Текст книги "A Fate Worse Than Death"

Автор книги: Jonathan Gould

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

I stood for a moment, examining the gruesome door buzzer. The business I had today was a little too private for me to be ringing the front doorbell. I looked around. On either side of the door, a series of open windows gaped darkly like a row of demons’ jaws hungry for food. It seemed that security here was more than a little lax, though I could understand why. Who could possibly be foolhardy enough to consider breaking into the Prince of Darkness’s stronghold? Only one person I could think of.

I racked my brain trying to remember the position of the side door I’d seen Sid scurrying into the night before, then counted across the windows on the left side to see if I could match window with door. Once I’d made my selection, I hoisted myself up and through the window, and immediately discovered my calculations were hopelessly wrong.

Instead, I found myself in what appeared to be a tearoom. There was a counter with a kettle, a toaster, and a griller. There was also another person in the room. Click went the kettle as that other person switched it on.

Just in time, I dived behind the counter. I could see a pair of black-clothed legs, but couldn’t tell whom they belonged to. Luckily, as the kettle began to boil, the noise gave me the cover I needed, and I was able to quickly crawl to the other side of the room and out into the big, gothic hall.

Sticking closely to the gargoyle-infested walls, I made my way to the next door and poked my head inside. This room looked a lot more promising. Atop a small desk, a series of manila folders were arranged, while banks of filing cabinets lined the far wall. And, even more promisingly, it was completely unoccupied. I crept inside. It was time to give the Devil’s accountant an audit.

I began leafing through the contents of the folders on the table, and as I examined each document, things began to fall into place. I had discovered the Devil’s line of business at last. The scope of his enterprise ranged across building maintenance, plumbing, electrical, even clothing repair and alterations—basically all of the manual work required for the upkeep of Heaven. So much for the Devil being such a big-shot. There was no vast business empire, and no hidden maze of graft and corruption. The Prince of Darkness was really nothing more than the Prince of Subcontractors.

There was still one particular operation I needed to uncover. Frantically, I scanned through the documents, working through the painting, flooring, double-glazing, and roof-insulation divisions. Finally, I found what I was looking for—the information about garbage collection.

I tore through various ledgers, profit and loss statements, and other financial statistics related to garbage collection, looking for the one piece of information I was particularly interested in. Bully had told me the garbage business had recently been taken over. Who were the new owners? Who had come in and pushed their employees to the point of going on strike? At last, here was the contract of sale. I was about to take a look when . . .

 . . . The door flew open. I turned to see two pairs of eyes glaring at me. One was the most evil set of peepers that had ever looked my way. The other belonged to the Devil.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Devil demanded, sending the temperature in the room plummeting by at least fifteen degrees.

The Devil’s accountant let out a high-pitched squeal, rushed over to the desk, and grabbed the folder. “He’s looking at the garbage collection,” he said in a soft, high-pitched voice that couldn’t have been more at odds with his ghastly visage.

“I might have guessed,” the Devil growled. “You’ve been sent here by God to snoop into my private business affairs.”

“That’s not the case at all—,” I began.

There was no way the Devil was going to let me finish. “That’s just typical,” he blustered. “He is a jealous God. Just because I’m so much more successful in business than He is.”

I figured I should at least try one more time. “If you’d only let me explain—”

Still, the Devil had no interest in listening. “I’m going off to my Tai Chi class now, Mr Clarenden. When I get back, I expect you will have removed yourself from Hell. I hope for your sake that will be the case.” Then he turned and left the office.

“I think you’d better listen to him,” said Sid in his sweet-sounding voice. I tried to catch one last glance at that garbage contract, but the little creep was too quick for me, shutting the folder and hiding it deep inside the nearest filing cabinet.

There wasn’t a lot more I could do at this stage. Even without the Devil’s threats, I knew it was time to leave Hell. There was nothing left to find here. I had a feeling that all the remaining answers lay back up in Heaven. And besides, I didn’t think I could handle too many more of the little surprises Hell had to offer.

Leaving Sid to his beloved manila folders, I left the castle and hurried back through the garbage-strewn, vomit-ridden streets of Hell. As I walked, I agonised over whether I should pay one last visit to Jessie. Eventually, I decided against it. Tearful good-byes were not my scene. Anyway, what was I supposed to say to her? Hey Angel, I hope you have the mime of your life?

