CHAPTER 11 - "TO THE RESCUE"

The evening before, Frederick Abberline had listened to everything Spencer Von Strauss had told him about the secret group calling themselves the Illuminati and what they could do to him if Abberline didn't cease in his secret investigations into the sudden re-appearance of Lukas Phantomhive and other things.

After the young man had left his home, Abberline sat in the same chair he had been sitting in when he was listening to Spencer Von Strauss and contemplated his words and thought about whether it would be in his best interest to step away from his secret investigations and to just let sleeping dogs lie.

He thought long and hard and came to a decision. No.

Justice needed to be served and with the information he had already gathered, and if it was making the members or certain members of the Illuminati nervous, to send out an 'investigator' in the form of Thann Von Strauss, Spencer's older brother, to spy on him, then he was indeed on the right track of things. And he was getting very close to something that the Illuminati wanted to keep hidden.

But was it worth risking his life and that of his fiancée Marie?

Now, an evening later, he sat in his study at home behind a desk and read over some of the information he had gathered in an attempt to trigger some insightfulness.

However, he did leave an important photograph accidentally on his desk at the Scotland Yard office under some papers - hopefully, it had not been found, but he feared it had - of Mathu Kelvin, a young gypsy woman, and the notorious twin serial killers Sasha and Samuel Ironstadt.

Abberline had a mysterious informant who passed along to him a lot of information on the criminal underworld, and for free. All the man said was he was doing this to stop the innocent from being hurt. He had never seen the man's face and always met him in back alleyways and in secluded, darkened areas. The man had come to him one day, stopped him on Abberline's way home months back, and gave him the first of many pieces of information - that eventually, however inadvertently, lead him to investigating the re-emergence of Lukas Phantomhive. Although, Abberline suspected the information given to him was initially for an entirely different case involving people in the criminal underground, like Mathu Kelvin, who was suspected of owning and running dozens of gambling dens.

The photograph of them was given to Abberline by his informant.

The strange thing was all of them had vanished without a trace and neither one of them had been seen in months. Something sinister was going on that concerned all parties he was investigating and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

But what did the Illuminati and the child kidnapper of London, the nephew of a recluse philanthropist, a gypsy woman, and twin serial killers, all have in common? How were they all connected? Albeit all criminally inclined?

If only Lukas Phantomhive would come forward and tell police about his years in captivity and who this "Father" was, that he was told to refer to him as through his seven year tenure with the man, then truly, a lot would be revealed. But Abberline didn't believe likely the young boy would. The boy wanted his revenge on this man for stealing him from his family and making him do horribly things.

"You're too predictable, Abberline," a gruff sounding voice said. "Walking the same route home every day, even to the corner store to pick up bread and milk."

Abberline looked about the study, but he could not see anyone in the room with him. And whoever this "person" was, had known where he had been today. The Police Commission - Sir Randall, his boss - had told him to take a few days off to enjoy the holidays. And he did.

"Down here," the disembodied voice said again.

Abberline stood and looked over the edge of his desk and standing there was the smallest man he had ever seen - not even reaching the top of his desk - but looked fully grown.

He had a rough look to him. His face was wrinkled perhaps after years of living a hard life with pock-marks and close-cropped facial hair to probably hide the rest. He was also bald, and he wore dark clothes befitting his statue and character: an assassin or killer - his apparent chosen profession.

A gun was pointing directly in Abberline's face.

"A leprechaun?"

"I am not a leprechaun!" the small man said, obviously taking offence at the reference of a little man who offered gold to wandering strangers at the end of a rainbow in Irish fairytales.

Abberline had only seen people of this statue in the circus as performers. It was surprising to see a man like this pointing a gun at him.

"For a lawman, you should have many ways home. You never know whom may be following you."

"Honestly, I never saw you."

"Is that another crack at my height?"

"No, I'm feeling short on jokes right now."

The small man's eyes narrowed with an expression of comedic disbelief. "Not very smart for a marked man to be making jokes with a gun pointed at him."

"Marked man?"

"And a dead man."

Spencer Von Strauss shouted at the driver of the "taxi" horse and carriage to hurry. The driver in the seat in the outside, upper part of the forward carriage snapped the horses' reigns and shouted, "Haaaaa!"

The carriage raced through the dimly-lit, darkened streets of London, the horses and wheels of the carriage running rucksaw on the cobblestones. But even so, Spencer still felt it was not fast enough.

"Faster!" he demanded. "And don't spare the horses!"

With his hands up in the air - Abberline was at least three times taller than the small man assassin when doing this - and he was ordered by the man to come out front of behind his desk. Abberline had no doubt this man was here to kill him and sent by the Illuminati for Abberline's secret investigation. Perhaps Abberline had got too close to something with his investigation and they wanted him finally silenced.

"Who sent you?" Abberline wanted the man to say it. "And how did you get in my house?"

