Текст книги "A Fate Worse Than Death"

Автор книги: Jonathan Gould

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Chapter 2

I STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of God’s chamber, averting my eyes from the blinding glare. Part of me wanted to bow down before Him. Another part suggested I should be prostrating myself fully. A third part convinced me that total paralysis was the preferable option. I might have made some incomprehensible noises. In short, I completely failed to come up with any kind of coherent response. Presently, He spoke again.

“I’m sorry. It’s the light, isn’t it. Give me a moment. I’ll just turn it down.”

Within the haze of light, I could just make out the movement of an arm. Then, gradually, the glow diminished, and before too long I began to be able to make sense of my surroundings, if “sense” was the right word to use.

Everything within this chamber was utterly ordinary in the most magnificent way. The couch against the far wall wouldn’t have looked out of place in a cut-price motel, save for the fact that the legs were mahogany and the cushions were rich red velvet. The old cathode ray television sitting opposite had been carved from a solid block of granite and featured a screen of shimmering crystal. The patterned wallpaper on all sides was embossed with gold thread, while the floral curtains that hung over the single window were woven from sheer silk. As far as I could tell, the only things missing were three flying ducks on the wall, cut from twenty-carat diamonds.

God Himself was sitting on the couch. He was a stout old man, dressed in a robe not dissimilar to Peter’s but somewhat more worn. He had a large round head, capped by a thick shock of ragged white hair and underscored by an equally ragged white beard. His skin was rough and lined, His nose was bulbous, and His eyes glistened from beneath a hedge of bushy eyebrows. He looked exactly the way God was supposed to look, only slightly shorter.

“That’s better,” He grunted as He placed what looked like a gem-encrusted remote control back on the armrest. “Now Mr Clarenden, as I was saying, you’re probably wondering why I summoned you here today.”

I tried to open my mouth, only to discover my tongue had gone missing. I sent a search team to look for it. It seemed to have found a hiding place at the back of my throat, right behind my tonsils. I sent a retrieval team down to try to bring it home. Mission accomplished, I finally managed to speak.

“I think I know what you’re about to say, and I’m ready to face it. I know I haven’t lived the best life I could have, but I’m fully prepared to accept my fate.”

God gave me a puzzled look for a moment. Then He let out a throaty, husky chuckle.

“You think that’s why I called you here? You think I would go to all that effort and have Peter escort you directly through the Gates, just for that? Absolutely not. It’s definitely not that time for you yet.”

My tongue was gone again. This time, it was way past my tonsils and halfway down my throat. I could only look at God with a gaping mouth, like a puffer fish at a dentist appointment.

“You mean I’m not dead?” I finally managed to squeak.

“That’s a difficult question to answer. There are certain rules of the natural world that even I am not able to circumvent. In order to bring you up here, you’ve had to go through what was essentially a death experience, and I apologise for any discomfort that may have caused. Still, you have been summoned for a very specific purpose before your time is supposed to be up, so I guess technically you’re not really dead. By the way, can I offer you a cigarette?”

“No thanks, I always did mean to give them up.” I assumed this was the response He would want.

“Suit yourself. Hope you don’t mind if I have one.” He took a gold cigarette case and a glistening silver lighter from out of His robe. Then He lit up a cigarette and puffed contentedly on it. “Dreadful habit, I know, but I just can’t help myself. My doctor hates it. Says it’ll be the death of me. Typical damn quacks.”

Sitting in Heaven and watching God smoking a cigarette was not quite how I’d expected this night to end, but a private investigator had to be prepared for all eventualities. And I couldn’t exactly say it was a blow to discover I wasn’t about to be sent down to the fiery pit. Maybe I was actually going to catch a break for once in my surprisingly extended life.

“So if I’m not dead, what am I doing here? I assume you didn’t invite me up for tea and cookies.”

“You assume correct,” said God, taking another puff on His gasper. “I need you for a job.”

“You need me for a job?” I echoed dumbly. It looked like there were some eventualities this private investigator was not prepared for.

“That’s what I just said,” God grumbled, somewhat impatiently. “I have an urgent need for the services of someone such as yourself. I have a . . . problem that is quite delicate and personal. And I am prepared to reward you well for your services.”

The prospect of being well rewarded for my services was possibly the strangest concept of all to me, but it was one I was more than happy to go along with. It was time to get down to business.

“Tell me about this delicate problem,” I said. “What’s this job I’ve been summoned here to do?”

God put the cigarette down on a diamond ashtray and cleared His throat again. “My son has gone missing, Mr Clarenden. I need you to find him for me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Jesus?”

