By Scipio42
Prologue
Now as a writer I collect curious bits of inspiration like this all the
time, and "Mr Wopples" suggests a cheery character in a pastel
coloured suit, trying his darndest as an entertainer. A happy, bouncy, slightly
wacky character, a kind of fluffy bunny type of person but overall a nice
person.
But that kind of person doesn’t fit in our world do they?
No, ours is a world of dark cellars and hot ovens, jungle clearings and beating
drums, witches' kitchens and bubbling cauldrons, spits, gore, vore and torturous
cooking. Ours is a world of tender, tasty flesh, rich sauces, and juicy cuts of
meat - not a pastel coloured world at all. Far from it. Very far from it. In
fact as far from a world that had a Mr Wopples in it as you could imagine.
Chapter 1
"Mr Wopples!" He said quietly, as he placed the glass of an excellent
single malt on the side table.
"Now that is a name I have not heard in a long time. How long would it be, Shai?" He turned to the handsome Chinese girl who stood in her usual place at his side.
"It will be seven years, four months - five months a week on Tuesday, my lord." She gracefully inclined her head in respect.
"Yes it would be. Thank you Shai."
I sat patiently, his lordship was going to tell a story, as he usually did. Taking another drink of his whiskey he began "It was in San Francisco and concerns the American heiress - Miss Agatha Delicious, and that vile creature, that hideous girl-eating fiend - that man we come to know as Mr Theophilus Wopples!"
“Vile?” I ventured, “That’s quite a strong title.”
“Oh the man was all that and more,” John, Lord Sallyporte leaned back in his chair, lighting his pipe. He puffed on it several times, to get it going, before continuing around the stem clenched between his teeth. “But let me start from the beginning.”
“Now as you know Boyd, there are cannibals and there are cannibals. You, me and Shai here, we’ll dine on tasty girl flesh but the women we eat are humanely killed and carefully prepared. Shai would never allow any girl she was going to prepare suffer unnecessarily, would you my dear?”
Shai shook her head, her long glossy hair rippling with the movement.
“So we were on our way home from China and stopped off in San Francisco. Los Angeles was still in its infancy and that gambling den had not even been imagined, so on the eastern coast of America San Francisco was the most lively and vibrant place. Anyone who was anyone lived there - this was before the big earthquake of course. The social scene was excellent, I accepted invitations every night, and Shai accompanied me as my companion - though I am sure I would not have wanted for companionship if I had wanted it. Anyway we were treated to some of the finest dining I have ever had, in some of the finest and best kept houses I have ever seen - certainly comparable to any in Europe.
At none of them did we eat anything less than the most exquisite femme cuisine, I am sure Shai learned much and I often found her chatting to the chefs, but in each house the girls were prepared to the very highest of standards.
I met Mr Wopples several evenings after my arrival at the home of one Duncan Barnard and his lovely young wife. We had finished eating a well prepared thigh of the most beautiful blonde girl, her head occupying the place of honour in front of the host. Apparently she was a product of Mr Barnard’s ranch in the Sierra Nevada. I have never eaten nicer flesh than that. Barnard assured me it was the free range life style and the mountain air that produces a fine firm flesh.
After the meal, the ladies retired and the gentlemen moved to play snooker, and it was there I met Wopples.
My first impression of him was that I was holding conversation with some kind of large fluffy animal. In fact, I could think of nothing more that the White Rabbit from Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. That impression was enhanced by the fact that while all of the other gentlemen present had dressed for dinner, Theophilus Jackson Wopples wore a dark plum-coloured suit. Now I pride myself that I can adapt to most things but the suit itself jarred most annoyingly.
“So what is you do, your dookship?” He asked me, I always find the directness of Americans refreshing, and being addressed as ‘my dookship’ is just ‘one of those things’. I explained I wasn’t a duke, merely a lord. I probably could have saved myself the time because Wopples went on, unabashed.
“MY family made our money after the Civil War, you wouldn’t know anything about that sort of thing though, I guess. Anyway my Grandaddy picked up a lot of property for not a lot of money, and we went from being poor Northerners to being rich Northerners.” He smiled in satisfaction and took a long pull of his cigar.
“And what brings you to San Francisco, Mr Wopples?”
“Girls.” He said simply. “We have a lot of land that we used to use for cotton so we’re looking to buy stock to start a few femme farms instead. We already have a product in mind based on a local recipe. ‘Southern fried chick’.”
