The Secret Life of Hank Wilson © Shells Walter
Hank met once a month with these men. Every Tuesday, he walked through the doorway into the room where three other members sat waiting. His wife never really knew where he went on these evenings, a secret that he planned on keeping. In the evening he always made sure to tell her he was going out with some old friends from college.
When it came to the meetings, Hank took everything seriously. The words that were spoken, the timing of the drinks served, and most importantly the schedule of events that had to be kept. If anything fell out of place, it would certainly be the destruction of these meetings and Hank would not allow that.
One of these men had fallen ill last meeting and Hank was not happy about it. Since these meetings depended on all members being present, the unexpected illness of one, messed up Hank's organized plans. It would certainly not go as Hank had planned. He would have to change something and that was not something Hank enjoyed doing.
#
The meeting night approached again. Hank was ready to go. He grabbed his overcoat, kissed his wife goodbye and left to walk to where the meetings were held. It surprised Hank that his wife did not catch on to the simple walk he took to get to the house where the other members waited for him. She never once walked after him or questioned him when he came home from one of the night's meetings.
A brisk wind gave his nose a bit of a pinch and he sniffed up. He pulled his overcoat close around his body, warmth only there for such a brief moment. The house was lighted only by a small lantern showing in the top right room. The other men, minus the one who had fallen ill, were surely waiting for him. He was always the last to arrive and he liked it that way.
Hank walked to the door, bent down to grab a key from behind a bush that was hidden to others in plain view and unlocked the tall wooden door. The door creaked as it opened and he looked around. There was nothing that had changed in the years he had come to this house. The rugs on the floor still were dusty. The paintings that at one time would have been glorious to see, where now faded and unkempt.
He looked up the old wooden stairs and walked up one by one. The stairs barely held his weight as he finally approached the second floor. A faint light shown underneath the door on the right where the men were sitting and waiting for him. He knocked three times. A code that was started a long time ago by him to signify he was allowed to enter. The door slowly opened where one of the men stood.
He smiled at Hank and Hank smiled back. The changing of words was infrequent in the beginning of these meetings as time was short. Hank looked at the chair in the right corner, the chair that was his. He walked over to the chair and sat down. The butler, who was older than anyone he knew, served the tea and biscuits they had at every meeting. One of the members, the roundest of the four, sat down on the chair facing Hank. He watched as the man sipped his tea and as he normally did, dripped some on his chin. The man wiped it off with his napkin and turned to Hank. He looked up from his tea and addressed Hank.
“Mr. Wilson, what do you have for us today?” Hank smiled.
The members always addressed each other by their last name, a name usually made up by the member themselves. It was safer this way, no one knew anyone's real name and no one knew what type of business each owned or participated in.
“Well, Mr. Bobbles, a wretched woman that has just come into London. She arrived earlier today with a suitor, but not one of well means mind you.”
“Do you know her name?” asked Mr. Wright. Hank turned to reply, watching as Mr. Wright's mutton chops twitched as he spoke.
“Through the connection at the office, I have found her home she moved to, but no name as of now.” Hank looked over at Mr. Bobbles who finished his tea and set it down on the chipped wooden desk located to his right.
“I wish Mr. Ripper was here. He usually could find the information we could not.” He sighed.
“Why did he chose that name anyways, I mean it is so degrading, sounds so beneath anything,” Mr. Wright said.
“I think it has to do with that he was doing the killings,” Hank replied. He looked out the little corner of the window that showed through tattered and brown lace curtains.
“I'm just thinking that perhaps when he is better that we suggest a different name for him,” Mr. Bobbles said.
Hank stood up and paced the floor.
What we need now is to figure which one of us will take this woman. Since Mr. Ripper has fallen ill, we need someone to take on this part.” He looked over at Mr. Wright who sat shaking his head.
“I don't believe any one of us can do what Mr. Ripper does.”
“But you said you were skilled in certain areas of medicine Mr. Wright,” Mr. Bobbles interrupted.
