TURN SIX (b)
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| The alley turns out to be empty....as far as you can tell. It leads
through to a reasonably large street which is quite busy for the time of
night and the circumstances. As you look around you realise that you are
at the scene of the last murder. You are surprised by a man's voice from
a few yards away. As you turn to look at him, you are confronted with
the stern gaze of a Policeman. "Can I help you, Gentlemen, "he asks, in a most unhelpful voice. " Where you looking for something in particular...or are you curiosity seekers trying to get your jollies from seeing where a young girl was slaughtered?" His eyes are cold and his face hardens as he takes in each your faces. "We got word that three men where poking around here earlier this evening....they wouldn't be anything to do with you, would they?" Arran looked directly at the officer with a concerned expression. His voice stayed calm and level as he answered the man. "I'm not sure, sir," he advised politely, "we're looking for some colleagues of ours, but I think we must be heading in the wrong direction. The cities back home are not quite so labyrinth and we may have taken the wrong turn. I wouldn't want to bother you with asking directions, since I'm sure you have far better things to do with your time, but I can assure you we meant no disrespect to anyone. I'm sorry to have have troubled you, we'll move on and leave you to your duty, sir." There was only the lilt of his accent, no trace of sarcasm or ill feeling whatsoever, the young American staying as close to the truth as possible without actually blatantly lying. "A Yank..in the middle of Limehouse. Bit far from home, aren't you, Sir?" sneers the policeman. "Perhaps you could describe your friends to me…..and maybe I can help you reunite with them. " His tone is one of disbelief and he pulls out his notebook and looks patronisingly at the three of you. There isn't even the merest of sighs as Arran regards him back, his upbringing has drummed respect for authority into him firmly, though this reaction is more born of survival instinct than true respect for this particular representative of the law. Hoping selective deafness will get him out of here faster. "Yes, sir, I am a long way from home," Arran replied, letting a little sadness creep into his tone, "but I have family here too and I wanted to see the old country, y'know?" His expression is a mix of homesickness and curiosity, hoping to pull that off and avoid too many questions. "Our friends?" a short sigh as if he expects what he has to say not to be well received, "Um, English, average height, average weight, but really, there is no need to trouble yourself, sir. I'm sure we'll find them, perhaps it's best if we backtrack, try the other direction? I'm very sorry to have troubled you needlessly." He moves slightly to step away, slowly, not turning around as yet. Jim remains silent, listening to Arran's speech, and as covertly as possible, tries to sneak to the back of the little group and melt into the shadows. He has an understandable lack of interest in talking to a policemen, given his admitted history of bad deeds, though most of those were committed outside the bounds of England....but not her Territories. Sandow equally doesn't want any trouble from London Police. He tips his hat innocently and tries to turn back into the shadows, hiding his continental features from the light though use of his coat and hat, wondering if he should run if things went sour in the slightest. A night spent in a cell would be no problem, but the possibility of their identities being traced back to the mad Professor could prove costly. As Arran moves to step away, the policeman moves closer to him and his body takes on a threatening aspect. "You weren't planning to leave now, were you sir?" he asks in a chilling tone of voice. "I do believe that the three of you would benefit from a night's lodging courtesy of Her Majesty" He smiles as he says this, a smile that is wiped off his face by the impact of a well aimed mass of horse dung. "Yer rotten bastard!!!! Why ain't you catching the killer, 'stead of bothering innocent people" The dung hurler is a young lad of about fourteen years and,as you watch, he is joined by five or six other urchins who all grab handfuls of dung and prepare to throw them at the policeman. Backing away from the man, you are surprised by the sound of a female voice next to Jim. "'Ello, 'Andsome, Oi reckon you best be movin' away from'ere….if you's lookin' for Mr Impossible and 'is mates, they was talkin' 'bout goin' over to the Mission over that way. " Looking around you come face to face with the prostitute Molly, who is pointing in a direction towards the Professor's house. "Molly, yer an angel." says Jim in a low voice, giving her a quick peck on the cheek and slapping a sixpence into her hand. "I owe ya more than that too." He waves his two pals away from the copper, heading down the street and cutting back toward the Professor's house, moving quickly. "That was a close one. A smart Policeman....who'd've thought it....." he mutters. Arran falls in beside Jim, trying not to allow himself too much time to think. That had been too close. He allowed himself a wry expression in Jim and Molly's direction and then concentrated on keeping moving. Time was a luxury they couldn't afford to spend wastefully at the moment and he figured he'd wasted enough of it back there. "Sorry, guys," he told them both as they sprinted together. "Sorry, Nothing..." says Jim, as he moves along. "That was good of ya to distract him...I was gonna take off a hellin'. " Sandow, relieved of having yet again escaped the clutches of the despicable and wholly ignorant law, exclaims in hurried tones: "So what's we do when we get there? Accost him and call him a bad wolfie? We three know too little of what's occurred while we were running from one end of Lime to the other, perhaps we should all play stupid... Lie low and act with measure and restraint, perhaps put the book back and tell nobody right away... Probably nobody has occurred anyway. Pointing the finger would turn ugly, and Caine would just call it encroaching dementia... or madness... or something. By the way did anybody pick up the book from the pub when we left so rushily? Damn!". Sandow stops for a brief moment and checks his coat, pulling bits of papers, pen nibs, tobacco, cards and leaflets, everything out to fall on the pavement, then the back of his shirt, where the familiar pat of fingers against leather reassures him. "Hah! Damn foolish I am!", and continues running as if nothing untoward has occurred. The journey to the Mission takes only a few minutes and, as the time moves to Ten Forty-Five, you spy three figures at the end of your road that would seem to be your colleagues. Even at this distance you can see Professor Hodgeson looking down the road at you….. |