The sun, or whatever passed for the source of light down here, was just beginning to set when I finally found the right alley. As I left the main street, I couldn’t help noticing three musicians standing on the corner. They were playing as if their life depended upon it, but none of the passersby seemed to care. The little hat that lay at their feet was bulging full of nothing. This sight more than anything made me realise how glad I was to be leaving Hell. Jessie was right. It was a cruel place.

Climbing up the ladder back into Heaven was about as fun as arm wrestling a grizzly bear while wearing a blindfold, but somehow I forced myself onwards and upwards. As I got closer to the top, I couldn’t help feeling energised by the healing air of Heaven. However, I also couldn’t help noticing something else that was more than a little unnerving.

My hands, clutching tightly to the rungs above, were beginning to collect dirt and grime. Given the pristine nature of Heaven, it was clear where this grit must have come from. Apparently I wasn’t the only person who had used this passage in recent days. Someone else had been climbing up the ladder from Hell into Heaven.

At last, I dragged myself out of the hole and collapsed panting on the floor of the small room at the top. After allowing myself some vitally needed recovery time, I pushed away the grate and climbed out. I was back in Heaven.

At least I assumed I was in Heaven. The street I was standing in was filthy.

Chapter 14

I WALKED AWAY FROM THE GRATE and inspected my surroundings. It was definitely Heaven. I recognised the two houses on either side of me. But the whole streetscape couldn’t have looked more different. There was rubbish everywhere. It was piled up all over the street and swirling around in the air. The garbage collection strike was clearly beginning to have an impact.

The rubbish wasn’t the only thing that was different about Heaven. There was also a change in the people around me—a quickness to their step and a worried look on their faces. The tranquility that had previously been the hallmark of this place was disappearing as quickly as the green lawns were disappearing beneath mounds of trash.

I walked back down the street, dodging the pieces of flying garbage, the rubbish piles that were as deep as quicksand, and the hordes of seemingly lost schoolchildren. I didn’t like this new Heaven. The chaos and confusion on the street made me feel like I’d never left Hell. I had to find out more about whoever had taken over the garbage collection and thrown things into such disarray. And my feet were leading me in one direction only.

It was early evening and probably not long before closing time when I arrived at The Loaf and the Fishes, but the little bar was full of anxious patrons. At least one of them was happy to see me.

“Jimmy Clarenden, step this way,” cried the voice of Alby Stark above the bewildered murmurings of the crowd.

I pushed through and eventually made my way over to the grinning journalist.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said. “I believe you have something for me.”

“Only if you have something for me.”

“Just everything you needed to know, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” I looked around. There were far too many people crammed up against the bar. “I think we should take this outside. These things would be better said in private.”

We squeezed back towards the door. Outside the bar, Alby led me down a little side lane, away from the madness of the street.

“Okay,” I said. “What have you got to tell me?”

“I’ve got answers to all your questions. I’ve poked my nose into places it shouldn’t be seen in, and I’ve dug down to the bottom of the deepest holes in Heaven, but I’ve found the answers.”

“If I wanted dramatics I would have gone to the theatre. Just tell me what you know.”

“Okay,” he said. “Now the first thing you wanted to know is who is responsible for collecting the garbage in Heaven. It’s actually collected by teams from . . . down below!”

Alby paused, clearly expecting some sort of reaction to his revelation. When I didn’t respond, he went on anyway. “They come up every night and clean up the whole place. Though I have to say,” he added as he kicked away a couple of pages of newspaper that had wrapped around his feet, “that with the job they’re doing at the moment, I think I deserve my money back.”

“I’ll decide what you deserve,” I said. “This isn’t news to me. Have you got anything else?”

“Oh?” For a moment, Alby was taken aback, but it didn’t stop him for long. “Actually I do. Something huge. All of the teams are organised by one central agency that is involved with not only garbage collection but also all operations for the maintenance of Heaven, including sewage, electricity generation, and window cleaning. This agency is one hundred percent owned and operated by . . . the Devil!”

“All old news.”

This time, the look of dismay on Alby’s face couldn’t be hidden. “You’re lying,” he cried. “You can’t possibly have known all this.”

“I know about this and plenty more. Now, have you got anything fresh for me or are you just wasting my time?” I began to walk back along the alley.