He went on enthusiastically, “You take your girl and section it, then take the meat and cut it into handy sized portions. Dredge it in flour, egg wash and breadcrumbs and our special blend of spices and deep fry it ‘till it’s crisp. Your dookship, you have never tasted anything like it!”
“I’m quite sure I haven’t. It sounds – er - delicious.” I told him, anyone who has spent any time in the House of Lords learns to play with a good poker face, so he didn’t realise how I really felt, as he went.
“You’ll lick your fingers afterwards.” I looked at him blankly, what a bizarre thing to say, I thought.
“We’re working on that; we’re calling it a ‘catch-phrase’. When you say it you’ll think of our Southern Fried Chick.”
At this point our host announced that we were making fours for Bridge and Wopples - not playing - made his way elsewhere. Duncan took me to one side, “Don’t mind Wopples my lord, he’s a bit of a horse’s ass, but his money is good, and he’s harmless. He’s bought a lot of fine breeding stock, and he’s shipping it out to his place in Kentucky.”
The rest of the evening passed most agreeably and Shai and I left for our hotel.
The next morning we heard about the first
disappearances.
Chapter 2
The next morning at breakfast The Times of San Francisco newspaper
announced the abduction of two young ladies (among others) of the upper echelons
of local society. The local police were looking at the abductions from various
angles.
So thorough were they that later that morning whilst Shai was shaving me, I had a visit from an Inspector Harrold Callaghan. The craggy faced, softly spoken policeman asked about my visit to San Francisco and after a long period of questioning he explained that he was concerned that I was associating with the girls’ families, and being a noted connoisseur of female flesh the policeman advised me that I was a person of interest, despite my alibi. He then thanked me for my co-operation, which both Shai and I were completely forward in supplying, and he left.
I had an appointment to lunch with Barnard at his club. I found him and his companion, a Doctor Singleton. Barnard and his companion listened as I related what had happened. Singleton told me that “Murky Harrold” as he was known locally was a good policeman, if a little “wild west’ in his approach.
They were both interested in the case but up to that point had only heard certain details. Going by what I had been asked about and what they knew it appeared that two girls - one from each family, had been abducted in the small hours of the previous night. Both families were well to do, and by coincidence I had been a guest at both of their houses the previous week. I recalled one of the girls - a sweet young thing, eighteen, very pretty, who had asked me I knew any real princes. She was suitably impressed when I told her that I did. But less so when I told her how old they were - my age.
The girl’s father was at the home I was a guest at that evening and despite his immaculate dinner dress, the man was recognisably drawn. As we shook hands he took me on one side. “I’m sorry you have been drawn into this, my Lord_”
I hastened to reassure him, “If I can do anything to help at all.” I told him.
He thanked me before moving onwards.
“That was well done!” A voice behind me said.
I turned to find a stunning blond woman, slightly taller than average height, her long blonde hair was done in a bun and although she was dressed for dinner as were all of the other ladies present, her gown was extremely well-fitted. Put bluntly she was stunning.
“I’m sorry?” I replied.
“Your support for Carlton there. He really appreciated it.”
“Thank you, I could do no less. I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, Miss?” I offered my hand.
“Agatha. Agatha Delicious, my lord, forgive me.” She said as she took my hand and shook it.
“Miss Delicious - I have heard so much about you.” And I had - she was a very impressive young lady. Heiress to a huge fortune in timber, she was a skilled horse woman, a natural fencer and a crack shot - apparently.
“Nothing too nice, I hope.” she smiled. American women, I have found tend to be more direct than English women - something not unattractive, though having Shai as my companion there was no way I would act on this attraction.
Miss Delicious made her way through the guests and we sat at opposite ends of the dinner table. Wopples was also there, this time in a white suit, with a white ruffled shirt, glaring against the black dinner suits of the men and the elegant gowns worn by the women.
We ate a deliciously tasty and beautifully red-head, she had been roasted whole and glazed with a smoky flavoured sauce - which I was told was a “barbecue sauce”. The sauce, I was told by our host that night was made with a mixture of tomatoes, sugar and various other items including Chinese soy sauces. I looked at Shai and when I caught her eye, I nodded, she nodded back. The sauce was wonderful, piquant not bitter and the Smokey flavour complemented the girl flesh wonderfully. And Shai would use her skill to discover the recipe after dinner. The red headed meat girl had been laid out on a large platter on the centre line of the table and was displayed in the classic ‘roast’ style, with the hands and feet removed and covered with paper caps, and the head displayed on a separate silver platter, her fiery red hair raised and styled nicely.
