Part 3 (1/2)

CHAPTER FOUR.

The Mob I hotfooted around the corner of a building at the end of the alley and almost ran down a woman standing there under a streetlamp. I thought, for just a blink, that she was Sue. She gave me an awful start.

But I gave her a worse start.

She screamed as I skidded to a stop in front of her.

She was much too large to be Sue.

To her, however, I must've looked just right for Jack the Ripper.

”Murder!” she shrieked, and flapped her hands in the air. ”Help! Murder! It's him him! The Ripper!”

There I stood, bare to the waist, my trousers b.l.o.o.d.y, a knife in my hand. Can't say I blamed her much for getting riled.

”I'm not,” I gasped. ”Please.”

Still shouting and waving her arms, she stumbled backward a few steps and fell on her b.u.m. ”Help!” she blurted. ”Murder! b.l.o.o.d.y murder!”

Suddenly, she wasn't the only one yelling. From all up and down the street came cries of alarm and rage.

The voices had people with them.

People running toward me.

Plenty of them.

I lit out.

They were coming from both sides, so I raced straight across the street, aiming for another alley. Through all the shouts of ”Murder!” and ”The Ripper!” and ”He won't get away!” and ”He'll get a taste of steel from me!” and ”Kill him!” came the high shrill piping of police whistles.

From the sounds of things, I had three constables after me.

Where in tarnation had they been when I was getting attacked?

I made it into the alley well ahead of the mob and chugged along through the darkness wondering if Uncle Bill might be one of the whistle-blowers, but mostly wis.h.i.+ng the sounds hadn't come from so far away.

The folks on my tail had blood on their minds. I reckoned I wouldn't have none left by the time the police caught up.

While I was still running through the alley, I folded my knife and dropped it back into my pocket. That was a good move. With the knife out of sight, I didn't get myself jumped by the excited folks on the next street over.

Before any of them took a notion to grab me, I gasped out, ”Which way'd he go?” I tried to sound like a neighborhood fellow. The words came out, ”Wichwydeego?”

Shoulders shrugged. Heads shook.

”Who?” asked a man with a clay pipe.

”What's going on?” asked a fat woman.

”Didn't you see see him?” I blurted. him?” I blurted.

”Ain't seen...”

”The Ripper!” I cried out. Then I pointed down the dark, rainy street. ”There he is!”

Several woman started yelling and screaming.

”Come on!” I shouted. ”Let's get him!”

I vamoosed without more than a few seconds to spare before the mob came pouring out of the alley. Now, I was at the head of my own little mob. It consisted of four men who were all a bother to chase down the Ripper, same as those behind us, but who didn't figure I was him.

We were fresher than the other bunch. We managed to stay ahead of them. Every now and again, I'd yell ”There!” and point and we'd rush around a corner.

This section of town had corners galore. The streets were short and narrow and twisty, chock full of alleys and doorways and courts and just more corners than you could shake a stick at.

By and by, when it looked clear behind us, I grabbed my side like I had a st.i.tch in it and slowed down. The others looked back at me. I waved them forward. ”Go on,” I huffed. ”Don't let him get away. Went to the right up there.”

They hurried on ahead.

I ducked into the dark under an arch, and not a moment too soon. Along came the other crew. They were looking mighty haggard. One fellow flung up an arm and waved at my crowd. ”We're with you!” he called. ”Get him!”

The whole bunch hurried by. I counted eight of them. Not a constable in the bunch. Not one in uniform, at least. That made me durn glad I'd outfoxed them.

Well, I stayed where I was for a while, catching my wind and trying to figure out a safe move. Returning to the streets didn't seem to be it. Not a few folks had gotten a look at me, and even more had likely heard that the Whitechapel murderer was a fifteen-year-old chap running about s.h.i.+rtless.

I had to get a s.h.i.+rt.

Then I'd be all right.

And I wouldn't be freezing so bad, either.

What with all the action, I hadn't been bothered much by the rain and cold. But the longer I crouched there in the darkness, the worse I felt. Even though the arch kept rain from falling on me, I was already drenched. Before long, I was all a-s.h.i.+ver. My teeth took to chattering up a storm. I hugged my chest and rubbed my goosepimply arms, but that didn't help much.

A s.h.i.+rt was just what I needed.

That and a coat and shoes. And a pair of dry trousers, too.

A magic wand would've come in right handy.

Lacking that, my only recourse appeared to be thievery. I'd already handled the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of a wh.o.r.e and stabbed a man, so turning robber didn't seem like any great sin.

Besides, it was necessary for self-preservation.

When it comes down to saving my own hide, I'll do pretty much anything short of betraying a friend. That's a fact. It grieves me to think about some of what I've had to do over the years when it was touch and go with the Grim Reaper. Stealing some duds is about the least awful on my whole long list.

It seemed like a big thing at the time, though.

I'd never stolen anything, up till then. But I sure did need a s.h.i.+rt.