.

"Why does God allow creatures like that to exist?" he pondered. "To keep me in work," he answered the question himself. "Well, I'd go back to the Lump Hotel if I could just gut that bastard first."
Bess poked her head inside the bathroom.
Trimp covered himself with his hands.
"Bess, for goodness sake."
"What? Yer me brother aren't yer? No need to hide it from me."
"Yes but.."
"Stan's here. He wants to see you."
"Stan? Garrideb?"
"Oooh. You've been takin' your detective pills haven't you? Course it's Stan Garrideb. How many Stans do you know?"
Trimp shrugged. "Don't know. None. Tell him I'll be right down. Oh and Bess?"
"What?"
"Knock in future."
"Prude."

 
Stan was playing with the kids. He had the baby on his knee. He looked like a natural father. He was chatting away happily with Clara and Bess.
"I've left Faye in charge tonight. She's a good girl. Not like you, Bess, but a good girl all the same."
"She still hot on Job?"
"Mmm." He refrained from mentioning Job's personal problems.
"So, Stanley. To what do I owe the honour?"
Stan handed the baby to Clara and rose to shake his hand. "It's Tumblety. David's lads have spotted him."
Trimp was like a leopard catching a sniff of a wounded gazelle. "Where?"
"France."
"France?"
The lads were watchin' the ports. So were your lot. Watching ships bound for America. He got one to Calais."
"Why didn't your lad tell the police?"
"He did. They wouldn't listen to him. Thought he was makin' trouble."
"For fuck's sake." He stormed back into the house for his coat and hat.
"Samuel, where are you going?" asked Clara.
"France."

 
The French newspapers were just as full of the Ripper as their British counterparts. Trimp found the French authorities extremely helpful. Although a part of him knew it was all part of the Anglo French game of one-up-manship. If the French police caught Britain's most notorious murderer it really would be one in the eye for John Bull. Trimp debated whether it would be almost preferable to let the killer get away. But then he remembered Growler and Tumblety and his oily smile and his confounded infernal scent. No, Tumblety had to be caught and hung.

Trimp found himself a bed and breakfast in a village a few miles from Calais. The last thing he needed was for Tumblety to spot him in the street  and disappear again. So much had happened to him in such a short space of time. Once the capture of Tumblety was complete he would sit down with Clara, Bess and his father and consider his future. Since that meeting on the park bench on Highbury Fields they had met up and talked for hours. His father was an extremely wealthy man and his house was huge but strangely austere, lacking any comfort or luxury. A reflection of the man himself. Trimp knew all this was about to change. The knowledge that not only did he have a son but also three grandchildren had been too much for him and he had broken down and wept tears of joy at the bizarre turn of events. Trimp thought it wise to hold off introducing him to Bess. He had a hunch that the similarity between Bess and his mother may be striking. Bess was, like her mum, an extremely attractive girl. Trimp thought it more prudent to introduce her when the time was right. Trimp was scared of nobody, and practically unshockable, his life up to now had been tough and uncompromising. Over the last six months he had seen enough though to convince him that a change might be good for not only himself but his family. When his father presented him the opportunity to take over his empire, Trimp realised he would have to consider this option very hard indeed. If he could tempt Warner to leave the force and  join him he knew he could make a successful go of any business. As he sat in that French village, sipping his coffee and enjoying the last of a croissant, the French sunshine warming his face, Trimp knew that his future was all about to change....

11:51 PM - 12 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

GET AN EXORCISM
Current mood: animated

There was an empty house opposite Miller's Court in Dorset Street. The killers watched from a darkened room. It was raining. A fine drizzle to wash away the sins of the East End. They were glad to be indoors. The window was open a crack and they could hear Mary Kelly singing. She was drunk. It was a little after 1.00am.
"Now?" asked one.
The other shook his head.
Half an hour later, she appeared on the street.
"Go on. Get her home. I want to take my time with this one."
The other man left, he carried the tools in a package under his arm. He followed her down to Flower and Dean Street. She was talking to a man. He stepped back into the darkness. She came back towards him.