“No, not Jesus. Phil.”

“I thought your son’s name was Jesus.”

“It is.”

“Then who is Phil?”

“My other son. I have two sons. One is Jesus and the other one is Phil. Phil is the one I need you to find.”

“Where is Jesus?”

“I don’t know,” said God as He picked up His cigarette again.

“Do you want me to find him too?”

“No, no, no,” spluttered God, the smoke streaming from His mouth in three different directions. “I don’t know where Jesus is because he’s away at the moment. He often goes down to Earth to check up on things for me.”

“You mean the second coming has already happened?”

“The second coming, and the third, and the fourth. He’s learned to keep a much lower profile these days, after all that messy business the first time around. Still, sometimes it’s hard for him. People always want to follow him. He’s very charismatic. See, have a look at these photos.”

God pointed over to the shelf beside the television where a bunch of photos stood: a series of family shots of God and Jesus celebrating events such as birthdays, graduations, and homecomings. My eyes were instantly drawn to the younger man with the flowing brown hair, the beard, and the expression of inner calm. It took me a while to realise there was a second young man in the photos.

He was utterly ordinary looking. His hair was cropped short, and his clean-shaven face was pleasant but uninteresting. His mouth was permanently caught halfway between a smile and a frown, while his eyes never looked directly at the camera. He seemed to hang at the back of the photos, deflecting all attention to his more compelling father and brother. Compared to God and Jesus, he was like a dry cracker sitting next to a box of chocolates.

“This is Phil?” I indicated the other young man in the photos.

God nodded. “He’s nothing like Jesus. It’s not at all like him to go missing. He’s much more the stay-at-home type.”

“With digs like this, I don’t blame him. So what does he do while he’s staying at home?”

“He helps me out with . . . certain things.”

“What sorts of things?”

“Just a few odds and ends. A little of this and a little of that.”

“A little of this and a little of that can add up to quite a lot. A little more information would be helpful.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Clarenden. When I said this was a personal matter, I meant it. There are some things I am unable to share with you.”

God’s evasiveness was frustrating, but I wasn’t going to question it. Respecting a client’s privacy was an important part of the job. And besides, it didn’t seem smart to bring down His wrath upon me, at least not until I knew Him a bit better. I figured I’d better go with whatever He was prepared to tell me.

“Can you at least tell me when you last saw him?” I said.

“It’s been over a week now. He was supposed to be going out for lunch with Raphael—that’s one of my angels—but he didn’t keep the appointment. That in itself is completely unlike him. He’s usually very reliable. Since then, I have seen neither hide nor hair of him. I am concerned, Mr Clarenden. I don’t know if he’ll be able to look after himself. I need you to find him as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll do my best. But before I start, can I ask you one thing?”

“Anything, if it will help.”

“Why me?”

“What do you mean?” God finished His cigarette and reached into His robe to take out another one.

“I was just thinking there must be hundreds of brilliant, dead detectives up here in Heaven. So why ask me? Why go to all the effort of summoning me, a no-bit bum who hasn’t solved a case in five years, when you could have hired Sherlock Holmes or the French guy with the moustache or anyone else like that?”

God finished lighting the cigarette. “As I mentioned, this is a delicate business. My family occupies a privileged position here in Heaven. We enjoy a certain status which I am unwilling to compromise. Therefore, I have been forced to keep the fact of Phil’s disappearance a secret.”

“You don’t want anyone to know. I can understand that. But how does that affect me?”

“Think logically. If Sherlock Holmes, or someone like that, was to start nosing around and asking lots of questions about Phil, especially when no one has seen him for a week, people would begin to get suspicious very quickly. I’d be faced with a lot of highly uncomfortable questions.”

“It wouldn’t look good. It would weaken your authority.”

“Precisely. However, if a no-bit bum, as you so accurately described yourself, was to be looking around and asking the same questions, I suspect nobody would care too much one way or another.”

God’s point was well made. Not too tactful, but well made.

“I mean,” God went on, “what other detective would be so incompetent, he would let himself be outfoxed by a troop of Girl Scouts?”

“That was one mean troop of Girl Scouts.”

“What other detective would be so inept, he would hand a missing dog to a suspicious wife, and photos of an unfaithful husband to a bereaved dog owner?”

“I got confused. I’m not used to having one job at a time, let alone two. And besides, the husband and the dog were virtually indistinguishable.”

“What other detective would be so stupid, he would accidentally bug his own home and then spend hours transcribing his own conversations?”

“All right,” I growled, “I think you’ve made your point. Besides, this is a bit rich coming from the God who created Brussels sprouts and insurance companies.”

