Submission Date: 2001-11-22 By: Kortpeel
Two young women are abroad on a cold foggy night in Victorian London. They are bound on a serious mission ....
"It's a good night for a murder, ain't it?"
"Shut up, Bet. Someone 'll 'ear you."
Betty stared through the thick, choking fog of the cold November night. She could make out the weak yellow glimmer of the gas lamp further down the alley. Way off there was the clop-clop of a cab horse taking a late night traveller home. Then it was quiet, as silent as death.
"Reckon he'll come, Alice?" Betty spoke in a whisper.
"Good chance. This is his sort o' night." Alice was whispering too.
Betty shivered as a chill ran down her spine. "Cor ! Someone trod on me grave. Bleedin' creepy wiv no-one about."
"They're all in bed. Best place to be on a night like this."
The two women huddled together against the wall in the alleyway. They waited and listened. After a while they could just make out the tapping of a cane on the cobbles.
"I'm gonna be sick," Betty said.
"Wait 'til afterwards. You know what to do?"
They could see the outline of the man against the gaslight. He wore a top hat and a cape. He was sauntering and swinging his cane without a care in the world.
It's funny how blokes don't get frightened, Betty thought. And here's me scared stiff.
Alice gave her a nudge. It was time.
"Evenin' dearie. Can I give you a good time?"
Betty must have surprised the man, emerging from the shadows like that, but if so he recovered quickly.
"Why bless my soul! You certainly do keep late hours my dear." The man spoke in a pleasant, well modulated voice.
"A girl's got to earn a living, kind sir."
"Of course you do. And in this weather I'll wager there aren't too many customers for your services."
"That is a fact, Sir. The gentlemen like to keep themselves buttoned up."
"Hmm. I can see why. Still, I think you could show me a good time. A very good time, in fact."
Oh gawd, it ain't 'im. This is just a regular gent, Betty was thinking. At that moment Alice hit him on the back of his neck with a gin bottle and he went down.
He stayed down, motionless.
They stared at him for a moment. "He ain't dead, is he?"
Alice knelt by him. "Naah. He's still breathin'."
"That ain't him though," Betty said. "You bashed the wrong bloke."
"No I didn't. Have a butchers at this." She showed Betty the surgeon's scalpel. "That was in his hand. He was gonna do for you, Bet."
They looked at the unconscious man. "What the hell are we gonna do Alice? I can't kill him, no matter how much he deserves it."
"Think what that bastard did to Polly and Kate. What about poor Mary Kelly, bless her?"
"Perhaps …. If we gave him a taste of his own medicine?"
Alice smiled. "You mean cut him a bit? Down there, like what he done to the others?"
Betty was getting over her shock. "Let's get his pants down."
Whatever else, those two women knew how to get a man's trousers off. It took but seconds.
Alice felt the genitals. "I'll do his balls. You can cut off his pecker."
"Okay. But he's still out. Shouldn't we wait 'til he wakes up?"
"Bet, you wearin' drawers?"
"No. I washed 'em and they haven't dried. Can't put 'em on wet."
"Well stand over him and piss on his face. That'll wake him up."
"I usually charge 'em half a crown for this," Betty said in full flow. "This one's getting it free."
"Perverts, God bless 'em," Alice muttered. "Here, he's wakin' up."
The man tried to sit up but Betty's skirt and petticoats stopped him.
"What's happening? What's going on?" the man said.
Betty got off him and held him down with one foot on his throat.
"Nothing much. You're just having your balls cut off," Alice told him. "Do take it like a man. It's your last chance to be one."
"No, wait. Don't. I'll give you money -" The man struggled. He threw Betty off and started to sit up.
Alice moved the scalpel. "Too late, dearie. Now be a good boy. We ain't finished yet."
Alice pushed the flat of her hand hard into his face and he went down again. Moving quickly she sat on his face so he couldn't get up. "Keep still or I'll fart." she warned as he began to wriggle under her.
Betty had hold of the pecker and scalpel. Her cut was right at the root. It went all limp and squishy in her hand as it came away.
Alice stood up and looked down at their victim. He lay trembling in a foetal position clutching his groin. "Well, Mr. Jack the bloody Ripper, you got a taste of the knife yourself tonight." Alice gave him a kick on his backside. "Not so hot now, are you?"
"Is he all right?" Betty asked.
"Shouldn't think so. Come on Bet, let's go home."
And that's what they did.