A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) (28 page)

“True,” Simon said, but there was still doubt. “I worry we’re so desperate for a suspect after losing Blackwood that we might be jumping to conclusions, just to have to something to hold onto.”

Elizabeth took hold of his hand and squeezed it in solidarity. “We’ll just hold onto this, right?”

Simon squeezed her hand in return and kissed it. “Right.”

~~~

Victor’s mood was as sour as old milk. Ever since learning about Dr. Blackwood’s alibi, he’d found the skies a little darker and the streets a little filthier. Not that either needed his help, the city was pesthole and he was just one of the pests.

He took out his pipe for a smoke, but even that prospect didn’t entice him and he shoved it back into his pocket and glared around the room. They laughed and they drank and they had no idea that in three days time two of their own would be dead, butchered and bleeding.
 

While it had only been weeks since they’d washed Annie Chapman’s blood off the sidewalk, in a place like this where the days blended together in misery, weeks were like months. Time passed and life, such as it was here, moved on.

But it didn’t for Victor. It lingered, and the vile stench of what was and the worse that was yet to come permeated everything. He reached for his beer, but it was empty. Apt, he thought.

If he and the Crosses didn’t find and save this animal, he thought as he looked around the room trying to see each man’s true guise, then his role in this horror would not come to pass. And God help them all then.

“Hello, Victor,” Marie said, offering him a smile as she came to his table.

He did not return it.

“All right?” she asked as she sat down next to him.

He looked at her, really looked at her. She was tired and worn. He noticed a small bruise on her neck.

She touched it self-consciously and tried to pull her collar up to cover it, but it did no good. Her fingers lingered over it, fluttering uncertainly.
 

He started to wonder how she’d gotten it, but pushed the thought from his mind. He’d let himself be too distracted before. He couldn’t afford that now. None of them could.

He gave her a curt nod and turned back to watching the crowd.

He could feel her eyes on him, feel her nervousness, but he ignored it. He should have just ignored her from the start. She was not why he was here.

He watched a man at a nearby table. He kept to himself and pulled nervously on his hands. It was difficult to say how tall he was, but his build was close to what they were looking for. Victor snorted to himself. Yes, he was an average man, of average height. As were half the men in the Ten Bells.
 

He heard Marie shift nervously in her seat and turned to see what bothered her. Her eyes were across the room. A man with a broad mustache and wearing a faded bowler cap had come in, and he stood in the doorway, his eyes scanning the crowd.

Marie stood quickly, nearly knocking her chair over in the process and tried to hurry across the room. The man saw her and his eyes narrowed.

“Joe,” she said, her voice tight with anxiety. “I thought you’d gone to Billingsgate.”

He glared at her and then at Victor. “Billingsgate. No license, no work. You don’t need no license though, do you?” he added looking meaningfully at Victor.

She turned back to Joe. “It ain’t like that. He’s just a friend.”

Joe took a step toward Victor and jutted his chin out as he stood over him. “He’s just a friend,” he repeated and then, without breaking eye contact with Victor, jabbed his thumb toward Marie. “She’s my girl. Don’t need no friends like you.”

Victor leaned back in his chair casually, and didn’t say anything.

That bothered Joe, who started to take a step closer, but Marie grabbed his arm. “He’s been good to me.”

“He’s been good to me,” Joe repeated again, almost mechanically before his eyes flared and he tore his arm from her grasp. He shoved the sleeves of his jacket up. “Has he now?”

Victor remained unmoved.

“He’s been kind,” Marie said, her voice starting to waver.

Joe glared at her. “Kind. I’m off finding work, trying to keep you off the streets, and you crawl into the lap of the first man you see.”