“Touché,” said God. He took another drag from His cancer stick and then continued. “I think you should know that despite all of that, I have complete faith in your ability to solve this case.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

I turned and took a couple of steps over to the television and back, considering the assignment. God’s barbs hadn’t exactly filled me with a warm glow of self-assurance. Then again, compared to some of those recent jobs, going undercover as a dead guy seemed like a definite step forward.

“So tell me, can you think of anyone who may have held a grudge against your son?”

“This is Heaven,” said God. “It’s a place of peace and love. It is not a place where people hold grudges of any kind. And definitely not against any of my sons.”

“You’re sure you have no idea what might have happened to him?”

“Of course I have no idea. If I did, I wouldn’t have hired you. What do you expect? Do you think I can see everything?”

“Actually, I thought you could.”

God thought for a moment, the cigarette smoldering in His fingers. “You’re right, I can see everything,” He said after a while. “But it’s the darnedest thing. Even I can’t seem to see what happened to Phil. It’s as if there’s some kind of shadow or darkness blocking my vision.”

Now that was something I definitely didn’t want to know more about. God’s talk of impenetrable shadows made me think again of the darkness I had floated through on my way into the light—the darkness I’d assumed I was going to be consumed by. I shivered at the thought and tried to force it from my mind by focussing on more cheerful things.

“Before we take this any further, I believe there is the issue of payment to discuss. You mentioned that you were prepared to reward me well for my services. Plus, I have my expenses to consider. How many dollars are we talking about?”

God laughed His throaty laugh again. “Did you ever hear the expression ‘money is the root of all evil’?”

“Of course.”

“Well it’s true. You’ll have no need for money up here. Anything you could want in Heaven, from any restaurant, shop, or market, can be acquired free of charge. No, I offer you a reward far more valuable than anything money can buy. Would you like to know what it is?”

Part of me groaned inwardly. I’d heard this line far too often from potential clients who had no intention of paying. But then I reminded myself that this was God talking. Presumably He’d have something better to offer than a group hug when the job was over.

I nodded.

“I present to you the most valuable payment anyone could ever receive. An opportunity to restore your life. To right all your wrongs and fix all your mistakes. What I offer is a second chance. What do you say to that, Mr Clarenden?” He lit up another cigarette.

I mulled over God’s offer. This job was clearly not going to be a walk in the park. Even the sorts of parks I was used to walking in—with rusted-out playgrounds, weed-choked lawns, and sinister figures lurking in the shadows—seemed bright and pleasant when compared to the impenetrable shadows that God Himself couldn’t see through. And yet, the idea of a second chance was pretty alluring. After the mess I’d made of my first attempt at life, the prospect of going back to have another shot was like sweet music to my previously tone-deaf ears.

It didn’t take long for me to convince myself that the positives outweighed the negatives. Sure, I might be taking on forces beyond imagining, but it seemed worth it for a chance to fix all of my mistakes. And it only seemed fair, given I had made an awful lot of mistakes.

“I say I am at your service. The sooner I can get started, the better.”

“That’s what I like to hear. But remember, with payment comes responsibility. As I mentioned before, Heaven is a place of peace. I’ve worked long and hard to make it that way. If I find you are causing trouble and interfering with that peace, you will not only lose that second chance, but you will be off the case, permanently. Do I make myself clear?”

“As clear as the water at a beach after a shark has been spotted.”

“Splendid,” said God. He pulled on a chain that hung beside the couch. Immediately, the door opened and the tall servant reappeared. He stood by the door with a pained expression on his face, gently waving his hand in front of his nose—trying to repel the cigarette smoke while not drawing attention to the fact he was doing it.

“I have organised the rental of a small office for you,” said God. “Gabriel here will show you where it is. He will also assist you in any way possible. If there is anything you need, he’s the man to ask.”

I pointed to the servant, Gabriel, and put a finger to my lips.

“No, it’s all right,” said God. “Gabriel is to be trusted. He knows about Phil’s disappearance. But he’s the only one. Remember, no one else is to know the true nature of your presence in Heaven. No one.”

“No one will know,” I assured God.

“Good. Now go. Search Heaven for me. Find my son and bring him back to me.” And with that, God turned away and picked up His remote control again.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me,” said Gabriel, sounding even less interested in me than he had been at our prior meeting.

I made to follow him out the door, but a flaring pain in the vicinity of my chest reminded me of the rather violent way I’d been forced to depart the land of the living.

“Before I go, can I ask one more question?” I said with a grimace.

“Anything,” said God.

“I’ve just been shot. Is there a doctor around here I can see?”