"My employer wishes to remain anonymous."

"The Illuminati," Abberline flatly said, no longer playing games.

This appeared to take the assassin by surprise. "Where did you hear - no matter. They hired me to rid them of a problem. That's what I do and I am successful at it. And their problem is you."

"Perhaps we can strike an accord? You look like a smart man."

"Smarter than most. And you don't want to cross these people. You either do the job they hire you for or the next day you find yourself in a pine box or in the Thames River - and I don't plan on either."

"Tell me something," Abberline said, to keep the conversion going and to think of a way to outwit this man. "Are these people as powerful and far-reaching as I've heard?"

The small man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Who have you been talking to? And just maybe I'll kill you quickly…"

"So you can sell this information to the Illuminati? And how would Wilhelm Lazarus feel about you asking for more money?"

The small man frowned hard. "Damn it. Now you've done it! You just said the one thing that countered my killing you. Now you'll hafta come with me and tell my employer who you've been talking to."

The small man's gun rose to equal his words, then he waved it towards the door. Abberline wished he hadn't dropped the name, now he was in trouble.

"Lazarus isn't your employer?"

"No, he isn't. But my employer is known to associate with him." He waved his gun again. "My friend is outside. We'll take you to see my employer. Then you can spill your guts before your guts are spilled."

Spencer Von Strauss literally jumped out of the carriage when it stopped - skidded to a halt in front of Abberline's two-story town home in mid-London.

Spencer had hired the taxi carriage on the other side of town and demanded it hurry here when he was informed of the news by a spy he had within certain circles that the Illuminati had sent an assassin to kill Abberline for the secret investigation was conducting…but mostly for the photograph his older brother had managed to obtain when he visited Scotland Yard and the police commissioner.

He had also told his informant to have a certain friend of his to meet him at the Abberline home.

It had been drizzling and raining off and on and the ground was wet, and Spencer slipped once on the sidewalk, but quickly caught himself as he ran to the front door.

"Hey fello!" the driver shouted. "You have to pay. This ride aint for free, you know."

"The money's in the cabin," Spencer said back.

The thirty or so aged driver cursed at him in Gaelic, being an Irishman, not knowing who Spencer was and having to get down off his perch to get his payment for the fast ride here. But Spencer didn't care and after the man learned of the very large tip left for him, he doubted the man would mind either.

Spencer burst through the door, shouldering it, nearly throwing it off its hinges, then shouted, "Abberline!"

"In here!" came the inspector's voice.

Spencer followed it and came to the open door to the study and was shock to find -

"Shortstack?" he said.

"Spencer Von Strauss?" the small man said. "And I hate that nickname! What the hell are you doing here?"

Spencer saw Shortstack pointing a gun on Abberline and quickly composed himself, rendering his breathing normal. But he still felt his heart pounding. "I'm here to deliver a message." He reached behind him and pulled out a gun he had tucked in the back of his trousers, pointing it at the small man. "Let him go, Shortstack. I'm here take responsibility for him."

"But I have contract with your father - "

"My father hired you to kill Abberline?"

"Yes, after information your brother found Abberline was investigating. That's all I know."

"Your contract is hereby cancelled," Spencer said tautly. "No one will die here tonight."

Shortstack growled. "When your father hears about this, and I'll tell him you stopped me, heads will roll. I want to get paid."

Spencer had a satchel with him, hung with a strap on his right hip, and he reached into it and pulled out a handful of gold coins, tossing them on the floor in front of Shortstack. "Payment rendered. Now get out!"

"This aint how it's done. I make the kill - "

"I'm saying your contract is hereby cancelled, by my authority. Do you understand?" Spencer's voice was elevated higher than normal. He knew Shortstack would sell his own grandmother if she paid enough, or kill her, if he got more. "I will not tolerate insubordination. If you obey my father, then you also obey me."

Shortstack growled angrily. "This is only half the promised amount," he said, holding up the coins once retrieved. "Where's the rest?"

"That's all I have, take it or leave it. Your choice." Spencer knew Shortstack would tell his father about this; the small man put away his gun.

"You're treading in treacherous waters, young Strauss," Shortstack said. "Word will get out to the others and then you will be a marked man and labeled a criminal."

"A criminal in who's eyes? Theirs? The Illuminati are the fiends here. They murdered my sister!"

"I know nothing about that. I was only hired to do a job. He knows too much."

"And so do you." And Spencer killed the man. The bullet penetrating mid-centre into the forehead of Shortstack. He had never killed anyone before, but he didn't regret it. He sacrificed an evil man for a good man, and in his mind it was worth the trade.

Abberline stood shocked. "You killed him. He could have given me information."

Spencer still held his gun at the ready with both hands on Shortstack, now dead. His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his chest.

Abberline approached him and used a hand to lower the gun down, the barrel to the floor. "Easy kid," he said, trying to calm the lad down. The excitement was making Spencer sweat, his black hair matted to his head.

