Jack was reading a newspaper and sipping a glass of port (he was designed to chemically digest anything he drank or ate) in the Smiling Blacksmith pub just off the Whitechapel Road when a woman approached. She was reasonably attractive, quite well dressed and she asked if the seat opposite was taken. Jack, always the gentleman, doffed his hat and said that he would welcome her company. Soon they were chatting about current affairs, the price of drinks and the latest bridge construction. Jack discovered her name was Elizabeth and it wasn’t long before Jack bought her a large glass of red wine. It wasn’t long after that before Elizabeth leant forward and whispered something suggestive in his ear. Jack nodded and smiled, then whispered back. More softly spoken words were exchanged, then Elizabeth blushed. She pulled back to look at Jack who was winking, holding his hands about ten inches apart (needless to say, Dick had insisted on that part of the programming).
Jack paid for the drinks, picked up his briefcase and the new couple exited the pub. Elizabeth looked nervously about her and taking Jack by the hand, led him up a dimly-lit Brick Lane towards Shoreditch. Noticing a police patrol on the corner of Hanbury Street they doubled back and after a few minutes, reached a deserted and squalid alleyway near Spitalfields Market. Making sure they were concealed from anyone who might pass by the alley entrance, Elizabeth grabbed Jack’s head with one hand, pulled him towards her and kissed him passionately on the lips. Her other hand moved skilfully down between his legs and felt the rock hard bulge in his trousers (his pneumatic valves were operating faultlessly). Elizabeth gasped. After releasing him she leant against one of the walls and began undressing. Despite the cool night air Elizabeth seemed comfortable opening her jacket, then her blouse, before hoisting up her skirt and dropping her red lace knickers.
Jack smiled at the display he’d just witnessed. Elizabeth watched intently as his hand slowly reached into his jacket pocket. What she saw next made her eyes widen and for the second time in a few minutes she gasped again. Jack was holding a bulging wallet. He playfully removed a fresh, crisp banknote and handed it to her. Elizabeth smiled back and with the skill and dexterity of a seasoned conjuror snatched it from his hand and, before his very eyes, made it disappear into her bra. As he began to unbutton the fly on his trousers, Elizabeth looked left and right in the alleyway, listening intently to make sure no one was aware of their presence. By the time she glanced back at Jack he was holding his weapon.
She gasped for the third time that night but her gasp wasn’t as a result of looking at Jack’s ten inch penis but rather at his seven inch knife. This gasp was the only sound Elizabeth could make as Jack’s free hand immediately covered her mouth. The moonlight reflecting off the bright stainless steel blade was the last thing she ever saw.
Jack was safely away from the scene of the crime when Elizabeth’s body was discovered early the next morning by a street sweeper. His shouts alerted a nearby policeman who ran into the alley to see what all the commotion was about. Slumped on the floor, covered in blood and vomit, was Elizabeth, or rather what remained of her. The blood wasn’t real of course. Jack had a large bottle of it in his briefcase and had poured it liberally over and around his victim before he left. The vomit however was real but Jack had nothing to do with it. It had been deposited by the shocked street sweeper when he first laid eyes upon the mutilated body. In fact, he had been so sick that the policeman slipped over in a puddle of it, causing him to fall on top of the dead body. Being covered in her remains and blood caused the policeman in turn to be violently sick so that when the State Police arrived shortly afterwards they were faced with what resembled a scene from a ‘slasher / vomit’ movie (if this niche horror genre ever exists).
Jack had performed exactly according to plan. Elizabeth had been carefully mutilated in order to give the casual observer, whether it was a member of public or a local policeman coming across the body for the first time, the impression that she had been attacked by a madman. Various body parts had been sliced off and arranged around her in a way that was either highly symbolic or completely random, depending on your point of view. Two of her toes had been inserted in her nostrils, her severed left hand was resting in her armpit and if you were brave or disturbed enough to gently prize open her bloody mouth you’d have been greeted by the sight of her left ear. Unlike the demonstration that took place in front of the scientists, Jack was careful not to leave any internal mechanical parts on view. To add to the horror and mystery of this bizarre killing, fake intestines were draped over the victim’s head like bizarre colon dreadlocks. The State Police were under strict orders to dispose of the body – and any subsequent bodies – before the local police could conduct a post mortem, but after enough photographs had been taken for the media.
Jack’s first mission had been a triumph but as successful as this was, it was just the first part of Dick’s master plan. Now that Benjamin was out of the way and he himself had apparently been cleared of any suspicion, Dick could perform his next task effectively and with gusto. Effectively managing the media following this attack would both ensure Jack’s notoriety and Dick’s fame.
CHAPTER 21
‘Harlot Hacked To Pieces By Mystery Assailant’. The man in the expensive wool suit sitting in the expensive burgundy leather chair in the expensive oak-panelled office read the front cover of the Daily Morning News, then laid the paper down on his expensive walnut desk. Picking up the Daily Herald and The Chronicle he continued to read aloud the front page headlines. ‘Satanic Streetwalker Slaughterer On The Loose’. ‘Prostitute Disembowelled in Dastardly Disembowelling Attack’. Discarding these papers he smiled a smile that was half a smile of amusement and half a smile of approval. He turned to a smart, tall, distinguished-looking silver-haired gentleman wearing an elegant grey tailcoat.
‘These reports. The handiwork of Jeremy Brunel at the Ministry of Information I assume, Carter?’
The man replied in a refined accent, ‘Yes sir’.
He was about to say something else when there was a timid knock on the door, so timid in fact that it took twelve more knocks of increasing magnitude before it became even slightly audible.
‘Sir’, the silver haired man continued, ‘I believe there is someone at the door’.
‘Is there?’
Both men looked towards the door and listened intently.
‘So there is’. The first man spoke to the door. ‘Come!’
It opened and an attractive but meek-looking woman in her twenties entered carrying a thin folder.
‘Good morning Leader. This is Vera Darling’s updated report’, she said hesitantly. ‘It has just arrived’.
The Leader smiled again. This time however, it wasn’t a smile of amusement or approval. Or even a smile of fulfilment or joy. It was a predatory smile. The sort of smile you’d give a young, attractive and impressionable girl in the knowledge that you were the most powerful person in the country. The sort of smile that implied that if she knew what was good for her, she would pander to his every whim. Then the smile changed into one of whimsy. A smile that reflected on earlier times. After a moment the smile vanished and the Leader sighed, conscious he must concentrate on the job in hand.
‘Come here’ Miss…’
‘Hav… Havering’. The shy girl stammered and diverted her eyes from the Leader’s steely glare.
‘Come now. I won’t bite!’. Despite this assurance, the Leader gave her a look which gave every impression that he was being very economical with the truth.