"Lookin' for company?" she asked.
The man nodded. "I have friend too."
"Oh, it's like that is it, saucey?"
The man grinned.
"All right chuck."
"You'll be good for what I tell you?" he asked.
She nodded and took his arm. He supported her as she swayed across the cobblestones.
She began singing. He didn't like her voice but he refrained from telling her to shut up. She led him into her room. It was a squalid affair. Filthy and dark.
"Light the fire," he said.
"No fuel, love."
He picked up a jacket from the bed and tossed it into the fireplace.
"Here, that's my Joe's that is."
There was a tap at the door.
"My friend," said the man.
The stench of French cologne overpowered the smell of damp and dirt.
"Light the fire, my man," said the newcomer, drawing the blade from his coat pocket.
"Murder!" cried Mary.
His hand covered her mouth.
"Light the fire. We want to see, don't we?"
The other tossed more clothes on the fire.
"Don't worry, my love. You won't be needing them anymore."
She pulled away and managed to cry "Murder," once more before the killer despatched her to the hereafter.
"More light, we need more light."
Within minutes the fireplace was like an opening to Hell itself as the two men went about their work.

 
By mid afternoon the news had spread like typhoid over the East End. The Naughty Wonder Girls had a minute's silence, broken only by a fart from Job.
"Sorry. It's those eels I had for breakfast. I think they're still alive in there."
"Please Job, we need to concentrate," said Stan. He was rehearsing the troupe. Since Bess had left to live with her brother, Faye had taken on double the workload. Faye had introduced them to another girl, Carroty Nell.
She was a knockout. Nice voice. Angel face. Cute personality. Perfect.
"Okay love, you're hired," said Stan. "Just one thing, I'm thinkin' of havin' it put in all our contracts that our girls mustn't go off an' live with long lost brothers or get 'emselves killed. Is that fair enough?"
Nell laughed. "I ain't got no brother. As for the other. I'll do me best, ducks."
"Good. I... look. You'll be earning enough here to ... well... I don't want you walkin' the streets. You know."
"Mary was done in her own bed," said one of the other girls. "If Jack wants yer... he gets yer. Simple as."
"Yeh well. Still no point in takin' chances is there?" said Faye.
Stan was impressed. Faye being sensible for once. Wonders would never cease. Maybe Job was a good influence on her after all.
Stan heard the clinking of glasses from the bar behind them. It was Joe Barnett, cleaning up for the night's performance.
"Joe," said Stan, going over to him. "I didn't expect you here... today...after..."
"After... No. I s'pose you didn't." Joe's eyes were red. He had aged years in one night.
"You don't have to come in this week, Joe," said Stan. "You take the week off. Here..." He handed Joe a handful of notes. Well over a month's wages.
"Get some nice flowers. You know... for the..."
"For the... yes boss. Very handsome boss. I don't mind workin' boss. Gives me somethin' to do."
Stan nodded. "I know. I know. It's just..."
"It's just... what sir?"
"Look. It sounds horrible but, you bein' here... it'll make everyone think of Mary an'... well an' how she died. It's... I feel such a bastard sayin this but... well it's bad for business. People come here for a show an' a good time. If people hear you're workin' here we'll end up doin' a roarin' trade in ghouls wantin' to see the feller of the Ripper's latest victim. I don't want that kind of business."
Joe blinked back tears. "Kind of business. That's what I am now ain't it? I'm not me anymore. I'm Mary's boyfriend. Or more like it I'm the boyfriend of that prozzy who got fuckin' gutted by the R...R..."
He broke down in sobs.
Job, Faye, Carroty Nell and the others came round to comfort him.
"Who cares what the others think?" said Stan. "She was a bloomin' princess, your Mary. Had a voice like a bleedin' nightingale."
Faye stared at him and stopped herself from ruining the illusion just in time.
"Nightingale.Very kind of you to say, sir. I always said she could've been a star. She had a nicer voice than that Faye there."
"Steady on," growled Faye, whose vein of compassion only ran so deep.
"Easy gal," whispered Job.
"You get yourself home, Joe," said Stan. "And remember, if you need to talk, my door's always open."
"Always open. Cheers guvnor. You're a prince. A real prince."
He left in a daze.