After we had all eaten and were making our way to play cards afterwards Wopples intercepted me,
“What d’yall think of that then your Dukeness? Some fine eating on that gal eh?” He said.
I had to agree with him, though my nanny would have come back from her grave (a difficult feat as she was one of the first women I had killed and eaten as a young adult) and slapped me to a standstill if I had addressed anyone in that manner.
“Indeed Mr Wopples, that was a marvellous repast, and the sauce was quite wonderful.”
“Bet it’d make you smack your lips eh, your Lord?”
“Still working on your catch-message, Mr Wopples?” I asked.
“That’s a catch phrase and yes. Now I must take my leave of y’all.” And once again as we began to sit down for cards Wopples left.
I ended up sitting at the table next to that of Miss Delicious, and between hands of a game the host told me was called ‘Texas Hold ‘Em’ (Nanny would have had a fit!) I was able to watch her play. At one point in the game the vivacious Miss Delicious was - I am advised - forty dollars ‘in the hole’. I myself went into the hole to the tune of six dollars, but both I and Miss Agatha ended up playing our way clear until at the end of the night I had recovered my initial stake and then some, but she had ended up taking her opponents to the cleaners. All in all an admirable young lady.
Not long after the evening ended and Shai
and I returned to our hotel.
The next morning no less than Inspector ‘Murky Harrold’ Callaghan brought our
papers with the news that two more woman had been abducted - and one of them
was the lovely Miss Agatha Delicious.
Chapter 3
The Inspector announced himself the next morning, hammering on the door to our
suite. Shai let him and he stormed across the floor waving a paper at me.
“Tell me now, you haven’t had something to do with this? Give me a reason why I shouldn’t arrest you now?”
I looked at him over my tea cup, “Because I haven’t done anything inspector.” I told him.
“Sit down and have some coffee, and this girl bacon is excellent!” I asked Shai to pour the Inspector a cup, and she offered him a toasted bacon sandwich.
Both remained untouched as the policeman glared at me. I wiped my lips with the napkin before I picked up Murky Harrold’s paper. At that point, the seriousness of the situation became apparent.
“HEIRESS KIDNAPPED!!!” I would allow them the three exclamation marks given the next line, “The heir to the multi-million dollar Delicious estate, Agatha Delicious was kidnapped last night as she descended from her carriage at her home last night.”
“Miss Delicious had arrived home just before eleven thirty and was approaching her door when four men clad in dark clothing burst out of the darkness and manhandled the stunning blonde away from her startled servants.”
“Well that proves it, inspector, I was playing cards until midnight with four of the city’s great and good, I can supply their names if you would like?”
The inspector waved that offer away, “Just because you were elsewhere doesn’t mean to say you weren’t involved somehow.”
I saw Shai glare at the inspector behind his back, “Then tell me what is my motive in abducting these girls? It’s not like I lack for female company, and I have no problem in legitimately securing the finest girl-flesh to satisfy my appetites in that area, so why would I do such a thing? Surely, Inspector, if I were going to do something like this I would at least select less conspicuous individuals?”
Murky Harrold scratched his neck under his collar while he considered this. “Okay your lordship, it’s true you have no apparent motive, apart from being a world renown connoisseur and chef of girl-meat, with a personal wealth that could make anything happen if you so wish, but if it isn’t you Lord Sallyporte, who is it?”
Shai relaxed behind the policeman, and I wiped my mouth gain as I stood up, “That! Is what WE are going to discover, Inspector Callaghan!”
“Now, hold on! WE are not going to do anything; this is a police matter!”
“No, my dear Inspector, my honour has been
impugned - I insist!”
Murky Harrold Callaghan looked at me with murder in his eyes, but that subsided
as he thought about it. “The truth is you can move easier through some of the
places I would have problems getting to.
“Excellent, now sit down and have some of
this bacon, we’ll start immediately after breakfast!”
Chapter 4
After breakfast we began. In other circumstances I suppose, a person might have
felt a sense of excitement, even a childish thrill. But for myself I was
annoyed. Very annoyed, not only was the name of Sallyporte being dragged into
disrepute, but the culprits were victimising people who had invited me into
their homes, I had been their guest.
