Rebecca stood outside of her apartment building, watching as members of the London Police went inside. They seemed to be detectives, dressed in the finery of their station.

When they entered, they were steel faced and stern looking, seeming to command utter respect and authority.

Then a few minutes passed and two shell shocked husks exited.

It wasn’t Rebecca’s first encounter with one of these scenes. There had been an epidemic of violence against people like her this year, with one gentleman stealing all of the headlines.

“Wonder why someone would do something like this,” a man next to Rebecca asked.

His friend snorted. “Fame.”

“What kind of fame do you honestly get from this?” the first man asked. He shook his head in utter disdain.

“I mean clearly some,” the friend said. “He’s on the front page of every newspaper from St. Marylebone to Lewisham.”

“Crying shame to see another young girl cut down,” an older woman whispered.

The first man snorted. “Well, she clearly wasn’t some innocent dove.”

“Doesn’t mean she deserved to have that happen to her,” the woman scolded. “Dear, just needed to find herself a husband.”

That’s when Rebecca tuned them out, making her way around the barrier to a pair of uniformed officers. During work, she would want nothing to do with them. But at the moment, they were her only connection to the scene inside.

“Miss Broadbank,” one of them greeted. His tone was solemn, his gaze pitiful. “Wish we had something to report but the detectives are keeping everything close to their chest.”

“Probably so they can sell whatever scoop they have to the Post,” Rebecca grumbled under her breath.

The officer nodded. “That’s likely the case.” He sighed. “Do you have somewhere you can spend the night? I don’t think…” He worked his jaw. “I don’t think your current abode is particularly liveable at the moment.”

“Not saying that it’s bad,” the second officer interjected, holding up his hand. “Just…”

Rebecca snorted. “You don’t need to sugar coat it. It was him. I can only imagine what it looks like inside.”

And she could only imagine what her poor sister must’ve gone through up there. Hopefully, it was quick.

Of course, the officers would say that it was. But whether that was true or not would be the stuff that kept Rebecca up at night.

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice called from over her shoulder.

She turned and saw another pair of stern-faced detectives approach. They looked like they were a cut above those green-faced cowards who had just entered her apartment.

“Detective Clark from Scotland Yards,” one of the detectives said before gesturing to his partner. “And this is Detective Fleur.”

The second detective nodded.

There was a third gentleman with them who tilted the brim of his hat towards the constables.

“Dr. Watson,” he introduced himself, offering a terse smile. “Pleasured.”

The constables glanced at each other and moved to the side, allowing them to enter. When they were gone, they stepped back into position and looked to Rebecca.

“If it means anything, they’re the best of the best,” one of the officers said. He then withdrew a pencil and piece of paper. “I’d recommend that you get yourself somewhere warm and try and catch some sleep, Miss Broadbank. We’ll send an officer with updates when we learn something.”

Rebecca bit her lip and nodded. “I’ll probably be staying with Sarah Winters. She lives over on Regal Ave. You know, near the docks?”

The Officer nodded. “Which building.”

“The red brick one that’s a block north of Clark Station. Do you know it?”

“I’m sure we could figure it out.” He jotted down the final detail and pointed the pencil at her. “And I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“We’ll catch that bastard,” the second officer said.

He almost sounded like he believed it himself.

“I’m sure you will,” Rebecca murmured under her breath. She then sighed and looked at them. “Thank you for keeping me in the loop.”

“It’s the least we could do, Miss.”

With that she peeled away, making her way north, away from the crime scene. There was no point loitering, no information she could really get that wasn’t already painfully obvious.

She’d heard the stories, read them in the paper. She knew of the butcher and his methods. Surely, he had been quick with her sister. Surely, she hadn’t felt much pain.

Tears prickled in Rebecca’s eyes and she ducked into an alleyway. A few people glanced at her as she beat a hasty retreat. But people knew not to ask questions in this city.

She covered her mouth with a hand, stemming the worst of her ugly noises. A few moments alone, that’s all she needed. A few moments to get her mind in order and try to figure out what she should do.

Sarah would offer temporary shelter but that flat was already crammed full of people.

And could she honestly continue with this line of work? Her sister had just been murdered by a man who had a card out for every streetwalker in London, herself included.