"Fuckin' hell," sighed Stan. "Aren't they ever gonna catch that fucker?"
"I keep hearing from Growler, Boss," said Job, "He won't leave me alone."
"How's that then?"
"Says if the crushers don't catch him soon he wants me to do it."
"Blimey."
"I know. To be honest I did try tellin' him he was out of order. He don't care though. He says he'll haunt me forever until that fucker's dead. I..." He pulled Stan towards the office. "Scuze a second, gals."
"What is it?" asked Stan once the door was closed behind them and they were alone in the office.
"I can't dab it up anymore."
"Eh?"
"Whenever me an' Faye are about to get down to it, as soon as I'm in there, so to speak, fuckin' Growler pays a visit. Starts whisperin' in me ear. It's puttin' me right off! I haven't had a hard on in weeks. Faye thinks I've turned mandrake. It's driving me mad."
"Bloody hell. What about opium. Doesn't that help?"
"No. It gets worse then. He knows me too well. There's only one thing for it. I either get an exorcism or I kill Tumblety."
"Or the rozzers get him."
Job shrugged. "Won't happen. They had him an' let him go again."
"Trimp's different."
"Yeh. Well he's just one man."
"So are you. Get the exorcism."
Job shook his head. "I couldn't do that. Not to Growler."

6:25 AM - 14 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

AN ANSWERED PRAYER
Current mood: breezy

As Tumblety languished in a cell in Bishopsgate, David brought the news to Stan at the Palace.
"We got him, boss. He's in Bishopsgate."
Stan was overjoyed. "Joe! Champagne for the boys."
"The boys. Yes sir. Bit extravagant this time o' the mornin' ain't it?"
"We've caught the bugger who killed Growler," grinned Stan.
"Killed Growler. If you ask me he got what was comin' to him. Dressin' up like a lady an' that."
"Keep your opinions to yourself Joe," snapped Stan.
"Yerself Joe. Yes cap'n. No offence."
"David, can you send one of the lads over to see Trimp? I think we should let him know the good news. Don't you?"
"Very good, boss. I'll go meself."

 
Trimp was in the garden, enjoying the company of his boys playing with a ball. His wife and children had been like rocks to him over the last month. They had comforted him over the loss of Growler Griffin. They had also welcomed Bess into the bosom of their family. Trimp was delighted to have a sister and thanked God that nothing more had happened between them on that terrible night. She was precious to him. Two weeks ago when Jane had sheepishly asked for permission to talk to a potential employer closer to her home and family, Trimp had no hesitation in letting her go. He had been sorry to see Jane leave, but Bess was a natural with the children and got on well with Clara too. She was a nurse from heaven. When the time was right maybe Trimp would call on his father or maybe he wouldn't. He hadn't yet made up his mind. He knew now who he was and where he lived. Every day for the last fortnight he had passed by his father's residence and watched the old man come and go. He seemed a lonely soul with no family. Not short of a bob or two, he lived in a grand old house in Islington with just his 'man' for company. Did this man deserve to know he had a wonderful daughter-in-law and three grandchildren? One day soon Trimp would make that descision.

 
It wasn't hard to spot Garrideb's man coming up the street. In an area like this he stuck out like a sore thumb. Trimp watched him come up the path.
"Mornin' squire," said David.
"What is it?"
"We got him. Me an' the lads. We got the mandrake."
Trimp knew who he was referring to at once. He grinned broadly. "Dead?"
David shook his head sadly. "Nah. Your lot turned up before we could do the business. They've  jugged him. He's down at Bishopsgate."
"Nice work, lad." Trimp handed him some change.
"No need for that, guv."
"Go on. Have a drink on me."
"Ta very much, Cap'n."
"Clara? I've got to go in to work," he called. "I might be late."

 
Tumblety was scared. He was no stranger to police cells, but this time was different. If that infernal Trimp got his teeth into him then he was done for. He told himself he wasn't afraid to die. But he was lying. It wasn't fair. He had done nothing wrong. He was a scientist. He was only conducting research after all.

