The Legend of Long Jones Read online

  “Just an orderly here, working my way through my studies,” he said.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “I do, but tellin’ you wouldn’t be in my best interests if you get caught here, now would it?” he smiled and there was a confidence in the man that to anyone other than Lord Muc would have been unnerving. Muc shrugged,

  “I’ll find out later on, then,” he said. The man nodded to this and then walked out of the room.

  Muc didn’t waste any time, there was nothing to say this fellow wasn’t going straight upstairs to get some officers to come down and arrest him. He pulled back the sheet and saw the pale whiteness of the dead man. His eyes went straight to the neck wound and he saw at once it wasn’t a hand that did this damage. The flesh was ripped and serrated at the edge like something with teeth had been biting into it. Had he not known of the case he could have thought this was the work of some large animal but that couldn't be the case either here or in that of Stephanie O’ Malley. What then?

  The flesh was hardened now and Muc looked inside the neck, not sure what he was looking for but sure he’d know it if he saw it. As much as he knew about human anatomy he hadn’t seen the inside of a neck with its throat missing before and he wasn’t sure if everything looked as it should. It was hard to know, but he’d gotten what he came for- he was fully sure now this had not been done with the hand of a man, giant or otherwise.

  THE STOCKYARDS WERE as busy as every morning, the noise and smells the same as ever. Muc didn’t pay too much attention to the livestock this morning, however, as he sought information today instead.

  “How’s that little piglet getting on?” Turnbridge asked when Muc came to his stalls.

  “Ragjaw is terrorizing the pen as he should,” Muc smiled.

  “What had you here this morning then? I noticed you didn’t even glance at the animals today so I know you’re not buying.”

  “I come to ask you something odd, and seeing how odd you are I thought you'd be the best man to ask,” Muc grinned.

  “Charming as ever,” Turnbridge smiled back.

  “What can you tell me about ‘Long Jones’?”

  “Long Jones?” Turnbridge was surprised, “That’s not a name I’ve heard in many a year!”

  “So you have heard of him?”

  “Yes, what has you interested in that old tale?”

  “Hard to say.” Muc shrugged. Turnbridge didn't say anything, he was waiting for Muc to elaborate. “Will a pint see your tongue loosened?” Muc asked.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” the pig trader laughed and then called to the workers said, “Look after things here a bit, I’m going to see if I can shake a few dollars out of this fella.”

  The barroom was alive with trading and arguing and it took a while for them to find a table to sit at. Muc had bought them both a beer and they supped now before talking on.

  “So, what do you know about Long Jones?” Muc asked.

  “He’s a slave legend,” Turnbridge said, “Don’t know when it originated but I’ve heard about it since ten years back at least.”

  “You know how much of it is truth?”

  “No,” he shook his head, “Impossible to tell. The basic story goes, there was a huge slave, I’m talking ten feet tall here, and he rebelled and killed all the whites one day on the farm he was working at. He fled and they never managed to catch him though more men would die in the trying. All found dead and mangled in some way or other.”

  “What kind of mangling are we talking?” Muc asked and Tunbridge looked queerly at the question like he didn’t really understand it.

  “Well, I don’t know for sure, but when I hear a man was mangled it doesn’t bring pretty images to my mind!” Muc nodded,

  “Any mention of the throat getting ripped out?”

  “Now I see where this is going,” Turnbridge smiled knowingly.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t know but there probably was mention of that along with all the other mutilations I heard of.”

  “Like what?”

  “Think of the worst kind of mutilations you can and you’d be right.”

  “That’s some nasty stuff,” Muc said taking another gulp of his beer. “And what about him coming back from the dead?” he asked.

  “That’s the legend part,” Turnbridge said, “I can imagine the first part of the story probably happened, especially if he was a big man, but we both know no one comes back from the dead.”

  “But the slaves all believe this without question?”

  “I don’t know about all of them, but certainly in the main, yes.” Muc thought on this answer a moment looking for some reason someone might have to instil fear in the blacks. There was no shortage of hatred for their kind but usually people were very open about these feelings and he couldn't understand why someone would go to so much trouble to stir them up. It pointed to his earlier idea that this had nothing to do with the blacks; that someone was merely using their superstitions to run amok killing - what lay behind those murders was the real story here. The killer wanted fear to spread and the ire of it to be turned on the slaves and free blacks of the city as a sideshow. How long could it be now before the name of Long Jones was on the lips of every man taking a drink in any bar in the city? Not long he imagined.

  “Anything else about the legend?” Muc asked.

  “They use him to scare their own children straight, to keep them indoors at night but that’s about it,” Turnbridge said.

  “I think that was worth a drink,” Muc nodded and they smiled at one another.

  WHEN DONE WITH TURNBRIDGE, Muc left and headed for the coach repair place he’d chased the younger man to a couple of nights ago. It was a bustling place during the day and three burly men worked in the cold on carriages and carts in different states of repair.

  “What can we do for you?” one called to him as Muc entered the yard. Muc didn’t know the man but he looked him over quickly and could appreciate the strength in the man. He worked on as he waited for Muc to answer and his fitness showed too.