“No, wait,” Alby called. “Perhaps you’d like to know who signed the contract from Heaven’s side?”

I stopped and turned around. “There’s a contract?”

“There most certainly is. Iron-clad. No exemptions.”

“Then perhaps I would like to know.”

“So I do have some useful information after all.” Alby was speaking as slowly as he could, clearly enjoying the power his secret knowledge gave him. “The signatory for Heaven is in fact none other than . . . ”

“Yes.”

“ . . . none other than . . . ”

“If you don’t tell me now, I’ll fill you so full of soda water you’ll explode.”

“ . . . none other than God’s own son.”

“Jesus?” I said.

“No, the other one. What’s his name, Percival?”

I froze in my tracks. If Alby had been holding a feather, he could have knocked me down with it. Inside my head, I could hear the click as another piece of the puzzle slid into place. The Devil had signed an iron-clad contract to provide a garbage collection service to Heaven. If anyone else wanted to take over that service, they would have been faced with a considerable problem. But if the signatory to that contract on Heaven’s behalf should suddenly disappear, maybe convincing the Devil to break that contract and sell the garbage collection business wouldn’t be quite so difficult. Could this be the real explanation for Phil’s disappearance?

Immersed in thought, I started towards the street. An enraged voice quickly pulled me short.

“Where do you think you’re going, Clarenden? I gave you what you wanted. Now give me what you promised me.”

I turned and walked back towards him. His eyes acquired a greedy glow as he watched me reach into my pocket and remove the bottle. As I handed it over, he attacked it like a hungry squirrel trying to prise open a particularly stubborn nut, and then he slammed it to his lips. After a moment, he lowered it again. The sullen gaze had returned to his face.

“This is your idea of a joke, I suppose,” he growled, holding up the bottle. In the fading light I could just make out that it was empty. My drinking session with Bully Malone had been far more thorough than I’d realised.

“That’s too bad, Alby,” I said. “But if you’ll remember, I didn’t actually promise you anything. I placed a label in a note. That was all.”

“You’re a rat, Clarenden,” he snarled. “You’re a filthy rodent.”

I chose not to throw a retort back, partly because I wasn’t sure I could argue with his assessment of my character, but mainly because my instinct told me a more practical course of action would be to duck. I ducked. Almost instantaneously, the empty bottle sailed past the spot where my head had been and shattered on the ground behind me.

Taking this as a clear sign that my business with Alby had reached an endpoint, I didn’t stick around. I was finally onto something, but there was still so much to uncover. I had to know who had taken over the garbage collection from the Devil, and there was only one person I could think of to ask. One person who I suspected had the answers to all of my questions inside his head. The only problem was he also had the answers to every other question inside his head as well.

* * *

As I rapped on the doors of God’s palace, I couldn’t help noticing that even the previously pure white of the palace walls now looked stained and dirty.

Gabriel opened the doors and ushered me in. He greeted me with words that were both highly unexpected and also profoundly worrying.

“I’m so glad you’ve come back, Mr Clarenden.”

“That would probably make you the first,” I said. “I figure it’s not for any good reason.”

“Indeed. I’m afraid the Master is not in a good way.”

“Has something happened to Him?”

“You’d better see for yourself.”

He led me to the door of God’s chamber and knocked loudly.

“Mr Clarenden to see you, Master.”

“Show him in, Gabriel, show him in.” God’s voice sounded surprisingly jovial through the chamber door.

I pushed open the door and passed through. God’s chamber was alarmingly different. The couch was gone and in its place there was an enormous throne, carved out of mahogany and gilded with precious stones. Sitting proudly atop the throne, God himself no longer wore a simple white robe. He was instead arrayed in a massive red cloak, trimmed at the edges with white fur and seams of gold thread, while on His head sat a crown of gold that sparkled with diamonds and other jewels.

The only thing about the room that was resolutely unchanged was the television on the far wall. On the gleaming screen, a salesman was screaming about the amazing benefits of his particular brand of hypnotherapy, while a parade of supposedly satisfied customers gave his message an air of profound banality.

God turned to me and held out His arms. He was beaming.

“Mr Clarenden, do take a seat.”

“I can only see one chair, and you seem to be occupying it comfortably.”

