The Hellgate

Chapter 16

Chirping and chattering, leaning occasionally on my arm and, more than once, needing to be steadied herself, the Queen of Tarts led me from Whitechapel Road, through Woods" building, a thin underpass and lane the locals called Piss Alley. Wasn"t that appropriate? Didn"t that prove the excellence of my selection? Drunk on her feet, leading me through Piss Alley to a paid-for coupling; the filthy w***e. We emerged into Winthrop Street, then circled slightly west and around the board school building into a street called Buck"s Row.

Buck"s Row ran from Baker"s Row on the west to Brady Street on the east. As I said, running parallel on the south, and meeting it half-way along its length, was Winthrop. Going east down Buck"s Row from the junction of Winthrop, on the south side of the street, was the board school, Brown"s Stable Yard, and a long row of tenement houses. On the north side, across the street from the stable were the Essex Wharves. East of the wharves was Browne & Eagle"s Wool Warehouse and Schnieder"s Cap Factory. Beyond the factory stood a low brick wall that continued east to Brady Street. Buck"s Row, down its length, featured only three lamps; one on the north side (west end of the wharves); a second hung from the first floor of the residential cottages about a third of the way up; and a third lamp stood at the far east end, on the northwest corner of Buck"s Row and Brady. Three isolated pools of amber light in the otherwise bleak darkness.

Two fun facts; one, Buck"s Row was frequented by prostitutes; two, the street sat about one-half mile from George Yard, where just over three weeks before I"d had a date with, and done a job on, a beer besotted member of that ancient profession.

It was in places like these, settings of pitch black night and long shadows thrown by grossly limited gas-light, these women plied their trade. They were, all of them, too filthy to be embarrassed in public, too drunk and oblivious to care about the risks in private. I had to wonder if, for some of them, that risk made it all more interesting? What I had planned carried risk as well; and I can absolutely guarantee that made my endeavor more interesting. Besides, as I"ve mentioned, as I"ve confessed, I had an urge I needed to fulfill.

We strolled for a moment up Buck"s Row like a couple of lovers taking the night air. (How sickening was that?) But I didn"t let it go on long. I stopped her before we reached the row of residential cottages on our side of the street, outside the closed gates of the stable yard entrance, across the street and only a few steps past the first street light. There may well have been plenty of people about, sipping tea behind the many doors or snoring behind the darkened windows that faced us, but the street was empty – save for me and my date. There was risk, no doubt. But, like I said, that made it all more interesting.

I raised a hand to cup her chin, my fingers both sides of her jaw, and I smiled; the charming client, lover for a few pennies. She giggled. I smelled the booze on her breath. Disgusting! I hated her for it!

Quickly, and without warning, I pinched my fingers, scissoring her face. She screwed up her lips as if to yowl. But that wasn"t going to happen. With my free hand, I grabbed her by the throat before she had a chance to make a sound. I clamped on with the other. My hands are strong, my grip powered by fierce intention. She didn"t get out a gasp. The Queen"s appointed hour had arrived. She grabbed at my arms, scratched at my wrists and hands. She struck me uselessly and tried to kick me, to no avail. Small, soft, and weak, she hadn"t the least chance in the world. I shook her as I choked her. Her brand new bonnet came loose, flipped off, and landed on the filthy street. Awww! No more crown!

Awww!The Queen is dead, long live the w***e!

Her mouth fell open as she fought for breath. I saw then she was missing several more teeth in the lower jaw of her left side, and I hated her for that too. Now, there, she looked the mirror image of my drunken w*****g mother and I hated everything about her. Her eyes, already wide with fright, soon bulged with terror – and the realization she was going to die. Several minutes I held her, thus clamped, until she slipped into unconsciousness.

I lowered her onto her back on the ground, lengthwise along the footway, with her head to my left, her arms at her sides, and the fingers of her left hand just touching the stable gate. The muscles of my own arms were shaking now from the pressure I"d had to apply.

I couldn"t see clearly in the gloom, but I saw enough to get to work. Her eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly at the sky, but I didn"t let that bother me or slow me down. I drew my shoemaker"s knife. I slashed her throat from left to right, twice; the first a short one to get the feel, the second a ferociously deep and long swipe, ear to ear, through the left artery, the windpipe, and all the way down to her spine. As she was already dead there was no delicious spurt, but don"t think there wasn"t some fun all the same. The jagged gash in her throat opened and there came a nice red gush.