  “Did you know there’s a hole in your fence out on the street, here?” Muc pointed. The man glanced at it and then back to Muc,

  “I did,” he said, “It’s on my list of things to get fixed.”

  “I saw a young man climb through it a couple of nights ago. Do you have trouble with thieves here?” Now the man stopped working and stood up straight. Muc could see he was bristling; he’d taken this wrong- taken Muc as coming to look for so called ‘protection money.’

  “We don’t have anything worth stealing,” the man said.

  “You the owner?”

  “Yes, Jacobs,” the man answered, nodding to the sign by the gate.

  “This fellow I saw the other night, I was chasing him. Is there a route through here to any of the houses or streets behind?” Muc asked coming closer to Jacob now. He saw relief that this wasn’t some kind of shakedown come over Jacob’s face but the man was still unsure of what was going on.

  “Not that I know of,” Jacobs said looking behind him towards the sheds, “You’re welcome to have a look if you like.”

  “Thanks, I think I will,” Muc said smiling. “I’d like to get hold of that little shit if I can.”

  “Steal from you, did he?”

  “Something like that,” Muc said as he went past and on into the shed. The other two workers stopped for a moment and looked at him but quickly went back to work. There was lots to be done and no time to hang around.

  It was dark under the leaning roof of the sheds but Muc didn’t need to see to find what he was looking for. He moved about between large springs, discarded carriage wheels and husks of old carts feeling along the wall as he went until he came to a board that didn’t ring like its brothers when he tapped it.

  The board was loose but held in place from the other side with some string knotted through the wood. To the naked eye it was all but invisible but Muc had a keener eye than most and suspected he’d
find something like it here. He pried the board back, feeling the tension of the string in place on the other side. If he pulled anymore he would either snap the string or break the panel. It must usually be open and then locked when whoever needed it came through to the other side. There was the smallest of gaps for Muc to peer into when the board was pulled back as much as it could take, but it was too dark on the other side for him to see anything. That meant it either went inside a building or it was covered in with something.

  Coming back in as straight a line as he could, Muc got out into the yard again and looked over the roof of the shed. From this vantage he could see the side of a building offering itself where the panel would be. It either entered into a very thin alley between the house and the shed, or else it went into the house itself. In front of the house was another facing it and rows of building beyond both.

  “What street is that behind there?” Muc asked Jacob.

  “Stanley Street.” Muc had heard the name before but couldn’t place anything on it.

  “Is there a bar on it?” he asked.

  “I think there’s one on the corner, but I’m not full sure.”

  “Thanks,” Muc said setting off for Stanley Street. Jacob looked after him, exchanged a look with his two workers, shrugged and went back to work.

  THERE WAS NO BAR ON the corner of Stanley Street. There had been one corner up which Muc assumed Jacob had been thinking of. Stanley Street was quiet; a short cul-de-sac with no noticeable businesses on it at first glance. Muc wondered if one of his rival gangs might have a place here. He hadn’t heard of one before but that didn’t mean anything for sure.

  Whatever was going on with this street, it was something at least one man wanted kept secret. Gazing along the length of the street Muc saw it would be all but impossible to get to the end to check out if there was any alleyway without being seen from many windows. Still, he had to find out and he didn’t have the time to wait until nightfall to come back and see.

  Muc walked down the street with purpose, glancing at the building about as he went but focusing mainly on his goal at the end of the street. He came to the last house by the separating fence of the carriage yard and looked up at the front door. There was no sign of business here and it looked for all the world like a normal house in this city. There was a small metal railing from the side of the building to the fence and Muc peered through the webbed rails of this to see a very thin alley going off past the house and into darkness.

  Without thinking any more on it, Muc clambered over the railing and dropped down into the alleyway. He looked up and could see the gray sky above. Turning sideways so he could fit in the passageway, he shuffled along until he found the board and the ties that held it in place. It was as he’d expected but now he didn’t think the house played any part in this secret route. Snow had accumulated in this place and Muc could see it disturbed multiple times in the direction away from where he’d come. He followed it to see where it would lead him.

  Muc soon entered the dark part of the passage and looking up saw something across the top blocking out the sky and the weather. The ground here was loose stones and gravel. It made a loud shifting noise that Muc felt could have been a warning system to alert the users of this tunnel to someone coming. He stopped and listened. Street sounds came from up ahead and he started to move towards it.

  Soon, he came to the end of the passage and though it was a very tight squeeze for someone of his size, Muc emerged between two wooden stalls in a marketplace he didn’t recognise at first. It was a busy morning and people and traders filled the sloshy dirty street. Al kinds of everything was for sale and pedlars of ointments and elixirs cawed about their miracles to anyone who would listen.

  It was only when he saw one of Lizard Lawndale’s men that he understood where he was. The man in question- Peppy Parrot was the only name Muc knew him by- didn’t seem to have seen him and Muc hoped to keep it that way. Muc hunkered his shoulders trying to seem smaller than he was and walked away from the gang member. As he left the market, having taken in as much as he could on his way, he wondered now about the young man who had followed him At first sight it seemed to point that he was part of ‘The Widowmaker’ gang, or at least tolerated in their territory. Either way, Muc was going to have to send a new recruit or disguised member of his own gang up here to poke around and see what he could find out. At the very least the man knew this area and that was important to know.