“So I am,” God chuckled. “I keep forgetting. I’ve just discovered the most wonderful thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“Television home shopping networks. Thanks to them, I’ve got my new throne, and a completely new wardrobe, and take a look at this.”

He lifted the crown and shook His head, sending His white hair flapping and waving.

“I’ve found a shampoo that gives my hair a new bounce and life it’s never had before!”

I stood, unable to form words, as God continued discussing the details of His purchases, including His new exercise machine, His new fat-free deep fryer, and His new set of steak knives. There was only one conclusion to be gained from any of this. The pressure had finally gotten to Him. God had gone completely mad.

When I’d heard all I could take, I walked over to the television, placed my finger on the power switch, and pressed it. Immediately, all salespeople vanished. For a moment, merciful silence filled the room, broken only by God’s anguished cry.

“What did you do that for? That man might have changed my life.”

“Seems to me you’ve had your life changed enough for one day.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s time we had a talk. Take a look outside. Drag your eyes away from that idiotic screen, just for a moment. You’ll see that things aren’t going too well here in Heaven. If we don’t get to the bottom of this mystery, your precious kingdom will be nothing more than a festering, stinking pile of garbage.”

God’s face went redder than a bloody Mary stirred with a raw steak. “You dare to talk to me like that, here in my palace?”

“I dare that and a whole lot more. It’s time for you to level with me. I need you to tell me everything you know, and I need you to tell me right now.”

“You really think it will be that easy? You really think I can just snap my fingers and give you all the answers you need?”

“I didn’t say that. I have no illusions about this being easy. But you can start by putting an end to this stalling. When we first met, you mentioned that Phil helped you out with certain things, but you wouldn’t tell me what those things were. ‘Odds and ends’ were the precise words you used. Since then, I’ve managed to discover that one of the things Phil did was sign contracts with the Devil regarding the maintenance of the infrastructure here in Heaven—which I do believe includes garbage collection. So tell me, God, was that an odd or an end?”

“I admit that Phil did sign that contract,” God muttered, His eyes making a close inspection of His brand new stress-absorbent running shoes. “I was extremely busy and I didn’t have the time.”

“I’ll bet you were busy. What was it? Midgets with Oedipal complexes on a talk show? Or was that the day when Blake discovered Tiffany was having an affair with Nash on your favourite soap opera?”

“So maybe I needed a little additional relaxation that day.”

“And I suppose you also needed additional relaxation on the days when Phil restructured the administrative procedures at the Pearly Gates. Or the day when he decided to allow a journalist named Alby Stark to remain in Heaven after an unfortunate breakdown of those procedures.”

“So that is what this is all about,” God grumbled. “Every time something goes wrong, I’m the one who has to set it right. Well, sometimes I can’t be there to fix things. Sometimes I have to leave it to others. What do you expect? Do you think I can be everywhere at once?”

“Actually, I thought you could.”

God started to open His mouth, but then He stopped. He slumped down in His great throne and suddenly He looked very tired and very old. Eventually He spoke, the voice of a tired, old man.

“You’re right, I can be everywhere at once, but I don’t often choose to be. Most of the time, I’m quite happy to sit in my little chamber and watch TV. You were right, Mr Clarenden. I’m really not that busy at all.”

“But if you’re spending all your time watching television, who’s looking after Heaven?”

“I would have thought that was obvious. Phil is the one who’s been looking after Heaven. That’s why I need him back so urgently.”

There was a tinkling sound inside my head: the sort that a very small coin makes when it hits the ground.

“Why couldn’t you have told me this earlier?” I said. “Why pretend that Phil is your little helper, when he’s really the guy who’s running the show?”

“Why pretend? I’m God. This is my kingdom. Do you really think I want everyone to know that I’m no longer in charge?” God sighed. “I’m sorry for misleading you. I hope my foolish pride hasn’t compromised your investigation.”

“Compromised, but not irreparably. If we move quickly, we still may have a chance. But first I need more information. I believe that whoever is behind this plot is trying to set himself up in competition with the Devil. Do you have any idea who that might be? Can you think of anyone who could possibly want to muscle in on the Devil’s operations?”

“I don’t know,” God moaned.

“There must be an answer. Try to think.”

“I don’t know,” God repeated with a sudden petulance in His voice. “I’m so sick of all of this. All this power and responsibility. I’ve had enough.”

“You can’t really mean that.”