“There ain’t nothin’ between us,” she said and then cast a quick apologetic look at Victor.
 

The glance was not lost on Joe. “Ain’t nothin’, I see.”

It took Victor a moment to realize the repetition was a verbal tic, like Tourette’s.
 

“I can’t turn my back on you before you’re whorin’ yourself out,” Joe said angrily.

“It ain’t like that,” Marie protested, but Joe would have none of it.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “Ain’t like that. You know what it does to me.”

Marie struggled in his grasp, but Joe just held her tighter and she winced in pain.

“Let her go.”

Victor said the words quietly, calmly.

Joe glared down at him. “Go. Mind your own business.”

He jerked Marie toward the door.

Victor stood. “And if I do not?”

Joe seemed surprised both at Victor’s response and his size, but he was the sort who was used to fighting for everything he’d ever gotten and wasn’t about to back down.

Joe started to push his jacket sleeves up again, and made a show of it. It was an obvious feint and when he threw a quick punch, Victor dodged it easily, not even having to move his feet.

Enraged and embarrassed, Joe took another swing. This one, Victor did sidestep and Joe’s momentum sent him stumbling forward. When he caught himself and turned around, Victor delivered a sharp jab that sent his head rocketing back.

Joe recovered quickly, shaking it off faster than Victor had anticipated. His jaw was iron and Victor’s hand stung. Joe grinned, his gap-toothed smile crooked and smeared with blood.

By now the crowd was cheering them both on, tables sliding out of the way for the night’s entertainment. Joe balled his fists and raised them in front of him. He was no novice.
 

“Four brothers,” Joe said in answer to Victor’s unasked question. “And none of us likes to share,” he added and then followed it with a quick combination. The right landed and Victor’s head snapped back.

Joe laughed.

Despite being able to take a punch and land an occasional blow, Joe was still no match for Victor. If he didn’t pull his punches, he would probably kill the idiot.

Marie begged them both to stop.

“Shuddap,” Joe spit back at her.

“Please, Joe?” she said.

“Please, Joe. I’ll teach you when we get home,” Joe promised.

The look on Marie’s face told the story. A story of a woman who loved a man who beat her. Who would beat her again.

Her expression was all Victor needed to see.

Joe grinned broadly. Victor wiped the grin off his face with his fist. The time for games was over. Victor ducked a slow loping roundhouse from Joe and as he stumbled forward, Victor hit him hard in the belly. He heard the air shoot out of Joe’s lungs, and he delivered two more tight uppercuts to the ribs in quick succession.
 

Joe wheezed and doubled over, falling to his knees. He leaned forward on his hands, a long string of of blood and saliva dripping from his mouth toward the floor as he gasped for breath.

“Oi,” the bartender said, as he stepped forward. “That’s enough.”

Joe stayed on his knees, trying desperately to get air into his body.
 

Victor stood over him, adrenaline, anger and disgust coursing through his veins. He looked over at Marie who stood half in shock, half in wonder.

Two men stepped forward and helped Joe to his feet. He was still having trouble breathing, but he managed to stand. He glared at Victor, but his real anger was saved for Marie.

“This ain’t over.”

Marie stepped close to Victor for shelter and held onto his arm.
 

Joe panted for breath. “Just you wait,” he said with a nod. “I gets what’s mine. And you’re mine, Mary Jane Kelly.”

Victor froze. Time stopped. He was sure the earth stopped spinning.

Mary Jane Kelly?

“Come on, Barnett,” one of the men said as they helped Joe toward the door.

Dear God. Victor’s heart stopped in his chest. Joe Barnett? Mary Jane Kelly.

He turned to Marie, to Mary, and lifted a brow. “Mary?”

She shrugged. “Marie sounded better. And you bein’ French and all, thought you’d like it.”

Victor’s head spun. Not only would he not be able to protect her from the likes of Joe Barnett, he would not be able to protect her at all.

Mary Jane Kelly was the Ripper’s fifth and final victim.