  HAVING DECIDED TO DROP in on Mullins for something to eat, seeing as he was up in this area, Muc marched on enemy streets with his hood up and trying not to draw attention to himself. It was to be to no avail however, a man like Lord Muc doesn’t often go unnoticed and as he rounded into an alley to take a shortcut the blacksmiths, he found himself faced by four ‘Widowmakers.’ There was an escape route back the way he’d come but Muc wasn’t one for escaping usually. He looked at the four men, recognising each though not by name.

  “Shouldn’t one of you be holding Lizard’s dick while he takes a piss?” Muc said with a grin.

  “You’ve been in this area far too much over the last couple of days, Muc,” one of the men said to him. Muc looked at him.

  “Sorry, lads, I can’t remember any of your names.”

  “You won’t be remembering much after today so don’t worry about it,” another said and they all laughed. Muc felt his ire rise; the fight burning within him waiting to get out. This was the feeling he loved so much and he savoured it a moment.

  “I’m going to give you all a chance,” Muc said, “Tell me what you know about ‘Long Jones’ and I’ll leave you off easy.” The men laughed again and looked at one another as if to confirm that it was still four against one and the one was threatening the four! They spread out and took a few steps closer to Muc.

  “We don’t give a shit about ‘Long Jones’” the first man said and he spat on the ground as he balled his fists. Muc looked to each man for a moment and could see they were confident if only a very little nervous. They thought they had the beating of him. Muc pulled his hood down and felt the cold air on his bald head and then balled his fists. His blood ran hot through his body and it was ecstasy to him.

  “Whichever is the last of you on his feet can tell me,” he said, his voice turning to a snarl now as violence began to take over his body. Knowing the men would look at one another again after he said this, Muc launched into his attack and caught them cold. The first three men had heavy punches to the face before the fourth was able to duck away and swing one back at Muc, catching him on the ear. Ignoring the man who still stood Muc rounded again levelling kicks fast into the three reeling men and one of them fell to the ground while the other two backed away quickly to get their footing. The fourth man waded in again and planted a fist hard on Muc’s cheek but now he was in close enough for Muc to get at him. While absorbing the punch Muc grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and pulled him close before levelling a rock solid blow into the man’s gut. The wind coming out of him was audible and Muc followed this with a double blow to the face that sent the man to the ground dazed. Muc then kicked him hard in the ribs and he rolled over groaning.

  The other three were now advancing on Muc again but he saw their confidence was gone and this was close to being over. He let loose with a vicious assault at the largest of the three and the severity of this stopped the other two in their tracks until one ran away and the other came in reach and was dealt with in the same way.

  The three remaining of Lizard Lawndale’s gang moaned on the ground, the snow wetting their clothes and blood running from various cuts on their faces. Muc went to the first man who had fallen and took him by the scuff and pulled him up to a sitting position.

  “Tell me what you know about ‘Long Jones’!” he barked into his face.

  “I don’t know anything,” the man blubbered, “He’s been around in the night, that’s all I hear!”

  “Around where?”

  “Everywhere.” Muc looked at the man and could tell h
e was giving it to him straight. It was more rumour and fear and useless to him.

  “Does Lizard have a young man following me, looking to kill me?” Muc asked. The man shook his head,

  “Not that I know of,” he said.

  “Any of you know anything about this?” Muc said going over and kicking at the two other men for their attention.

  “No.”

  “Nothing,” they said backing away from his kicks.

  Muc stood up straight and looked around,

  “As pleasurable as this interlude has been, I’m afraid hunger is getting the better of me so I’m off for lunch.”

  Chapter 8

  That same morning, Mullins was greeted at his door by a young lad waiting for the smithy to open. At first Mullins thought the boy was going to ask to become his apprentice but that wasn’t to be what it was about. He handed Mullins a note without a word. Mullins studied the boy’s face and sensed he had no idea of the content of the letter. Mullins opened it and read:

  Dear Blacksmith,

  I have a steel frame in my yard that needs some strengthening. Can you come sometime today to have a look and possibly do the work? The boy has the address if you agree,

  Yours Sincerely,

  D. Goode

  Mullins didn’t know who this person was but it was possible he’d done work for them before and that is why they came to him now. It was a pity there wasn’t more information in the letter as he didn’t know how much was going to be involved and it could be a wasted journey going to have a look. Still, work was work.

  “Tell your master I can come at lunchtime today,” he said, “Tell me the address.”

  “He’s not my master,” the boy said dully. “It’s 111 Pine Street, the back yard is through a short alley.” Mullins recalled a previous time in his life back in Ireland when he’d been lured to a back gate and then gone to gaol as a suspected murderer for it. But that was all in the past, and this was very different. It was not going to be in darkness for one thing, lunchtime would be busy and bright and there was nothing at all to fear.