“Why not? You think it’s so great being God? Well, let me tell you, it’s no picnic. I’m stuck in this palace all day, which I don’t even like that much. I’d much prefer something simpler and smaller. But no, I’m God. I’m expected to project an atmosphere of grandeur and majesty. I’m supposed to sit on my throne and make all these grand proclamations that no one ever listens to anyway.”

“That’s not true,” I interjected. “People are constantly talking about your words.”

“How do you know they’re my words?”

“I guess I just assumed—”

“Exactly. You assumed you knew what I was saying. Everybody thinks they know more about my words than I do. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve supposedly said. But I’ll tell you one thing. As soon as people have got problems, who does everybody come running to? ‘Help us, oh Lord,’ and ‘save us, oh Lord.’ Well what about me? I’ve got problems too. Who am I supposed to pray to?”

I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t sure it was a question that even had an answer. Then again, God was now on such a roll that even if I did have one, I don’t think He would have paid any attention to it anyway.

“Being God is a full time job, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, 100 years a century. I’ve never taken a holiday. Never had a chance to relax on a beach or take a tropical cruise or enjoy a walk in a rainforest or scuba dive in a coral reef or—”

Suddenly the door burst open and Gabriel came charging in. His face was whiter than a peroxided albino in a snowstorm.

“Excuse me, Master, for breaking in, but I’ve got awful news. Peter is gone!”

As God was no longer in any state to respond, I figured I’d better do the honours.

“What happened to him?”

“Nobody knows. He’s just disappeared.”

Gabriel had barely finished speaking before I was legging it out of the palace, leaving God to His self-pity, and racing to the Pearly Gates. My foes had made their next move. I only hoped I wasn’t too late.

* * *

Chaos reigned at the Pearly Gates. The queue had disintegrated, and everyone was making a mad dash towards the Gates, pushing and jostling like a herd of roller-skating wildebeest. But most alarming of all, nobody seemed able to stop them. Despite the efforts of a handful of red-uniformed inspectors, people were streaming past the booths and through the Gates. All procedures for verifying bona fides for entry into the Kingdom of God had been abandoned. The Gates of Heaven had been flung open to all comers.

As I observed this crazed inrush, its true impact hit me as if a hammer had struck a giant bell inside my head. More was going on here than just an attempt to take on the Devil. This was an assault on Heaven itself. I knew that I couldn’t salvage this situation alone. I grabbed hold of the nearest person and spun him around. Instantly, I discovered that I hadn’t made a bad choice. I’d made an absolutely appalling one.

“What’s happening here?” said Lizard Neck with a smirk. “Must be the criminal returning to the scene of the crime.”

“You always thought you were so smart,” sneered his frying-pan-faced sidekick, who as luck would have it was standing alongside him. “Well this time you made the biggest mistake of your life.”

Before I could move, Lizard Neck had me pinned to the ground, while Frying Pan was pulling my arms behind my back and sticking on the cuffs.

“You have to let me go!” I screamed. “You don’t understand what’s happening here.”

“Oh we don’t, do we?” said Lizard Neck. “Then perhaps you’ll be able to explain it to us through the bars of your cell.”

I yelled and swore and struggled with all my might, but against the two of them my resistance was futile. There was nothing I could do to stop myself from being trussed up and dragged away. But then another voice spoke.

“You don’t have to take him. Why don’t you leave him with me? I’ll look after him.”

We all turned. Standing right behind us was my old friend, the bellhop. I couldn’t help but recall every charming detail of him, from the arrogant tilt of his head to the intense stare of his green eyes and the feel of his rank breath on my face.

The cops looked at each other, clearly unsure about whether they’d be breaching any of their non-existent protocols.

“C’mon fellas,” said the bellhop. “I’m in charge of the Gates now. If anyone is responsible for dealing with Peter’s kidnapper, it should be me.”

That seemed good enough for the two cops. They mumbled something about it being close to bedtime and then disappeared.

I looked at the bellhop. It seemed like a longshot, but I didn’t think I’d have another chance.

“I know we didn’t get off to the best start, but you need to listen to me now. This situation is extremely urgent.”

The bellhop didn’t say anything. For a moment, he looked at me with a lopsided kind of grin. The next moment, his fist was on a collision course with my face.

Something had to give. It wasn’t going to be his fist.