Page 132 of If Looks Could Kill
“One of the cops is that Jimmy fella, you know the one? He comes in here sometimes?”
Michael nodded again, gritting his teeth. Ron required an active audience.
“The other one I never seen before,” Ron went on. “But Jimmy put Mike in cuffs and hauled him away.”
Mr. O’Keeffe felt himself dilate with relief, then indignation, a far more welcome guest.
“Was there a brawl?” he asked. “Did Mike get himself into a fight?”
Ron thrust out his lower lip. “None that I saw,” he said. “Mike seemed caught off guard. Hot under the collar about it.”
Mr. O’Keeffe returned to the bar to collect his coat and keys. He wished he hadn’t put the money into the safe. Now he needed it, and he didn’t fancy opening the safe with anyone around, not even harmless Ron. “Did they say where they were taking him?” he asked, to keep conversation going, though he already knew.
“Don’t think so,” said Ron, “though it would be Mulberry Street, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re probably right.” Mr. O’Keeffe fiddled with his keys.
“You’ll go bail him out, won’t you?” Ronnie babbled.
Mr. O’Keeffe gave him a look.
“?’Course you will,” Ronnie said. “I’ll come with you.”
Yes. That would be best. For now, he needed to distract Ron while he opened the safe. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. It was just that he didn’t trust him where safes were concerned.
“You did right, coming here to tell me, Ronnie. Can I pour you a beer?”
“No need,” Ronnie said, “but if you insist, I’ll have a Guinness.”
Mr. O’Keeffe poured him a glass, and while Ron drank, he unlocked the safe discreetly.
That task done, he prepared to leave. “What happened to the girl?” he asked Ron. “After they arrested Mike?”
“Don’t know,” Ron told him. “Suppose she left.”
This saddened Mr. O’Keeffe, but he had other fish to fry. “Stands to reason,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Jack into the Labyrinth(Early Morning, Tuesday, December 4, 1888)
The cavity of the human body is like a labyrinth, full of dark tunnels, twists and turns. To enter it the way Jack likes to is to delve in dark, serpentine, unknowable places.
Even so, after four legendary feats of skill in the dark, ever since his fifth, Jack now prefers the benefit of lamplight.
He must keep her alive. He will not slash her throat open yet.
His first cut goes far enough to soak her clothes in blood, but not far enough to be useful to him. Some thick seam of clothing folded in on itself deflects his blade sideways. Even so, Pearl’s body jerks at the wound. This puzzles Jack. He is sure he used enough chloroform to sedate her heavily for the entire procedure.
He wipes his blade fastidiously on a handkerchief, then prepares to make another incision.
Pearl—No Time(Early Morning, Tuesday, December 4, 1888)
Pearl wakes to a piercing pain in her gut. It’s dark and cold, like a cave, like the grave. There’s a lamp in the distance. She feels, more than sees, a large figure crouching over her, kneeling on her right side, examining her navel area with urgent interest. A gleam of dull orange light slides along the blade in his hand.
Her head is groggy, and nothing makes sense, but it’s him, she’s here, it’s real, and she’s alone, just coming out of a daze in a basement with Jack the Ripper.
No time. No time.
She’s going to die.
