“Yes, but they’re putting video cameras at all the murder sites, so maybe we’ll find out who he was, at least!”
“—somebody ought to confiscate all those goddamned knives Goldie’s selling, before these loons start cutting one another up like Christmas turkeys—“
“—a donation, please, for Brother Jack! He will come to Shangri-La to lead us into the paths of truth. Support his good works with your spare change—“
“A hundred bucks says it’s that crazy cotton merchant from Liverpool, what’s-his-name, Maybrick.”
“Go back up time, you sick lunatics! What kind of idiots are you? Jack the Ripper, an alien from another planet—?”
“Hah! Shows what you know! A hundred-fifty says it was the Queen’s personal physician, Sir William Gull, hushing up the scandal over Victoria’s grandson and his secret marriage, you know, the Catholic wife and daughter!”
“—you want me to what? I’m not following Brother Jack or anybody else in a crusade against evil. My God, mister, I’m an actress! Are you trying to put me out of work?”
“—help us, please, Save Our Sisters! S.O.S. is determined to rescue the Ripper’s victims before he can strike, they’re so unimportant, surely we can change history just this once—“
“Oh, don’t tell me you bought that Royal Conspiracy garbage? There’s absolutely no evidence to support that cockamamie story! I tell you, it’s James Maybrick, the arsenic addict who hated his unfaithful American wife!”
“—all right, dump that garbage into the trash bin, nobody wants to read your pamphlets, anyway, and station maintenance is tired of sweeping them up. We’ve got parents complaining about the language in your brochures, left lying around where any school kid can find them—“