“Maid?” she whispered to herself. “I could become a maid.”

Surely, there were hundreds of households in the city who were looking for one.

“Not an easy line of work to get into,” an unfamiliar and foreign voice interrupted.

Rebecca gasped and jerked back, watching as the gentleman approached from the street.

American? Was that… an American?

He smirked. “Honestly, it’d be pretty hard to break into that line of work without a couple of good references.”

Except it wasn’t a gentleman. It was a woman dressed in the clothing of a man, wearing a buttoned-up shirt and a pair of dress pants. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, showing off a pair of surprisingly toned arms.

It wasn’t surprising that Rebecca had assumed this woman was a man. She seemed to be trying her best to pass for one. Her hair was cropped short and coloured an incredible dark shade of brown. And there was a scar that tarnished her left cheek.

She smirked at Rebecca as she leaned against the wall of a neighbouring building. “Relax I’m not going to mug you.” She chuckled and reached into her breast pocket, producing a tin. “Some tobacco to settle your nerves?”

“No thank you,” Rebecca whispered.

She studied the woman, watching as she flipped open the tin and produced a small white stick, placing it between her lips.

“Is that a cigarette?” Rebecca asked.

The woman nodded. “Rolled them myself.”

Tobacco was very much a middle-class staple. It was not something that Rebecca was prepared for from a woman this gruff.

The woman lit the tip of the little stick and drew in a drag. She held it for a good couple of seconds before letting out a cloud of ashen smoke.

“I’m Carl by the way,” this woman said.

“What kind of woman is named, Carl?” Rebecca blurted before even realizing what she was even saying.

The woman smirked. “This one.”

A simple but effective answer.

“And what can I do for you Carl?” Rebecca asked, finally snapping back to her senses.

Carl drew in another drag and let it out in a terse puff. “You lived in that boarding house over on Smith and St. Johns, right?”

“And what is it to you?” Rebecca asked. She instinctively clutched her hands into fists. “Are you a reporter.”

“Am I a reporter?” Carl asked herself, snorting. “Maybe I’ll try picking it up some day. But no, I’m currently not a reporter. I’m more of a concerned citizen.”

Rebecca held her tongue, sizing up this woman. There wasn’t really much to pick up on. She seemed to be masking any of her emotions under a cloud of cigarette smoke. The gesture felt more like a disguise, something to keep her busy so she couldn’t reveal anything.

“Concerned citizen,” Rebecca whispered, shaking her head. “There’s no such thing. Not in London anyways.”

“You’d be surprised,” Carl commented.

“And can I ask what a concerned citizen wants with me?” Rebecca asked.

Carl smirked. “I would like to offer you a job.”

Rebecca paused for a moment, working her jaw. “And what kind of work do you do, Miss Carl?”

“Well, I take contracts to fix problems,” Carl explained, rolling her cigarette between a forefinger and thumb. “And I think you might be able to help me with a mutual problem that has been plaguing this city.”

“Him,” Rebecca whispered.

Carl nodded. “I’m being paid by a pair of benefactors who would very much like to have their girls be safe and sound. And I have a feeling that you might be able to help me keep them safe and sound.”

“And how would I be able to do that?” Rebecca asked.

Carl took another puff of her cigarette, letting the smoke waft away. She glanced towards the alley’s entrance.

“Well, I guess we could start with a couple of questions,” she said. “But after that’s done, I’m looking for reliable people to help me put this guy in the ground. And no offense but I know your profession and I have a feeling that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

Rebecca frowned, though didn’t outright refuse.

“I’ll… think about it,” is what she finally went with.

Carl smiled and reached back into her pocket, producing a little card. “I’m staying at the Hilltop Hotel. If you do decide to take me up on my offer, give this to the receptionist and they’ll take you to me.”

Rebecca took the card, looking at it. It was printed upon a textured piece of paper and written in plain black ink.

Carl Le Blanc.

Pinkerton Detective Agency.

“You’re a Pinkerton?” Rebecca asked. “Didn’t know that they even operated in London.”

Carl snorted. “Was and no they don’t. Probably would do it again if I ever find myself state side though.” She smirked. “But you know how it is?”

Rebecca very much did not know how it was. But she nodded along regardless.

