Murder Red Ink by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0000000000000
Published: 2023-10-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter the Eleventh

Dream details matched to 99.2 Percent Date-Tag:

Spitalfields slum London, England. September the Eighth, 1888

Two of the morning

“Donny is a bludger and a chat!” Laughter filled the air.

His temper boiled from the chatter climbing up the staircase. He knew which mouth made the remarks, too. A big, filthy mouth. She was in there somewhere. He grabbed a stick and pulled his pants on. They'd pushed him over the edge of patience.

“All the dolly mops know it!” A chorus of “HA HA HAHAHA!”

Half a dozen ungrateful whores, far as I count. His feet pounded the floor. There were murmurs and the volume dropped. He clomped down the steps. Sometimes the bear gets you. “Chat? Bludger?” He rapped the stick on the rail.

WHACK!

“I'll show ya a bludger.”

They heard him coming. They scrambled and crashed into the cots. One doused the lamp just as Donny appeared. “Which ladybird loses an eye tonight?” He slapped the stick against his hand.

THWAP!

The edge was worn dull from past beatings. To them he might be a joke of a man, but he was going to rattle some God-be-damned heads tonight. He entered the common and the whores fell silent. He raised the lantern off the hook. They were skulking beneath the blankets.

“I know yer 'ere,” he growled. He tapped the stick against his leg and stepped ahead, watching. She'll run for it. His brows pressed together. “I'm the one 'at puts this roof o'er yer 'ead!”

They are always trying to palm, but she's the worst. His frown turned full sneer. Annie doesn't give two shits about you. She's a bloody liar. You're too good to them all. They deserve a beating because of shit heads like her. He could hear her sour promises, “I'll be good to you, Donny. Cook, clean, take care of a husband's needs.” Lies. How many times has she said this to you, Don? Ten, twenty? Does she ever do any of it? No!

Nothing but lies.

He found her hiding in a cot between two others. “They paid,” he snapped. “Fair and square.” He tore the blanket away, exposing the three women. “Aha! I bloomin' knew it.” He stepped forward and pulled her from the bed with one hand and cracked her nancy with the pole. She squealed and curled.

She cried, “Stop!”

“I 'eard yer fat mouth.” He lashed her thigh, red welts appeared along its path. It didn't break skin, but it got her attention. “Get out,” he snarled. The others squawked like hens crying wolf in the house.

She rose and staggered away from him.

WHACK!

He snapped her again. This time half against her nancy and half against the hand that moved to deflect it. She wailed, drunk and making no sense. Her hand was bleeding now. Don chased her to the door with the pole as she repeated, “You don't own us!” Her gin-soaked dialect made it sound like she was saying, “ya-do-no-nuts.

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