~~~

Simon’s eyes strained to see in the dim gaslight. “Where?” he asked.

Freddie pointed into the distance and Simon could just make out something leaning against a building.

“He’s pretty far gone,” Alfie said. “I tried to lift him, but he’s too heavy.”

Simon sighed and the three of them walked over and stood looking down at Victor, pissed drunk and nearly unconscious. Simon sighed heavily again. He should just leave him. Bastard deserved to sleep it off in the street if he was fool enough to drink himself into such a state when they needed him. And that was the rub, they needed him; unfortunately, alive and in one piece.
 

“Dammit.”

“I hope I done right,” Freddie said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Simon said quickly. “You did well to come get me. Thank you.”

Freddie’s head bobbed. “I hope he’s all right.”

Simon shook his head. What the bloody hell had gotten into him?
 

“He’ll be fine,” Simon said as he dug out a few coins and gave them to Alfie. “Help me with him.”

Alfie pocketed the money and the boys went around to the other side.
 

“Renaud,” Simon said as he knelt down next to him, his eyes nearly watering from the stench of him. He must have literally fallen into the gutter.

Simon squeezed Renaud’s face and his eyes opened just a slit before closing again. He hit his cheek gently, mostly, with the back of his hand a few times to rouse him, but the man was insensate.
 

“Idiot,” Simon grumbled.
 

It took all of his effort, but he managed to lift up the man’s dead weight and wedge him against the building before dipping down and picking him up in a fireman’s carry. Freddie and Alfie tried to help, but they were barely ten stone between them.
 

“Dear God,” Simon muttered as he gained his balance. He hefted Renaud up into the air to shift him into a better position on his shoulder.
 

Freddie stuffed Renaud’s fallen cap into his pocket and led the way back to Victor’s flat. Simon was sure the stairs multiplied on the way up. Each groaned under their combined weight.
 

Alfie opened the door to the rooms and Victor’s head banged against the doorjamb as Simon carried him over the threshold. The boy winced in sympathy, but Simon didn’t care. His back was about to go out, and the git deserved it and more.

Simon unceremoniously dropped Victor onto the bed.
 

Freddie put his cap on the dresser. “You need anything more?”

Simon shook his head. “No, thank you both.”

The boys nodded and slipped out, leaving Simon alone with Victor. He watched Victor, trying to think of a reason that would drive the “French Super Ninja” as Elizabeth called him, to throw off his responsibilities and get pissed drunk just when the eleventh hour was nearly there.

He fumed silently for a few minutes and then gave up trying to figure it out. There was no reason for him stay. Victor would sleep it off and Simon could find out what had happened in the morning. And it had better be good.

Simon flipped Victor onto his stomach so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit and glared down at him for a moment before starting for the door.
 

“Cross?” Victor’s voice was thick.

Simon sighed and turned around. “Yes.”

Renaud managed to open one eye and pushed himself up onto his elbow. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s just what I’d like to know.”

Victor looked confused.
 

“What the bloody hell, Renaud? Thought it was a good time to tie one on, did you?”

Victor winced and squeezed his eyes shut. “Apparently.”

Simon’s temper flared. “Maybe you don’t give a damn about what’s going to happen if we fail, but I assure you I do. I have everything to—”

Victor lifted a hand to stave off the rest of Simon’s rant. “Yes, yes. I know. Your precious wife.”

Simon clenched his jaw. It took every ounce of strength not the throttle the man.
 

Victor forced himself to sit up and cradled his head in his hands. He groaned softly. “I am a fool.”

“Clearly.”

Victor lifted his head and eyed Simon, but instead of a parry, he nodded. Slowly, he shuffled over to the water basin, poured some from the pitcher and splashed his face.

“Are you going to tell me what prompted this,” Simon said crisply, “or do you want me to guess? Or is this merely typical for you?”

“It is not,” Victor said, as he toweled off his face. “Not in a long time.”

“Hardly comforting.”

Victor grunted, but again, didn’t argue. He sat down heavily on the little chair at the table and looked up at Cross. After a long moment, he nodded his head toward the bed. Simon’s impatience was growing, but he sat down anyway.

Victor frowned in thought and leaned back in his chair. “Do you know why I’m here? Why they sent me?”

The question was odd. He was there to help them find and save the Ripper. But, judging from the man’s expression, that wasn’t what he meant.

“I wasn’t sure if Travers told you or not,” Victor said finally. “You never know with him.”

“What do you mean?” Simon asked, tension beginning to fill his stomach.

“The timeline is fragile,” Victor said. “A life here or a death there. You and your wife,” he said, with an almost wistful smile, “you save lives, yes? A man must live or the timeline will fall apart.”