"I'm like you, Jesus," he prayed to himself. "I'm just like you. Up there on the cross. Persecuted and misunderstood. If you are there my Lord, please help me."

Sergeant Houghton entered the cell.
"Right, Mister Tumblety. You'll be up before the Magistrates on..."
"It's Doctor, Constable. Doctor Tumblety."
"Right. An' it's Sergeant, if yer don't mind."
"Mea Culpa."
"Eh? Oh. Mmm. You're up before the Magistrate on November 20th. Nine sharp. Gross indecency. Nasty business."
"Quite. And as I said it's all a mistake."
"Well you can explain that to the Beak. He might believe you."
"Have I got to stay here until then? I'm a busy man. My patients need me. I do important government work."
"Depends."
"On?"
"You'll need to post bail."
"How long will that take, Sergeant?"
"Again, that all depends. How long will it take you to get hold of the funds?" Tumblety's heart began to race. He couldn't believe his luck. Thank you my Lord! You do indeed move in mysterious ways!…Keep calm, keep calm.
"Why, immediately my dear Sergeant. I have it about my person now."
"Then come this way, sir. We'll have you out of here in no time."

Trimp had stopped off at  Leman Street to collect Abberline and Warner.
"They've got Tumblety. He's in a cell down Bishopsgate"
Abberline was excited. He may well have been taking money from Ezekiel, but he wanted the Ripper caught more than anyone. "Great news. Come on. Let's nail the fucker's balls to the cell door."
They took a cab to Bishopsgate and ran into the station together.
"Which cell is he in?" Abberline snapped at Sergeant Houghton.
"Who, sir?"
"Tumblety."
"He's gone sir. Twenty minutes ago."
Abberline stared at Houghton then at Trimp.
"Gone? Gone where?"
"Home sir. He's posted bail. Up for indecent assault sir. He's bailed until the twentieth."
"You fucking numbskull," Trimp's voice was low and menacing. "Do you know what you've done? You've just released Jack the fuckin' Ripper."
"Eh?"
"Let it go, Sam," said Abberline, his shoulders slumping.
"But..."
"He wasn't to know. He's not a bloody mind reader. What's the address?"
Houghton looked down at his paperwork.
"Thomas Street, sir."
Abberline turned to Trimp.
"Let's go."
Trimp shook his head. "Forget it. No point. That's Ezekiel's address. It's a boody shell. He won't be there. He's laughin' at us."
Abberline sighed and then pulling himself together he swung a punch at Sergeant Houghton, catching him on the nose.
"You fucking halfwit."

Trimp watched him leave his house and then after letting him get a good hundred yards ahead, started to follow. Trimp was surprised at the sprightly pace. The man carried an air of sadness and melancholy that pointed towards him being  elderly, however the pace of his stride indicated a man much younger. Trimp had to step it up a bit to keep up. He noticed that the man was not disimilar to himself in size and build and smiled as he watched the man's gait. There were definite similarities. The man walked briskly for a good two miles before reaching Highbury Fields. There he took to a bench and sat, back nice and straight, hands clasped together on his cane. Trimp sat beside him.