Spencer then straightened, lowing the gun to his side. "The Illuminati are dangerous, I've told you this. But I never expected them to send an assassin so soon. If Shortstack had taken you back to my father, or indeed, Wilhelm Lazarus, the head of the Illuminati English branch, either one would have put the pieces together and I fear even now they may have and figured out that I am you informant."

Abberline's eyes widened. "You are my shadowy informant?"

Spencer nodded. "I gave you information on criminal activity, that you then rendered into a completely different investigation than I intended. I never expected this. I wanted to expose the Illuminati to the public, but let you do the groundwork, to expose Mathu Kelvin's connections to the criminal underworld. But then you brought Lukas Phantomhive into the picture.

"The picture I gave you of Mathu Kelvin and the others months ago was for you follow them and their criminal underground activities, which would then eventually lead you to the Illuminati. But even I am dumbfounded why my father finds your investigation, albeit mediocre, dangerous enough to send someone to kill you. I should not have involved you. I am sorry for this. Now they'll never stop."

"I don't have anything to expose the Illuminati with. I never even heard of them before you told me."

"This was my error. And my having you involved may have triggered a further string of events to cause you to become a marked man by these people. Where is your fiancée? I didn't see her on the way in."

"Marie is spending the evening at her sister's, it's the holidays. But I said I had some work to do, so I stayed here."

Spencer nodded approval. "Let's hope she decides to stay over night, but even if you did go with her, they may have followed you there…"

Abberline stepped over Shortstack. "He said he had a friend waiting outside."

"I didn't see anyone when I arrived, but I was more concerned with getting to you after one of my spies told me the Illuminati had targeted you for assassination. Notwithstanding, we have to go."

Suddenly a second person came into the study holding a gun, he was a little older than Spencer, with a taut face and a thin, reedy body, and wore dark clothes and a trench coat.

Spencer smiled. "Abberline, meet a very close and trustworthy friend of mine: Trent Banes. Did you bring it?" Trent nodded. "Good. Abberline, Trent will be taking you to a safe house that only a select trusted few know about. You'll be safe and you can call your wife from there to stay with her sister longer. I'll clean up here."

"I can call a few others to help - "

Spencer waved off Trent. "No, the less know about this the better. If the Illuminati get whim of him surviving this assassination - and they will soon - I'll have some serious explaining to do. And why I killed my father's assassin."

"He's not a forgiving man, you father," Trent said.

"I agree, but if he was truly serious about this, he would have sent my brother. Thann must have been busy."

Spencer and Trent lead Abberline outside after the inspector had collected a few things, and on the street waiting for them was a two-seated, low riding, soapbox racer of a sort, with an long, smooth aluminum shell and four thick wheels. In the back was a large engine with its steam jettison tube sticking out.

Abberline started to say something, but Spencer spoke up. "We don't have a name for it yet. My friends and I began building it a year ago with the help of a scientist we know. This is prototype and may one day be the common invention for more powerful vehicles like it in the future. Right now, it's a just a toy."

"Just a toy? This is pure genius!" Abberline was still young enough to be excited over a "toy".

"Trent, explain it to him later. Abberline, get in the front compartment."

Abberline did, and Trent handed him a pair of goggles. Trent then got in the back compartment, put on a pair, and did something with his hands out of sight underneath. The jettison tube fired off a blast of fire, and before Abberline could ask what the sound was, Trent pulled hard on a yoke in his compartment and the vehicle sped off down the street, leaving Spencer by himself.

Spencer waved some of the smoke away. He would have to see into building the internal engine with just electrical power instead of a hybrid of electricity and steam to eliminate the heat condenser of the jettison tube. He and his friends enjoyed building things and after visiting several Expositions on modern machines and machines of the future around the world, his vehicle was an inspiration. And when he finalized his vehicle, he would market it to people all around the world. He had an acquaintance who was already interested in the rights - a bright, intelligent, young man named Henry Ford, in America, whom Spencer had been invited to his marriage in April, to his long time sweetheart, Ms. Clara Ala Bryant.

But indeed the soapbox "roadster" of a sort was only a toy and something more practical would need to be designed to be sold and marketed to the public.

Spencer went back into Abberline's home, but when he went back into the study, someone was standing over Shortstack's body with a gun. He had it aimed on Spencer. This man was much taller, taller than Spencer, and much more menacing looking than Shortstack. He was dressed all in dark brown clothes with long dark hair, and a deep massive scar across his right, blind eye. And he had a small monkey on his left shoulder. Another assassin?

Spencer didn't know him. But how did this man slip pass him? Unless he was already in the house hiding.

"His friend, I would presume?" Spencer said.

"You could say that. By the by, your brother says hello."

Someone new came out from another room, and Spencer only caught a brief glimpse of him before he was hit over the back of the head with a very large object and fell to the floor.

To be continued...