“Anyways, I’ll see you around, Miss Broadbank,” Carl said. She dropped her cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her foot. “At least I hope so.”

With that, she made her exit, heading back towards the street.

Though before she reached it, she looked over her shoulder. She looked like she was about to say something but held her tongue. Instead, she turned away and merged back into the foot traffic, becoming another body amongst many.

This left Rebecca alone with the card. She flipped it over, running her finger over the material. It felt pricey. It felt legitimate. Even if this Carl figure seemed like a complete ruse, she could at the very least invest in good quality notary.

Rebecca probably should’ve discarded the card. It would be best if she thought nothing more of this strange encounter.

Yet, the strangeness was the very reason she held onto it. She placed it in her handbag, hoping it would not get lost amongst the clutter.

“I better get to Sarah’s,” she whispered under her breath.

And with that, she was off.

---

Rebecca knocked upon the apartment’s door and waited patiently as she heard movement on the other side.

It cracked open, an inch, and an eye peered out. This eye recognized her and widened as the figure jerked back. The door closed, for a second, before it opened wider, revealing a concerned looking woman.

This was Sarah.

“Oh Rebecca,” she said. “Are you okay?”

A silly question but it was the only one people seemed to come up with.

“I’m doing the best that I can,” Rebecca replied. She motioned towards the door. “Can I…”

Sarah nodded quickly and stepped out of the way. “Of course, hun. Can I get you something to drink? I have tea, fresh from China.”

“How can you possibly afford tea?” Rebecca asked.

She looked around Sarah’s flat as she entered, seeing that it was already crammed full of stuff. It was about as big as her apartment. But unlike hers, this one had three beds, housing three times as many girls.

Sarah shrugged. “Genevieve has a regular who works down at the docks. He always manages to put aside a little for his favourite girl.” She then offered a shit-eating grin. “Then said girl brings it back here where I can pinch a little when she’s out shopping. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

She motioned to a table off in the corner of the room.

“Terrible thing,” Sarah said. “Read about it in the newspapers. Is it true that…”

“I haven’t read the papers!” Rebecca cut in, clenching her teeth. “I haven’t… had a chance to uh… learn about the gory details.”

“Probably for the best. Doesn’t sound particularly pleasant,” Sarah replied.

She lit a lucifer and used it to kindle the apartment’s stove. As it heated up, she started to fill a kettle, placing it on top.

“So, I’m guessing that you’re looking for a place to stay?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca nodded. “At least until the police are done at mine.” She sighed, glancing down at the floor. “If they’re ever done.”

“Well, it might be a little cramped here but I’m sure that we could fit you in somewhere.” Sarah snorted. “Hell, Trixie is gone most nights anyways, so I’m sure you can probably bunk in her bed. Steph is a bit weird but she doesn’t bite or anything.”

“Thanks Sarah,” Rebecca said.

She placed her bag upon the table and took a seat, reaching inside. Her finger brushed against a textured card.

A familiar card.

Instinctively, she drew it out, giving it another look.

“What’s that?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “Just ran into some weirdo when I was making my way here. She was a woman but her name was Carl.”

“A woman named Carl,” Sarah said, humming to herself. “Yeah, that is pretty weird.”

“Even weirder, she offered me a job,” Rebecca explained.

“Like a legit job?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca snorted. When Sarah cocked a brow, she held up the card.

“Claims she’s an American,” she said, “working for some bigwigs who want to hunt down… well… you know who.”

“I know who…” Sarah whispered then it clicked. “Ah the bloke who keeps doing girls in? That freak?”

Rebecca nodded. “Said that she wanted to ask me a few questions and that she was looking for some reliable hands to help her with whatever she has planned.”

“Well, I’d say your hands are pretty reliable,” Sarah quipped. “What harm is there in checking her out. Least you can do is see if her offer is legit.”

“I mean if she’s really hunting him down then I’d be a little concerned about him hunting her back.” Rebecca shuddered. “The last thing I want is to end up like Angela.”

She drew in a breath through her nose, smelling burning fuel. As she looked over, she saw that Sarah was spooning a black mixture into a pair of steel bulbs. These were then placed into a pair of metal cups.

