Richard Laymon - Savage

Savage

Richard Laymon

LEISURE BOOKS NEW YORK CITY

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO BOB TANNER GENTLEMAN AND SUPER AGENT.

WITH YOUR GUIDANCE AND HELP IVE GONE BEYOND WHERE I THOUGHT I COULD GO.

ON TOP OF WHICH

YOU SUGGESTED AT LUNCH A WHILE BACK THAT I TRY AN ENGLISH SETTING.

SO I DID.

SO THIS BOOK IS YOUR FAULT.

I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little gamesMy knife is nice and sharp. I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good luck.

Yours Truly,

Jack the Ripper

From a letter dated 25 September 1888, attributed to Jack the Ripper

God did not make men equal, Colonel Colt did.

anonymous Westerner

Table of Contents

Wherein I aim to whet Your Appetite for the Tale of my Adventures

Londons East End was rather a dicey place, but thats where I found myself, a fifteen-year-old youngster with more sand than sense, on the night of 8 November 1888.

That was some twenty years back, so its high time I put pen to my story before I commence to forget the particulars, or get snakebit.

It all started because I went off to find my Uncle William and fetch him back so he could deal with Barnes. Uncle was a police constable, you see. He was a mighty tough hombre, to boot. A few wordsor licksfrom him, and that rascal Barnes wasnt ever likely to lay another belt on Mother.

So I set out, round about nine, reckoning Id be back with Uncle in less than an hour.

But it wasnt in the cards for me to find him.

The way it all played out, I never saw Uncle William again at all, and I wasnt to set eyes again on my dear Mother for many a year.

Sometimes, you wish you could start from scratch and get a chance to do things differently.

Cant be done, however.

And maybe thats for the best.

Why, I used to pine for Mother and miss my chums and wonder considerable about the life I mightve known if only I hadnt gone off to Whitechapel that night. I still have my regrets along those lines, but they dont amount to much any more.

You see, its like this.

I ended up in some terrible scrapes, and got my face rubbed in more than a few ungodly horrors, but there were fine times aplenty through it all. I found wonderful adventures and true friends. I found love. And up to now, I havent gotten myself killed.

Had some narrow calls.

Run-ins with all manner of ruffians, with mobs and posses after my hide, with Jack the Ripper himself.

But Im still here to tell the tale.

Which is what I aim to do right now.

With kindest regards from the Author

Trevor Wellington Bentley

Tucson, Arizona 1908

PART ONE
Off to Whitechapel and on to America

It was a lovely night to be indoors, where I sat all warm and lazy by the fire in our lodgings on Marylebone High Street. I had survived the awful tedium of studying my school lessons (neednt have bothered with those, really), the servant had gone off to see her sweetheart, and I was perking up considerable with the help of Tom and Huck, who were hatching wild schemes to help Jim escape from Uncle Silas and Aunt Sally. Tom was an exasperating fellow. He never did anything the easy way.

Keen as I was on Mr. Twains book, however, I kept an ear open for the sound of footfalls on the stairs. And I kept not hearing any. There was just the sound of rain rapping on the window panes.

Mother shouldve been back some time ago. Shed left directly after supper to give her Thursday night violin lesson to Liz McNaughton, who had but one leg due to a carriage mishap on Lombard Street.

Though it was mean-spirited of me, I found myself wishing Liz had kept her leg and lost an arm. Wouldve put a damper on her violining. That way, Mother wouldve been spared the chore of paying her a visit on such a rough night, and I wouldve been spared my worries.

But worry I did.

I could never rest easy when Mother was away at night. I had no father, nor any but the foggiest memory of him, as hed been a soldier attached to the Berkshires, and was fetched up dead by a Jezail bullet at the battle of Maiwand when I was just a sprout. Growing up fatherless, I had a morbid dread of losing Mother as well.

So while I wondered what had delayed her return that night, I conjured up a whole passel of dreadful fates queuing up to have a go at her. Even in more normal times, she might have been run down by a hansom or attacked by cutthroats, or met some other terrible end. But these were not normal times, what with the Whitechapel murderer lurking about with his knife.

While most of the folks in London knew only what they read in the newspapers, I was quite well versed on all the grim particulars of the Rippers atrocities due to Uncle William, who worked out of the Leman Street police station. He had not only gotten a firsthand look at two of the victims right where they fell, but he took a keen delight in regailing me (when Mother wasnt about) with gory descriptions of what hed seen. Oh, his eyes merrily flashed with mischief and relish! Ive no doubt he was quite amused at how I mustve blanched. However, I was always eager to hear more.

Tonight, awaiting Mothers return, I wished I knew nothing of the Ripper.

I told myself there was no reason to fear that he might strike her down. After all, one-legged Lizs flat was no closer to the East End than our own. The Ripper would have to roam far from his usual hunting grounds before coming into our neighborhoods. Besides, it was still too early in the night for him to be out stalking. And he only killed whores.

Mother certainly ought to be safe from him.

But I made my head sore with worrying. By and by, I set the book aside and took to pacing the floor, all in a bother. Id been at this a while before a door shut down below. That was followed by heavy, staggering footfalls on the stairway. Mothers step was usually quick and light. Curious, I hurried out and peered down the stairs.

There, struggling beneath the weight of Rolfe Barnes, was Mother.

Mum!

Give us a hand.

I rushed down and took the other side of the rascal. He was soaked to the bone and stank of rum. Though he hardly seemed able to keep his legs beneath him as we wrestled him up the stairs, he mumbled and growled, deep in his cups.

We arent taking him in , are we now?

We most certainly are. Mind your tongue, young man. He mightve perished in the street.

And such a shame that wouldve been, I thought. But I held my tongue. Barnes had a habit of turning into a brutish lout after hed taken a few sips, going foul of mouth and mean of temper. However, hed fought at my fathers side in the second Afghan war. The way he told it, theyd been great chums to the bitter end. I always reckoned him a liar on that score, but Mother wasnt about to find fault with the man. From the very start, shed treated him like a regular member of the family.

Not that she was gone over him. She had the good sense, at least, to reject his amorous advances (so far as I know). Even after declining his marriage proposal some years ago, however, shed never turned him away from our door.

And tonight, by all appearances, she had dragged him through it.

Where did you find him? I asked as we fought our way up the stairs.

Hed fallen in a heap in front of the Boars Head.

Ah, said I. The pub was just at the corner. He was likely waiting in ambuscade, and fell in his heap when he saw you coming along.

Trevor!

With that, I concentrated on the job at hand.

Barnes grumbled and cursed all the while as we helped him into our flat. Mother responded with murmurs of Poor fellow and Youre soaked through and Youll catch your death for sure and What shall we do with you?