Our first stop was the home of John and Letitia Carlton, whose daughter - the one who asked about princes - was the first to be abducted. We were greeted by Mrs Carlton. The agonies Mrs Carlton was going through did nothing to detract from her elegance and beauty. She welcomed us gracefully. Inspector Callaghan had been there before but sitting in the Carlton’s morning room we talked about the abduction. The Carlton’s had had guests - myself and Shai included - three evenings earlier, and their daughter was taken two days preceding our current visit.
Desiree Carlton’s abduction was only revealed in the morning when a servant had gone to rouse her. The room was disrupted, as if a struggle had taken placed and Mrs Carlton assured us with some pride in her voice that her daughter had put up a struggle. The window had been forced and when we looked in the garden below the window, there were still several sets of foot prints, all heavy workingmen’s boots.
There was nothing obvious - especially as the prints were two days old, and the site had been visited by the San Francisco Police Department.
Mrs Carlton was obviously a brave and very strong woman but as we made our way to the door, she stopped us. “I suppose it would be best to prepare for the worst Inspector?”
Harry Callaghan paused and said - quite softly, given his reputation, “We will do our best Mrs Carlton, but it might be best.”
Letitia Carlton started to tear up but set
her mouth firmly as she wished us luck.
“Well?” He asked, as we left the Carlton’s house in the horse drawn cab.
“I’m no Sherlock Holmes, Inspector, and the impressions weren’t the best but the modus operandum of our perpetrators seems to be to snatch the girls ‘mob handed’. That was what was reported at Miss Delicious’ house, and the prints seem to bear it out here.”
“That seems to be the case_” he paused, “Say! What DO I call you?”
“Well, if we were standing on the strictest form, it would be ‘my lord’, but between the two of us, Harrold, I would be happy with John.”
“Harry!” He said, I looked at him, “People call me Harry. But just remember this my lord John Sallyporte, this doesn’t mean we are going to take warm showers together_” His look was one of icy menace.
I returned his gaze, with a similar stare, “Certainly not Harrold, I am a bath man myself.”
After a second considering this he smiled his thin smile, the lines seem to have been set. “Good, I’m sure I’ll sleep easier knowing that.
“Now, for what it’s worth I agree about the gang. But gangs are a dime a dozen in this city, all we’ve done is confirm the one basic fact.”
“Quite so. Let us see what we shall see at
the Robertson house.”
Chapter 5
Morton and Eileen Robertson’s house - again one I had previously guested at -
was a large Victorian with a wrap-around porch. Like so many American houses
built of timber the features are intricately layered to ensure
weathertightness.
Eileen Robertson greeted us as her husband was still at his office. Like Letitia Carlton, she was elegant and very well dressed, though I had a fleeting vision (as I had the first time I had met her) of her arrayed on a serving platter, she would have made a perfectly delicious meat-girl.
“I know what you’re thinking my lord.” She said. “I saw it in your eyes the first time you came here.”
“I do beg your pardon Mrs Robertson; it was rude of me.” I apologised.
She smiled thinly, “Think nothing of it - it’s a bit of relief sometimes to be recognised.”
Harry looked at us both.
“Mrs Robertson was a meat girl at some time in her life, inspector. Given her impeccable manners and charming outlook, I would say_”
“You can tell this?” Harry asked. I nodded.
“You are what Mrs Robertson? Thirty-four?” I went on.
“Thirty-six, my lord.”
“And Morton is?”
“He is forty my lord.”
“With your daughter being a delightful eighteen years old I am guessing that Morton fell in love with you and saved you from your fate as a meal.”
Mrs Robertson’s smile was much more wholesome, almost wistful. “He did indeed my lord, he saved me from a girl merchant in Seattle. I was raised as a meat girl and was due to be killed and cooked that evening, but Morton gathered every penny he had and bought me so that I could be his wife.”
“Well your secret is safe with us Mrs Robertson, isn’t it Inspector?” Harry grunted and nodded assent.
“But may I ask Mrs Robertson? Was the transaction amicable on the side of both parties?
Eileen thought about it carefully. “Are you wondering if there was a link between that and my daughter’s abduction?”
“I am that Mrs Robertson.” Morton had obviously seen something in the girl, who had matured into a lovely - if still delectable looking - woman.
“I don’t think so, Morton swore he’d have paid more to buy me if he had to, but I don’t recall any problems, then or since.”