"Pleasant for this time of year, wouldn't you say?" said Trimp, suddenly shy.
"Sir," said the man. "I've seen you before. You appear to have been watching my house. For a month now I have seen you. Today I took a long walk to find out for sure if it is me you are interested in. Seemingly you are."
"Seemingly I am. Yes."
"May I ask why?" The man had a kind face and was younger in person than Trimp had thought. Mid fifties, certainly no older than sixty. Trimp was right about the sadness and the melancholy. It was there, in the man's eyes, clear and alert but troubled.
"A month ago someone I've known since childhood died. I felt his loss profoundly. More than I thought possible. I said to my wife that the past was now over, from now on there was the future only. I was wrong. Do we ever escape our past?"
"Escape? Is that the right word? I have found as each year rolls by it is the past that has escaped me. One fleeting moment in time can haunt you forever. What do you want sir?" It was not said unkindly but it was clear to Trimp that here was a man of authority very much used to giving the orders and controlling the situation.
"My name is Samuel Trimp. I am a detective. It has been my responsibility to bring to justice the man they are calling Jack the Ripper."
"Oh. An onerous task indeed. Are you any closer to apprehending this fiend?"
"Yes sir," said Trimp, simply. "I am."
"Good man. You still haven't answered my question though. Why? Are you finding it difficult?"
"Yes.  I am. I spent the whole of my life thinking myself an orphan. I grew up in the workhouse. I thought I would go to my grave never knowing who my mother and father were. Over the last month the past has spat out the answers to questions I thought would remain unanswered forever. I know who my mother is and I now know who my father is too." Trimp looked at the man with the sad eyes. "It's you."
The man looked back, steady and even. He didn't react. Just gazed  into the eyes of Samuel Trimp.
At length he said quietly, "Your mother is called Marie. She came to work for my family when she was fifteen. I have never seen a girl so beautiful. I was sixteen. Oh my, I fell so in love." He paused. Lost in the painful memory. "When something comes to a sudden and drastic end it leaves the worst sort of feeling. The never knowing... My father was not a cruel man but he was a man with a position. He thought the scandal would destroy everything he had built. He made decisions that he thought were for the best. The best for him. The opinions of a sixteen year old boy counted for nought." He repeated the phrase ruefully with a sigh... "The never knowing. Every single day of my life I have thought that this might be the day when there is a knock on my door and Marie is standing there. Or that the child, My child, would come and find me. Now you are here. A middle aged man! Not a child at all. So strange. In my mind. Time has stood still. You should be a baby and Marie should be that young fresh faced beauty who took my heart."
"Marie is dead, sir. I'm sorry."
"Ah. I thought that would be the case. You probably wonder why I accept your story? Why I don't ask for proof? Or why I don't tell you to go to hell?"
Trimp shrugged.
"I can see her in you."
"Really?" Trimp felt his heart racing.
"You have her eyes. I think it must be the good fortune of all sons that they look like their mothers. He looked Trimp up and down and smiled. The smile took years off him. "Bless us. You've got her feet too."
"I hope she didn't have my bunions. Sir."
"Please. Call me..."
"I don't think I can. Not yet."
The man nodded. "Of course. I... I don't want to rush you. I..."
The two men looked at each other and laughed.
"So much to say and yet we're both lost for words. A detective eh? You lucky bu...bli... fellow. I always wanted to be a detective. A lot more exciting than cotton."
"I should imagine it is."
"Would you like to come back to the house?"
"Yes. Yes I would."

Currently listening : Vivaldi: Complete Cello Concertos Release date: 2005-05-31

12:41 AM - 10 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

A TERRIBLE MISUNDERSTANDING
Current mood: jubilant

The next day the sun was shining and the birds were singing in the trees and as Samuel Trimp stood at the dining room window watching his boys playing in the garden with Jane the nurse he wandered if last night had actally happened.

From the dining room table Clara said, "Is everything alright Sammy? You're very quiet."
"Terry's dead."
"Oh. I'm very sorry." She reached for a cup and placing it on a saucer proceeded to pour him a cup of tea. He came over to the table and took it from her.
"Thank you. The past is finally over Clara. Now there can be only the future..."

In a small room in a lodging house off the Mile End Road, Tumblety shuddered with passion in the last throes of pleasuring himself. He lay back spent and sweating and thought about all of last nights excitement. What a find the barber had been! Such a handy accomplice. He realised that he might have to lay low for a few weeks. Yes, the Pole was going to be very handy after all. I'm sure he wouldn't mind a lodger for a short while. It's a shame he just didn't have enough time last night. He so wanted to build up his collection again.