“I’m sorry, I quite forgot. Gabriel, please take Mr Clarenden to see my personal physician immediately.”

As I left God’s chamber, the sound of coughing tempted me to take one quick look back. Through the smoky haze that filled the room, I could just make out the figure of God lighting another cigarette and then raising the remote control and pointing it at the television.

Chapter 3

GABRIEL LED ME UPA FLIGHT OF STAIRS and down a short corridor. He opened a door at the end of the hall and I followed him through. We were in a small surgery. A little man with thinning brown hair and large glasses sat writing at a desk. He looked up with an enquiring expression as we entered.

“Dr Galapagos, I have an important patient for you to see,” said Gabriel.

“Important, is he?” said the doctor. He put down his pen and stood up. “If you’d be so kind as to give me and my patient a little privacy,” he said to Gabriel, who promptly turned up his nose and exited, closing the door behind him.

“Now would you like to take a seat on the bed, Mr . . . ”

“Clarenden. Jimmy Clarenden.”

I sat down on the bed. The doctor took his chair and sat across from me. He sniffed loudly and then screwed up his nose.

“You don’t have to tell me who you’ve been speaking to,” he grunted. “The Lord of Nicotine Himself.”

“A man needs a hobby,” I said. It seemed that doctors in Heaven weren’t all that different from doctors back in the land of the living.

“Then why can’t He take up lawn bowls or flower arranging?” Dr Galapagos grumbled. “That damn Walter Raleigh. I told Peter not to let him through the Gates, but does anyone listen to a silly old doctor?” He threw his arms up in despair. “Within five minutes, He was smoking like a chimney stack.”

I shrugged. As I did so, another bolt of pain ripped through my shoulders. I must have groaned because the doctor immediately ceased his griping.

“Looks like you didn’t have an easy trip up here.”

“I’ve been shot, doc. Too many times to count. I figure at the moment I’m the holeyest man in Heaven.”

“Very droll,” the doctor chuckled. He eased off my shirt and examined the numerous, bloody wounds. Then he walked over to his desk and took some ointment from one of the drawers. “Apply this to the wounds three times a day and that should do it.”

“I think I’ll need something a bit stronger than that. We’re not talking about a grazed knee here.”

“On the contrary, this should be more than sufficient. You probably don’t even need it, but I’d hate for you to think I wasn’t doing my job. The thing is, Heaven is a wonderfully therapeutic place. Something to do with the air up here, I believe. A couple of days and you won’t even remember you’ve been shot. But if you’re still not convinced, let me give you a quick checkup as well.”

The doctor went through the usual routine. He looked down my throat and in my ears, and then he took out a stethoscope. As he pressed it to my chest, an expression of puzzlement crossed his brow.

“Is there something wrong with my heart?” I asked.

“Yes, there most certainly is. It’s beating!”

The doc was clearly onto me. I figured I had little choice but to be as up-front as I could. “There’s a simple explanation for that. I’m kind of, sort of not completely dead.”

“Then what are you doing up here?” Luckily, before I could rack my brain for a suitable answer, he continued. “No, don’t tell me. He moves in mysterious ways. I’m sure He has His reasons. I suppose I’d better let you get on with whatever it is you’re meant to be doing, Mr Clarenden.”

I put my shirt on and stood up.

“Thanks for your help, doc,” I said. “Just one more thing before I go.”

“How may I be of assistance?”

“I don’t suppose you have any aspirin? I’ve got one doozy of a hangover.”

* * *

I rejoined Gabriel outside the doctor’s office.

“Are you feeling better now, Mr Clarenden?” he asked as his eyes studied a spot on the wall behind me.

“About as fine as a tropical hailstorm.”

“Very good,” he said. “If you will follow me, I shall get you the directions to your office.” He began to walk back down the hall.

“Wait a moment,” I called as I hurried to catch up.

He stopped, turned around, and stood staring at me as if I were a stain on the carpet.

“Before you take me to my office, I’d like to talk to you for a moment about Phil.”

“There really isn’t much I can say. Master Phil is a fine young gentleman.”

“Come on, there must be more to it than that. There must be something you can tell me.”

“I can tell you nothing. But if you really don’t believe me―perhaps if I show you his bedroom you will understand.”

“That was the next thing I was going to ask you to do.”

Gabriel led me down the corridor to a small door, hidden just to the left of the stairs.

“The residential quarters,” he explained. “Members of the public are not usually permitted in here.”

He opened the door and walked through. I followed and then stopped, blinking in disbelief. For a moment, I thought that maybe the painkillers the doc had given me were messing with my head. I had never in my life seen anything like this before.