“So please Mrs Robertson, if you would, tell us about the night your daughter was abducted.” Harry asked her.
“We had said goodnight to our guests for the evening and I was just putting out the lights in the kitchen. Morton was turning the lights off in the hall and family room when there was a clatter from Angelica’s room. By the time we got there and Morton had burst in - the door had been locked from the inside - Angelica was gone. The window was open but we couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
Harrold went outside to examine the garden - which he insisted on calling the ‘yard’. I went up to the girl’s room.
It appeared to all intents and purposes to be a very proper young lady's room, apart from the level of disarray still obvious in the room.
As I stood there looking at the room, Mrs Robertson cleared her throat behind me. I turned to look at her.
“Do you mind me asking, my lord? How did you know?” Eileen had been completely honest with us I saw no reason not to be honest with her.
“Sometimes I look at a woman and think ‘meat’. As simple as that. I’m not sure if it’s a gift or a talent, Mrs Robertson, but I’m rarely wrong.”
“Call me Eileen please, my Lord, but I need to know do you ever act on it?”
“Rarely – er - Eileen. These days there is no need to. The proliferation of girl farms means we no longer have to hunt our own streets for suitable meats. And to be honest it brings a beauty to a woman - the beauty we honour through consumption, except that sometimes it is nice just to look at a beautiful thing rather than consume it.
“You still wonder what it would be like to be eaten, don’t you, Eileen?”
Eileen Robertson, socialite, wife to Morton and mother to Angelica, looked down and out of the window, and in a hushed voice admitted, she did.
“I was brought up to it, and suddenly Morton took me away from it, how could I not still wonder?”
“It’s perfectly understandable”.
Mrs Roberts was looking at something on the window sill, inside the sash. I looked at it with her. Touching my fingers to it, I brought it up to the light and suddenly I had a vision of a white ruffled shirt.
Leaning out of the window, I shouted for Harrold.
“Have you found something?” He shouted up to me.
“Oh yes! I have found a trail!”
“A trail?” Mrs Robertson asked from next to me.
“A trail of breadcrumbs.” I told her.
Chapter 6
Harry Callaghan - Murky Harry - was less than impressed. “You really meant it?
Breadcrumbs?”
It was going to take some work to convince him.
“Wopples told me that he would cook his diced girl pieces in breadcrumbs, and ‘these’,” I said, as I placed the crumb on my tongue (much to Harry’s disgust), “My dear inspector, are bread crumbs. And what’s more - these are breadcrumbs with something extra.”
Eileen Robertson took one of the crumbs from the window sill and placed it on her tongue - Harry looked at her with disbelief as well.
“Oregano and basil!” She said. I was impressed; Morton Robertson truly had a treasure.
“Garlic, obviously, but not overpoweringly so, sage, marjoram__”
“And paprika.” Eileen finished for me.
Murky Harry’s head swivelled back and to between the pair of us. He took a crumb and placed it on his tongue, testing it. “You got all of that, from a crumb like that?”
Eileen Robertson smiled as I looked at her, “Any good chef should be able to, Inspector.”
“We may not be able to tell you the precise proportions Harry,” I told him, “But recognising the flavours is easy. There are other flavours in there, onion, salt and pepper, some sort of chilli pepper but there’s something else, I don’t recognise, I’m not sure I have ever tasted it before but it is hauntingly familiar.”
“Okay!” Harry said, “We have a batch of
suspicious breadcrumbs, linking our gang of abductors to this Wopples
character?” I nodded. We thanked Mrs Robertson and left her.
“Why?” Harry asked me as made our way to the home of Duncan Barnard - where I
had first met Theophilus Wopples.
I could only think it was perhaps linked to Wopples' business and him acquiring girls for his girl ranches. But he was buying - had bought - stock and I couldn’t see how these young women fitted his plans.
Barnard was home and he greeted us with some visible concern.
“Ah you’re here! But how did you get here so fast?” Seeing our perplexed faces, he went on, “Were you not told?”
“Told what Duncan?!” I asked.
“Sarah, and Shai!” I nodded; my companion had been meeting Mrs Barnard to discuss recipes and generally socialise.
“Four men! As your companion, Shai, arrived they grabbed her and Sarah off the porch, and made off with them.” The man was beside himself. “I tried to stop them but they were too strong for me.”