“Mind if I take a look at that business card?” Sarah asked

Rebecca held it out and her friend came over, taking it from her.

“Feels nice,” Sarah commented, giving it a look. She hummed to herself, flipping it over and rubbing her thumb across it. “It feels pretty legit.”

“Right?” Rebecca chuckled. “If it’s some sort of a scam, then it’s a really good one.”

“Carl Le Blanc,” Sarah read. She looked up at Rebecca. “Are you sure this is a woman?”

“That was the strangest part. She told me her name was Carl. Also, she dressed like a dockhand down at the harbourfront,” Rebecca explained. “All rather peculiar for a woman.”

Sarah shrugged. “Could just be an American thing. They always seem to be doing weird stuff.” She smirked. “At least you know she’ll probably have some kind of cowboy gun.”

“I doubt she has a cowboy gun,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes. “Not all Americans are cowboys, Sarah.”

“I mean…” Sarah glided over to the kettle, taking it off of the stove and filling the cups. “I’d hope that she has some sort of gun. Can’t really take that monster down with your bare hands.” She pointed her finger at Rebecca and winked. “Bang! That’s the only way you’re going to kill him.”

“Still this whole thing feels rather queer,” Rebecca murmured.

Her friend came over with the two pewter mugs, placing them on the table.

Rebecca took one and drew in a breath, smelling the richness of tea. It had been years since she’d had any. Years since a gentleman had seen fit to find her some.

“Do you want my opinion?” Sarah asked.

Rebecca thought about it, for a moment, and nodded.

“This whole situation is extremely queer,” Sarah said as she drummed her fingers against her mug. “Your sister was just killed by a literal monster who preys on women like us. If nothing else you should take this American’s money just so you can get yourself off of the streets. It’s not safe out there, Rebecca. This freak is getting into people’s heads, and now, even the regular blokes are scared to go near us.”

“I can’t just abandon you girls,” Rebecca whispered.

Sarah snorted. “Why not? It happens all the fucking time, hun. You remember, Regina?”

Rebecca nodded.

“Ended up giving head to some Captain in the Royal Navy,” Sarah explained. “Blew his fucking mind and the next thing you know she’s living in a cozy manor near the shore in Wessex or Sussex or one of those places.” She waved her hand. “I know one-in-a-million with her. But tons of the girls end up shacking up with their clients.”

“She was a bit of a rarity, wasn’t she?” Rebecca then sighed. “I just feel like I’m leaving you girls while that freak is out trying to off us.”

Sarah picked up her mug and took a sip, grimacing as she did so.

“A little strong,” She commented. As she placed it back down, she looked at Rebecca. “I go out with six other girls on a regular night. We watch out for one another. This freak is dangerous but he attacks girls who are on their own.”

“Could be a John trying to hire you,” Rebecca said. “Make it a lot easier to get you separated.”

She took a sip of her tea, smacking her lips together as she did so. It was a little on the strong side but it was also richer than anything she’d had in a very long time.

“He could be,” Sarah agreed. “But that isn’t something that could be helped by you still being on the streets.”

Rebecca pursed her lips, looking down at the little mug of tea before her. She drummed her fingers against the side of it. The hollow taps echoed, providing her with a distraction to think.

“What if she’s the… ‘gentleman’ causing all this mess?” she asked.

Sarah snorted. “Love, you can’t let this get to your head.”

“Kind of hard not to,” Rebecca grumbled.

“I know, I know but…” Sarah sighed. “I know I like to shit on this city but there is only one monster out there looking to murder us. That means there are literally a million regular blokes who either like us or plainly don’t give two shits. Chances are, if this American wanted to off girls, she could’ve done it back in America.”

“Right, Right.” Rebecca sighed. “I suppose I’ll go see her.”

“That a girl.” Sarah then grinned. “Do you want another piece of free advice?”

“What’s that?” Rebecca asked.

“If you get a chance, try and get her to take you to a café for this meeting,” Sarah suggested. “That way you might be able to con her out of a free meal.”

Rebecca snorted. “Sure thing, Sarah.”

“And, and…” Sarah wagged her finger. “If you can bring back leftovers that would be even better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rebecca said.

Sarah smirked. “I like bagels.”

---

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