This time there was no hesitation. I moved down the length of the disease-ridden b***h and raised her skirts to her chest, baring her stomach. Her legs lay stretched out, a little apart, and I couldn"t help but laugh at her cloddish boots. I reached across to her left side, dug into the meat and fat with my knife, and cut a long jagged wound through the gut. That went so well, I gave her a second s***h with relish. Then I added another three or four like-cuts, on the near side running down, so she opened up wide. I saw the snakes of her intestines in their slimy red nest. I"d seen others, before, at hospital obviously, but these were mine. This was my message. The world, when they saw this, would know without question the rubbish had been taken to the bin.

Then something came over me. I couldn"t resist. I didn"t want to resist. Slowly, tremulously, I reached out and inserted one outstretched finger into her open abdomen. I touched her intestines. Then I pulled hurriedly away. I took a breath, steadied myself (my breathing was starting to race). I reached in again. I touched the intestines, allowing my finger to linger this time. I applied the slightest pressure, panting now despite my desire for self-control. It felt better than I"d hoped it might. Soft. Warm. Giving. Just as I had always imagined the wet s*x of a respectable woman might feel.

Ohhhh.

Ohhhh.But by then 3:30 must have come and gone. I had to be gone as well. The people of the streets would soon be up and about. Not to mention the coppers, on foot patrol, would eventually make their way past regardless of where their beats took them. I forced myself to remove my finger from the slag"s warm and steaming insides.

Something, I don"t know what, made me look up the street. It was well I did. Someone was coming!

Though I could not make him out in the poor light, I could see a man"s silhouette… No, two men, one well in front of the other, both backlit by the lamp at the corner. They were nearer to Brady Street than to me, and nearly the full block away, but both were headed this way.

I left the w***e where I"d killed her, along the footway outside the stable gate, and retreated into the shadows. Hugging the wall of the board school, staying as far from the north light at the corner of the wharf as I was able, I slipped down the wall to the west (where Buck"s Row opened out wide) and around the corner of the school.

Then the jolly night got, oh, that much jollier.

oh“Come and look over here!” I heard one fellow excitedly shout to the other.

What a delight! Despite the darkness, I saw it in my head. On his way down Buck"s Row, on the way to his daily toil and despair, the first bloke had missed seeing me but had spotted my leavings. He thought he knew what it was but, in the dark, couldn"t be sure. He was even less sure he wanted to step up and take a closer look. Not alone. So he called out his find to the man behind him (thank god for the man behind), further up the street, deeper in the dark, coming his way.

I stood pressed against the wall on the west end of the school, listening and keeping my presence to myself. I held my breath and, difficult as it was, held in my delighted laughter. For wasn"t it a lark that I was close enough to step out, shout, and scare the living hell out of the finder of my fun? And, like the couple in George Yard, he had no idea I was there.

But now I had a conundrum. Listening was fun, listening was delightful, but I wanted to see. I couldn"t help myself. Despite the terrible, ridiculous, risks involved, the nearness of the discoverers who outnumbered me, the nearness of the flickering street light with the chance it offered to show me off, still I had to look. I slipped one eye beyond the edge of the school building and took a peek.

There he was, the first on the scene to see my work. He was an old bloke, a laborer it appeared, standing in the street looking nervously back and forth between the fast-approaching second fellow and the pile of diseased remains before him. He"d already called out once. Now, with a notable rise in the pitch of his voice, he added to it. “There"s a woman lying on the pavement!”

Indeed there was, my good fellow. Indeed there was. Shout it out. Tell the world.

The other joined him. The pair stood together in the middle of Buck"s Row gawping like a couple of simpletons. I hadn"t imagined this development. Me, still there at the time of the finding? Nothing like it. I stayed a while longer, having a glorious time of it, listening and peeking; for they and the dead w***e made for an entertaining trio. I would have loved to stay all morning and watch.

But it wasn"t right, was it? Listening in and spying on folks? What would people think of me?

Fighting a new urge to laugh, I slipped quietly down the school wall, crossed briskly to the far south side of wide open Buck"s Row, and headed west on cat"s feet. I turned the corner onto Court Street then slowed my pace to a gentleman"s stroll and became unseen again.

Whitechapel Road lay straight ahead.