“Well then,” I told him calmly, though truth be told I was anything but calm. I had not saved Shai from an insane Chinese War-lord, and cannibal pygmies for her to fall foul of this monster Wopples. “Well there we have a lead. Tell me what do you know of Wopples, where is he living?”
“Wopples?” Barnard looked at me as if I had three heads.
“Yes Wopples!” Harry told him. “We suspect he is involved somehow.”
“I know he has an address here in the city but he also has a property south of the city in the hills.”
“Send someone to the police Mr Barnard tell them to take his city address,” Harrold told him, “What transport do you have here?”
“I have my horses,” Barnard told us.
“Quick then.”
Chapter 7
Barnard kept four horses in his mews, and they were quickly saddled.
“Here!” Barnard handed me a revolver; I opened the gate and gave the chambers a spin before tucking the piece in my deep pocket.
“Do you ride Lord John?” Harry asked me.
“I’m English.” I told him and climbed into the saddle of a bay hunter. Barnard mounted his own horse.
“Which should I take?” Harry asked.
Barnard’s horse wheeled about as he turned towards the rode, “The mare there,” he pointed, “The Pale, ride her!”
And with that we set out.
Chapter 8
It might have gone easier if we had thought our arrival through more, as it was
we reached Wopple’s farm, and were immediately greeted with a fusillade of
shots.
It was a rambling place with a low farm house and several low barns arrayed in a large square; set back from the road it spread up the hillside. The shooters were in the farm house so that was where we turned our attention to first. Having dismounted quickly, Harry had drawn his pistol a monster of a revolver that made a veritable BOOM when it fired. Duncan and I also dismounted and we both drew our guns and returned the fire.
Fortunately none of the people shooting at us, I counted three of them, seemed able to hit the broadside of a barn. Advancing across the open ground in front of the house we were soon on the porch and out of their arcs of fire.
“Where is the other one, d’you think Harry?” I shouted to him. We knew there were at least four thugs.
Harry was re-loading, “They’re probably in one of these barns. We clear the house and tackle the barns next.”
I looked at Duncan and he nodded. I looked at Harry who fulfilled his role as a lawman by shouting “San Francisco Police Department – put your guns down and surrender, you’re under arrest!”
The reply was a shot through a window that did nothing more than fire us up even further.
Harry led the entry, kicking the half-doors off their hinges as he led the way.
Entering the house we blazed away like
western pistoleros, and soon we had three dead thugs lying about the
family rooms of the house. One of them had fallen across a large sack of
breadcrumbs and there were sacks of flour, and herbs. Duncan had been shot in
the left shoulder and while in a lot of pain was still very gung ho
about seeing this through. He grabbed a piece of linen to place over the wound.
I realised it was a part of Shai’s blouse - one she had recently purchased in
San Francisco. It was obvious it had been torn from the sheer state of it.
Chapter 9
A further search revealed none of the missing women.
“We’ll work the barns starting with the one on the right and go anti-clockwise?” Harry directed us.
“Would it not be better if we were to split up?” Barnard asked, his face drawn from the pain.
“There’s Wopples and another thug out there, we don’t know how many more, it’s better if we stick together.
Moving as quickly as we could we entered the first barn. It was full of cages holding meat girls, presumably waiting to be shipped off to Wopples’ farms in Kentucky.
Making our way up the barn we came to the top door and looked carefully out.
“In the hayloft, on the right hand side.” Duncan said.
“Stay here, cover me Harry.” I began to run towards the cover of an old wagon about fifteen yards from the entrance.
My movement caused the thug to show himself to make the shot, Duncan’s and Harry’s guns fired at the same time. I don’t know which one of them hit him but he fell to the floor from the hay loft.
I got up from behind the wagon and ran to beside the door. The others joined me. “That should leave Wopples,” Harrold said, “D’you think there’ll be any more?”
By this point I was grinning like a fiend. This was derring do and gun smoke, the shoot-out at the OK Corral. I was rescuing my dearest Shai and was ready to kick in the door myself, I could see Duncan, despite his wound was the same. Only Harry maintained his laconic detachment. Shaking my head at Harry’s question we rushed through the door of the second barn.
It was dark inside, and hot, but when our eyes adjusted to the gloom we could see that we were in a veritable hell’s kitchen.
A large boiler filled with cooking fat simmered away amidst a selection of trays – filled with flour and breadcrumbs, cuts and joints of girl flesh hung on hooks nearby over a prep area. On the other side of the kitchen - on racks - small nuggets of girl meat were cooling – someone had been in here not too very long ago and left the flesh to one side.