“Yes, I do have my means; however, they are not of the specific surgical requirements of Mr. Ripper.”
“Any means you do have we need right now and fast. I did hear word that this woman would be staying only for a few months. Her cousin arriving, within those months and she would be leaving with her.” Hank stared more out the window. He knew the time was getting late and the need to get back to his wife would come soon.
“Then we must act quickly.” Mr. Bobbles waited for Mr. Wright to offer his usual response to urgency, but he sat there silent.
“I will do the killing,” Hank turned around from the window staring at both of the men.
“Mr. Wilson, are you sure you are up to this?” Mr. Wright asked. Hank nodded.
“Gentlemen, since Mr. Ripper is ill and from what he has written to us, he may not have long, we need to keep these meetings going, keep this Gentlemen's gathering as it has been.”
“I agree Mr. Wilson. However, we need to make sure that we follow the procedure we have always done.” Mr. Bobbles stood. His overcoat hung over his very round belly. A cough was heard by the others as he bent over to grab his umbrella. Frequent rains always hit London at this time of year.
“I will get the medicine and bring it here tomorrow. Mr. Wilson, will you be here to take the package?”
“Yes, at the same time in the evening.” Hank pulled his overcoat closer to him. The room they held the meetings always leaked in the cold air, dampness followed which produced a worse smell than Hank ever came in contact with.
“I will make sure that there is a good story for this to follow. I will talk to the newsstands, and to my lawyer who will do anything for me. More than likely the killings will be blamed on Mr. Ripper.” “That's good Mr. Bobbles that will make him feel that he still has some part in this. I will write him. His messenger will certainly pick it up and deliver it to him,” Hank replied.
Messengers were always used for each of the four members. It kept their identities safe and worry was not in their life because of it. Hank always liked the idea of messengers and he would soon get a message out to Mr. Ripper allowing him to know that the Gentlemen's meeting agenda was still going on as usual.
Hank nodded to the other two members. He started walking out of the room. All would go as they usually planned, minus Mr. Ripper who would not be able to participate. His part in the group was to kill the woman. Hank always thought that perhaps he enjoyed it too much, even though all agreed the people beneath them, the ones who did not deserve to step foot on their precious world, needed to die.
The other men would soon follow Hank, each one leaving some time after the other to not reveal their destination. Hank was not going home as he originally planned. He walked down the old road, watching as carriages passed him by. His plan for the rest of the evening was to watch this woman, the woman that was chosen as the next kill for the gentlemen. He would write a letter later to Mr. Ripper.
Hank watched the woman who went into the pub later in the evening. He had watched her before and had been chosen for her actions of unworthiness. She skirted around in her tattered clothes that Hank had assumed at one time were of the best merits. The other men, not ones he would consider gentlemen, sucked over to her like a wet sponge. The thought of her doing her demeaning actions with those men made Hank ill.
He could kill her now and everyone would be the better for it, but that would not be the Gentlemen's way, and Hank always liked things ordered. The woman laughed her fake laugh, one which Hank got annoyed with. Tomorrow evening would not come soon enough for Hank; even he was loosing patience with this wretched creature. His frown signified the distaste his stomach was bringing to the surface and he smacked his lips.
#
Hank woke up from a restless sleep. His thoughts were dampened by that woman. Mr. Wright would be at the house around evening and he needed to make sure he was there to pick up the package. His wife already had an early engagement with one of the business's best clients. She had always participated in events that would help Hank's career. He knew she would never understand what the meetings meant to him. She would never know.
He cleaned up as a proper gentleman would do, placed his overcoat over him and walked out of his home. Tonight would be the night he would do what Mr. Ripper had done for months. He looked at the sky and estimated evening would come shortly. The walk back to the house would only take moments and he was feeling extremely good about this walk. Hank approached the broken down house once more, found the key and stepped up the stairs to their room. Mr. Wright was waiting for him behind the door.
“Good evening Mr. Wilson,” Mr. Wright said. Hank nodded, but said nothing.
