Free Whitechapel by Bryan Lightbody

arm for Polly to join him which she did so obligingly knowing this would pay, and together, her a little unsteady on her feet, they left the pub. They headed south along Commercial Street towards Whitechapel High Street. It was around 11.p.m and the East End still seemed to be teeming with people.
    ‘Damn it,’ thought Tumblety anticipating his first chance to gain his own trophies tonight, ‘we might have to stroll around for a while.’ The trouble with that for Tumblety was that her intake of alcohol would wear off eventually out in the open if not kept replenished. The streets were full of people wandering around aimlessly such as drunken toms looking for a quick shilling knee trembler while stoned out of their minds on alcohol, drunken servicemen, street vagabonds looking to pray on the weak but also policemen, the only group with a legal purpose. Polly spoke drunken drivel to Tumblety as they entered Whitechapel High Street and then took him down George Yard. She fell with her back against the wall and began hitching up her skirt.
    “Come on then, fancy Dan, come and give me my doss money and see what you get as change,” she carried on a drunken giggle as she revealed herself to him. Tumblety looked around up and down the yard. They were only a few yards from the main road, but at both ends he could see people passing. He spoke to her to try to take her off somewhere else.
    “Come on, honey, this is too public, I need somewhere quieter to really help you earn that money, with interest even….What do ya say?” His American drawl tailing off questioningly.
    “I ain’t got time to walk around, Mister Yankee, it’s ‘ere or find someone who can.” There was impatience in her tone. She was stubbornly drunk and wanted her money. Tumblety could feel rage developing inside him, but last time he was nearly caught out, it must not happen again. He surveyed up and down the alley again. There were some openings he could try to take her to.
    “Okay, Polly, lets move up a bit.” He took hold of her arm. She didn’t like this action and pulled her arm away protesting violently; but Tumblety held on.
    “Take your fuckin’ hands off of me, you bleeder. Who the fuck do you think you are, manhandling a lady!”
    “Some Goddamn lady,” Tumblety mistakenly said under his breath.
    “Right, get your hands off of me and fuck off!” Polly pulled away from him violently and struck out with her right fist catching the side of his face. He let go and she stormed off back to the High Street, Tumblety turned and gave chase. As they both rounded the corner and he was about to pull her back a constable came in to view from Osbourn Street. It was PC John Thain. She ran up to him yelling.
    “Oi, that fucker tried to hurt me, constable, whatcha going to do?” She was pointing back towards Tumblety seemingly frozen to his spot nervous of the intervention of the law.
    PC Thain looked her up and down and could immediately smell drink from her. He looked at Tumblety and knew exactly what was going on between them, or so he thought. He spoke to the two of them, gesturing with his finger to Tumblety to approach, which he reluctantly but pragmatically did so as not to court unwanted attention.
    “Now then, mister, I know what your here for and I know what she’s offering and that’s fine. But don’t hurt the ladies here plying their trade, or you’ll feel the wrong end of my companion,” he revealed his truncheon just slightly from underneath his beat duty cloak. “And the two of you if you kick up a fuss will see the wrong side of the cell doors at the nick. Do I make myself understood?”
    “Yeah, all right then Thainey, just get him to piss off,” said Polly in a low tone.
    Tumblety nodded his head in acknowledgement.
    “Now watch your tongue, Polly. Now you go that way, and you that way,” Thain said, gesturing them to each take the opposite directions along Whitechapel High Street. They both did so, Tumblety somewhat