As the returning person came through the door he looked up to see three large bore revolvers pointing at him.
With a surprisingly feeble squeak the chef fainted dead away.
We looked at him on the floor – it wasn’t Wopples. Barnard and I tied the chef up using strips torn from tea-towels, while Harry looked around.
We moved on but not before – with some caution - we all three tried the girl meat nuggets. I chose one from the coolest of the trays. And despite the fact that they did not use the best cuts of meat, I had to admit – it wasn’t unpleasant. Duncan looked at me, “It’s okay.” He said as Harry was licking his fingers, “’S good.” He grunted.
The most offensive aspect of the operation was the indiscriminate butchery. I realise that in recent years the term a girl-in-every-pot, has become a reality, as more and more meat girls reached the market. Even the lowest income families enjoy girl meat on a regular basis. But being the old fashioned cannibal that I am, to see such profligate use of flesh was a crime.
When I had told Eileen Robertson that we celebrate the beauty of the women we eat, I meant it. To me eating human flesh isn’t just gustatory it is almost religious. The careful raising of the finest meat girls, and their preparation takes them just beyond food for survival, it becomes more. We have beef, pork, and fish to live on, but girl meat lifts dining to a pleasurable art form. People like Wopples would cheapen it, reduce it to a work-a-day food.
We pushed on. Until at last we stood by the partly opened door of the third barn.
“Wopples?” Harry called out. “Wopples, are you in there?”
“Sure am!” I heard him reply.
“Come out with your hands up!”
“Go fuck yourself! Why’all don’t you come
in an’ see why you cain’t touch me?”
I didn’t even think about it. I strode inside only to be greeted by a shocking
sight.
Wopples stood on a loading dock with a pistol in his right hand. His left was clasped around the long blonde hair of Miss Delicious. Duncan and Harry followed me in.
To his right and to his left Shai, Sarah Barnard, and Angelica Robertson had been stripped and like Miss Delicious, tied to frames that looked to all intents and purposes like breeding frames.
Seeing my look of horror. Wopples – in his grubby white suit, smiled. “Now y’see I’d have thought that my lord would understand what I was doing.”
“What are you doing Wopples?” Harry asked quietly. Wopples eyed him nervously.
“They’re stock, breeding stock! Only the very best for us!” At that point I realised that Theophilus Wopples was beneath my contempt. Kidnapping free women, and using them as breeding stock, not to mention what he had done with the other missing girls, to my mind, reduced him to the basest of criminals and not worthy of the slightest respect.
“You despicable piece of vermin!” Barnard only said what was I was thinking.
Wopples shivered despite the heat in the
barn and waved his pistol in our direction, “Y’all can put your guns down, or
this lovely blonde heiress dies a brutal death.”
I dropped my gun and Duncan Barnard dropped his. But not Harry.
“It’s not going to happen Wopples_”
“I will shoot her!” He said but I could see the panic in him.
“And as soon as you do I will end you.” Harry had a cold iciness about him. His gun came up, his arm straight, and unwavering.
“I know what you're thinking, Mr Wopples. ‘Did he fire six shots or only five?’ Well to tell you the truth in all this excitement I kinda lost track myself. But being this is a .44 Special with a two hundred and forty-six grain cartridge, the most powerful handgun in the world and would blow you head clean off, you've gotta ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”
Wopples obviously did. The hand holding the pistol moved, only to be followed almost immediately by the thunderous report of Harry’s gun. The white suit was splattered with red as he spun around and fell off the loading dock onto the floor below.
“’Do you feel lucky punk?’ Now that!” I
told the lifeless body of Theophilus Wopples, “is a catch phrase!”
The ladies were released and recovered, and we waited the arrival of the
police. I believe that Murky Harry endured some trouble from his seniors for
his western gun fight tactics, but his prompt action did save the life of Miss
Delicious, Angelica Carlton, Sarah Barnard and my dear Shai, and no time was
lost in pointing this out to them.
Lord John finished his story – and his single malt. “As I said to you earlier,
Boyd, there are cannibals and there are cannibals. Surely we dine on our fellow
human beings but Wopples crossed the line between cannibal and felon. He
abducted free women, subjected them to brutality and rape, and murdered several
of them for his own tastes. Vile just about describes the man.”
And so endeth the story of the Vile Mr Wopples.