Mr. Wright handed him a small white box with no lettering.
“And this will do what we need?”
“Yes, Mr. Wilson, it will knock her out. The killing can come quickly afterward.” Mr. Wilson tipped his top hat at Hank and walked out of the room. Hank watched as he left and waited to hear the door close.
He stared at the white box. In this box held the first step into him killing this woman, into getting rid of one more creature that deserved to be in Hell. Hank started to walk down the stairs when he heard a knock on the door. Unsure of whom it was, Hank stood frozen on the stairs. One of the stairs creaked and Hank shifted his weight.
“Hello? Is there a Mr. Wilson here? I'm Mr. Ripper's messenger. I have a message from him for Mr. Wilson.” Hank waited a moment to think and decided to walk down the rest of the stairs.
He opened the door, thanked the young boy and took the letter inside. The red lettering and wax seal shown Hank that it was indeed from Mr. Ripper. He took out his letter opener that he always kept with him and ripped through the seal.
Dear Mr. Wilson and Gentlemen,
It looks as if my days in this world are few. The doctor has said there was a chance, but now that chance is gone. I will not make it through the next few days. I am using what I have left to write to everyone.
I have for years enjoyed everyone's company and the Gentlemen's meetings. I will miss those. I do wish for all of you to keep what we had started. It is such of great importance to make sure we keep things up to the highest standards. Oh, I will miss the glory of the newsstands and talk about ghastly killings I may or may have not done.
Please take care my fellow Gentlemen, as life becomes a dreary second to our mission we partake in every month.
Farewell,
Mr. Ripper
Hank lowered his head. It was now certain that Mr. Ripper was to die soon. They would loose a member and the one person not afraid to kill on a monthly basis. He walked outside and back to his home. A letter by messengers needed to go out to the rest of the members.
Arriving home, his wife had fallen asleep doing her own letters. He took the wool blanket and gently placed it over her. Hank walked into the other room, sat at the desk and began writing. It only took moments for him to finish the letters. His messenger nearby, he walked over to the alley and told him where to take the letters. The messenger nodded and was off immediately. The other Gentlemen would soon read the news.
Hank hurried ever so quietly out of the house. He needed to do the Gentlemen's work. The walk of a determine man, he paced the streets of London . Chatter could be heard in alley ways of other women like the one he will kill, flirting with men, showing all that should not be shown. Hank shook his head in disgust.
The woman that he was looking for was right in his view. Once again she flew around the different tables at the pub. The men laughed and touched areas of her body that made Hank cringe. How a woman could make men do those things, he could not understand. He put his fingers through his hair to make it look rustled. His clothes a bit too proper, he patted some mud on them. Hank knew if he went into this type of pub looking like the gentlemen that he was, his life would be cut short due to thievery.
He walked into the pub. His boots clanked against the wooden surface of the floor. Men looked around at him. He was new and they weren't too sure of him.
“Ale for me,” Hank said and sat down at one of the round tables in the corner. The woman caught site of Hank because he was new.
His golden hair and rough features made him a very handsome man. The woman laughed at the man whose lap she had been sitting on, got up and walked over to Hank. Her dress barely on and revealing too much. Hank tried not to focus except when necessary on those parts of her.
“Ah my dear,” the woman greeted Hank with a slur and ale breathe.
“Um, hello.” Hank acted shy.
“Do you want to have some fun tonight?” Her eyes twinkled her drunkenness.
Hank acted unsure while trying to avoid the horrible smell of her breath.
“I, um yes, are you sure?” He waited for her response which he knew would be yes.
“Yes, I am, I don't charge much either you know.” Her few teeth showed a grin through broken and chapped lips. Hank tried not to show his distaste. Hank nodded his approval to her.
She brought him through the doors into an alley way. No one was around and he smiled. Taking out of his coat, he put up a flask for her. She smiled and took it willingly. Hank waited. He didn't know how long it would be until she passed out, but it was only seconds after she drank the whole flask. Mr. Wright really knew how to get the right medicine. He bent down, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She didn't weigh very much and he was grateful for that.