It took a good few minutes for Bess to get over the shock but after it had sunk in, she threw her arms round Trimp and they clung on to each other tight.
From across the table, mug of tea in hand, Faye said, "Blimey, it's a good job yer din't fuck him girl, yer could have ended up with a two headed baby or summink!"
"Is that all you ever think about, Faye?" sighed Bess.
"Well it was bleedin' obvious really. I mean yer both look alike for a start all black haired and pale skin...Both got tiny feet, both of you fuckin' weird..."
"Can you remember who our mother worked for when she first came to London, Bess?"
"No Sammy. The only information I got was from the nuns. They took great delight in telling me about my... Our mother and what a dreadful sinner she was and how God punished her."
"Would you like me to help, Inspector?" Job had spoken from the door of the bedroom, where he stood shrouded in a large cloud of opium, his dressing gown open and all on show.
"Depends what you are offering to help me with, Job," said Trimp gesturing to the open dressing gown.
"Oh. Excuse me everybody. Forgot we had company for a minute there. No, I mean last night when we touched hands, it was your mother I 'saw'. Would you like me to talk to her?"
"Yes Job. I would like that very much."
"Then step this way, sir," said Job, showing Trimp into his bedroom. "Would you care for a little blast?" He offered Trimp the pipe.
"Never say no to another man's kind hospitality....Let's along!"
Once they closed the bedroom door behind them Faye said, "Would you still fuck him now, Bess?"
"For God's sake Faye, give it a rest."
"Can I have a go then?"

 
The days turned into weeks and still the police achieved no results in their hunt for the man the press were now calling 'Jack the Ripper.' With the bodies piling up and the demise of Ezekiel, Abberline wasted no time in asking Trimp to come back and they were working together. They had extra patrols every night. Stan Garrideb had David and his gang out all hours looking for anything suspicious and keeping their eyes peeled for Tumblety. It was as if he had dropped off the face of the earth.

Tumblety was enjoying his little holiday. The extra patrols and gangs of vigilantes had made it next to impossible for him to leave his lair but he was happy. He was lodging with his new friend Severin Klosowski and his wife Lucy. He liked to listen to Lucy play and he loved to watch the couple fight.

"One day I cut you up good," snarled Klosowski during one breakfast table spat.
"Now, now, Sev," Tumblety admonished him gently. "You want to be careful. People might start to think you're Jack the Ripper."
The two men laughed as Lucy fled the room.
"Such a vulgar name, 'Jack,' don't you think?" sighed Tumblety.
The barber shrugged. "Is good name. When we do more work?"
Tumblety shrugged. "I don't know. It's difficult with things as they are. Maybe we should have a change of scene. How do you fancy a trip to the land of the free, my friend? It could be the making of you."
"Land of free? Free what?"
"Freedom my boy. America. Land of Opportunity. We could go far out there. To be honest I'm missing the old place. I don't know if I can stand another winter over here."
"Maybe."
The bell above the shop door jangled.
Klosowski went to see who it was.
He came back a moment later.
"Francis, come look."
He went back into the shop. Tumblety followed and stood in the hallway watching as his friend spoke to a pretty buxom girl. It was Mary Kelly.
"Can you shave my man, Joe?" she asked. "He's always wanted one o' them musical shaves. Can you fit him in later today?"
Klosowski nodded. "Yes. Anytime. You send him over Mrs..."
"Oh no... It's Miss. Call me Mary, ducky."
"Yes, Mary. You send Joe to me. We shave him good."
"Thanks love."
She sauntered out without a care in the world.

Tumblety entered the shop.
"Well? She good yes?" said Klosowski, his eyes bright.
Tumblety shrugged. "Mmm. Not bad. Not bad at all. Find out from her man, this Joe, where she lives. Can you do that?"
"Of course."
"Now if you'll excuse me. I fancy a stroll."

He knew he was taking a risk but he had been cooped up inside for too long. Perhaps the bloodhounds were losing interest in him. He wanted to walk the streets and look at the boys.
"You be care, yes?" said Klosowski.
"I haven't the slightest notion what you're talking about dear boy. You be care. Hah. It's careful. You be careful. There you see, you learn a new word every day. I missed my vocation. I should have been a teacher."

It was Tiny Pete who saw him. The dwarf along with Blue Skin had been searching for Tumblety ever since Growler's murder. They had a score to settle with him. Growler had been good for them. He had propelled them to stardom in the music hall. He had been a friend. The two men had worked alongside Garrideb's Jewish firm but so far without success.