No one would suspect that she would soon die. Everyone would think it was because she had another drunken night and a man thought he could take advantage of that, typical for this type of woman. Hank took her to the other end of the alley where Mr. Ripper's carriage always awaited, but this time it was sent for Hank to use. He placed her inside as the driver of the carriage left for Hank to do what he needed.
Hank had grabbed a knife out of the kitchen area when he left his home. None of the kitchen staff was there so it was easy for him to choose which one was best for the job. He looked at the woman who would not respond to even the slightest word from him. Grinning, he took the knife and made a small cut across her neck. Hank had never done this before and for the first time he felt alive.
The small cut turned into a huge incision, blood flowing into the seats of the carriage. An arm cut through, then a leg and soon the woman was dismembered, Hank was proud of his work, Mr. Ripper would be proud. Now came the best part, the part where he could display his work for the whole world to see. He gathered her body parts one by one and stepped down the small stairs of the carriage.
Each one of her body parts he put preciously on the street. His shadow was shown off to the side. He felt like a small child again. As he placed the rest of the body parts just so, he heard a noise. Hank looked up quickly to see what it was, but it turned out to be a rat coming for a late snack and probably smelling the blood now starting to dry from her body parts.
After he was done, he stepped back into the carriage where the driver was waiting for him. He arrived soon to his home where his wife still slept by the writing desk. The knife he had brought with him was lying on the street next to her body parts. He had made sure to wipe the knife clean of anything that could be sent back to him. Hank sighed. It had been a long two nights, but the Gentlemen's work was once again done. He fell asleep hard, not to wake until the next evening.
#
The next month's evening arrived with the darkness coming through the window. Hank rubbed his eyes and looked over to where his wife was sitting.
“Charles, we have lost everything!” Her sobs came hard.
“My dear, what by all things are you saying?” Hank barely awake was not able to fully understand what he wife was telling him.
“We have lost the Bank, our money and soon our home, everything's gone!”
“How?” Hank stood up and walked over to her. His boots still mud caked.
“It is here, it was sent by messenger this morning.” Hank took the already opened letter.
Mr. Jakens,
We are sorry to inform you that your investments that were made were not legal. We can no longer participate in a business where this activity is being pursued. As a gentlemen yourself, you can understand that we must withdraw all investments from before and here forward.
Sincerely,
The Board.
Hank scratched his head, all those investments now gone and all the money gone. He would have nothing now. Hank frowned. He would be like those others, worthless. His wife had already left out the door. Hank didn't follow. His mind was caught on figuring what to do.
While Hank was contemplating this, the other members of the Gentlemen, minus one, were meeting in their usual spot on the Tuesday of the month. Hank had been delayed because of what recently happened. Mr. Bobbles sat with his normal cup of tea and the paper he enjoyed reading before all the members were there. Mr. Wright sat patiently drinking his tea.
“Mr. Wright I do believe I have found something very interesting here.” Mr. Wright looked up.
“Mr. Bobbles?” He turned to look at the paper Mr. Bobbles was holding up. Mr. Wright's mouth fell open.
“As you see here Mr. Wright, Mr. Wilson is apparently Mr. Jakens, the one who has lost everything in this huge Bank crashing. Our Gentlemen friend was the head of this bank.” He kept pointing to the paper.
“Is that his wife?” Mr. Wright asked as he looked over at the picture next to Hank's.
“Yes, that is what is says Mr. Wright.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yes, I know Mr. Wright, but we need to keep up the Gentlemen's way of doing things, more so since Mr. Ripper is gone.”
“But Mr. Bobbles, Mr. Ripper will always be known in history.”
“Yes, Mr. Wright, he will, we will make sure that Jack the Ripper is always known even after his death. And now we will work on this month's victim, the woman who was seen in the pub and alley way doing horrible things with other men. Mr. Wilson's or should we say Mr. Janken's wife is our next killing.”
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