Pete was coming out of the Grapes when he heard sobbing coming from the yard across the street. He crossed over and looked. A man in a long coat was holding a young boy up against the wall. The boy's breeches were around his ankles. Pete picked up a rotten apple from the gutter and flung it.

"Hoi! You! Stop that!"
The man released his hold on the boy who staggered away, relief lighting up his tear-stained face.
Pete recognised the man at once. "Help!" he yelled. "Lads! We've got him!"
"There's been a misunderstanding," said Tumblety, smiling as he approached, his hand reaching inside the pockets of his coat.
Blue Skin, Israel Lipski, Joshua Schwartz  and David came charging out of the Grapes and spilled into the Yard.
"It's the fucker what got me thumb!" yelled Schwartz.
"I'm sorry, I think you must be mistaken," said Tumblety backing up against the wall. "I've never seen you boys in my life. Th... that youngster was trying to rob me."
"Of what?" snapped Pete. "Your cock?"
"Kill him, boys," grinned David, pulling a knife out of his back pocket.
"I want his fuckin' thumbs," said Schwartz.
Tumblety weighed the possibilities. He could kill one or maybe two of them. But these men were young and furious. He would be overpowered. More people were already pouring into the yard to witness the cause of the excitement. He screamed.
"Help! Murder! Robbery!"
"What's goin' on?" asked a grocer, pushing forward.
"Stay out o' this, mate," snapped Blue Skin.
A police whistle shrilled nearby.
"Easy lads," said David, putting his knife away.

A police constable joined them.
"What's all this then?" he asked.
"These men were robbing me," gasped Tumblety.
"It's a lie," said Pete. "He tried to rape me. He's a bleedin' mandrake. These boys saved my arse."
The constable glared at Tumblety. "Is that so."
"Yeh. Yeh it is," growled David. "Ain't that so, people?"
His eyes took in the crowd, many of whom paid their dues to him every Monday morning. They nodded their assent.
"Yes. We saw him," said one. "The dirty bleeder."
Two more constables had arrived.
They began taking notes while Tumblety was handcuffed.
"We've got enough trouble without you bleedin' Yanks with yer foreign ways," said one pushing Tumblety through the crowd.
"I swear it's all a misunderstanding," Tumblety bleated.
"Save it for the Beak."

1:35 AM - 11 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

To Growler!

12:28 AM - 14 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Trimp Distracted

11:31 PM - 14 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

THUS, WITH A KISS...
Current mood: distraught

Growler smelled him first. There on the corner of Backchurch Lane and Ellen Street. Cheap cologne. He stared around wildly. He saw a man in a peaked cap, mincing down the Lane, whistling a music hall ditty. It was Tumblety. He knew it. He began to follow, cursing his broken heel. He was making too much noise.

The man turned and saw him. He had not been mistaken. It was Tumblety all right. He stopped and smiled, peering into the gloom. He hadn't recognised him.

"Evening, Ma'am. You in need of some company?"
Growler quickened his pace. Tumblety's eyes widened as he realised the woman had a shaven head.
"Griffin? Growler Griffin?" He seemed unsure whether to be amused or alarmed. He giggled nervously.
"Come here, you!"  
Tumblety ran like a hare.
Growler tripped on his broken shoe and landed in the gutter, swearing and cursing.
"I'll fuckin' have you!" he roared, shaking his fist.
Tumblety had stopped under a lamppost and was laughing, taunting him
"Promises, promises."

Growler scrambled to his knees and then gasped as his head was yanked back. The knife cut through his throat like butter. He gurgled and gasped and tried to stem the flow of blood but his breath was coming in great whistling gulps. His mouth was filled with blood but he could not swallow. His attacker let him drop and hurried after Tumblety, laughing.

"Big fun. Big fun. But you promise women."
"The night is young, my friend," laughed Tumblety. "The night is young. Go, Go on ahead. I'll catch you up." Tumblety walked slowly back towards Growler.
Growler tried to  get up but his legs had no strength.
"Well ain't this prett