We were in a huge hall that swept away as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was so high it could barely be glimpsed, gleaming far above my head. The walls were adorned with paintings and tapestries that could only have been the work of grand masters. The massive columns that supported the roof were embellished with carvings of amazing intricacy and studded with diamonds and other jewels. To create this place, God must have gathered every great artist that had ever lived for the past three thousand years and then let them loose.

I followed Gabriel through the hall, passing marvels of art that would have made a museum curator feel like a stamp collector. My eyes were popping out like a cartoon mouse’s, and my mouth was hanging so far open that my jaw was dragging along the ground. Finally, Gabriel produced a key and unlocked a door. I crossed the threshold, holding my breath in anticipation of what new wonders would greet me.

It was a room, a bed, a desk. No gold or silver. No jewels or sculptures. Just a simple, basic room with timber shelves, a worn old carpet, and a patterned cotton sheet on the bed. After the magnificence of the hall, this was a major letdown. I turned to Gabriel.

“Why so plain?”

“The Master felt it was important to give His children as normal an upbringing as possible. He always said that just because they were the sons of God, that was no reason to spoil them.”

“Your boss is a clever fellow.”

“Infinitely so.” Gabriel lifted an arm and began fiddling with the sleeve.

I took the hint and began to examine the room more closely. There was an overpowering sense of neatness to it. The bed was neatly made. The desk had a couple of pens and a notepad neatly arranged on it, while the shelves above were neatly packed with books and ornaments. I opened the closet to see a neatly organised assortment of clothes on one side, and a tennis racquet and some balls neatly placed on the other. If being neat was an Olympic sport, this Phil would be up on the podium brandishing a gold medal.

I closed the closet and walked across the room to inspect the desk. The notepad had a series of mathematical calculations written on the first three pages. The books arranged on the shelves above had titles like Introduction to Elementary Accounting and Learning Balance Sheets the Fun Way.

“What’s with the books?” I asked.

Gabriel reluctantly looked up from his sleeve adjusting. “Master Phil is a keen student of the financial sciences.”

A “student of the financial sciences” seemed like a pretty fancy name for a bean counter. I had a lot of names for my accountant, but none of them sounded as nice as that.

I scanned the shelves further and, at last, my eyes alit on something out of the ordinary. Amongst the ornaments displayed was a group of items that seemed completely out of place in the room: a long hunting knife, a deadly-looking spear, a collection of fearsome native carvings. Was it possible that underneath the neatness and the number crunching, this fine young gentleman did have a darker side? I picked up one of the carvings.

“What’s a nice boy like Phil doing with a nasty thing like this?”

“A gift from Master Jesus. He travels a lot, often to quite exotic places. He always brings back the most remarkable things.”

So much for that idea. I put the carving back.

“Do you see what I mean, Mr Clarenden?” Gabriel’s voice somehow managed to convey a mix of both triumph and complete indifference.

I nodded. It seemed Gabriel was right. If Phil had a dark side, soap and detergent couldn’t have made it any lighter. There was nothing to see in this room that might have aroused any kind of suspicion.

“I suppose I’d be wasting my time if I asked if you had any idea where Phil might be,” I said to Gabriel.

“I suppose you would be.” Gabriel had already turned his back and was leaving the room.

I followed. As we began walking back down the majestic hall, I considered what I had learned so far.

My missing person didn’t seem to be anyone special. An average kid, hard-working, neat. There was just one thing that made him stand out in a big way, like a kangaroo in a chicken coop.

How many people could claim a parentage like his? How many kids could say they were the son of God? Just two, it would seem. From what I had gleaned about Phil, he didn’t sound like the type to boast, but it wouldn’t be something he could hide either. Had he perhaps been kidnapped and held hostage? Was there someone in Heaven with the nerve to hold God to ransom?

This theory seemed the strongest possibility so far, except it had one major flaw: God had made no reference to a ransom note. I knew He had been holding things back, but surely He wouldn’t want to conceal such a crucial piece of evidence. Even Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t be able to solve the case if that sort of information was withheld.

By this time, we had come to the door at the end of the hall. Before we departed, I figured I should treat my eyes to one last look back. I couldn’t help noticing that amidst the gleaming splendor, there were three points of light gliding towards us. As I looked more closely, the lights began to resolve into figures. I pointed them out to Gabriel.

“Angels,” Gabriel sniffed.

“I don’t see any wings?”

“Probably at the dry cleaners.”

As the figures drew near, I could see there were two women and one man. They seemed to radiate light, though it was less blindingly brilliant than the light in God’s chamber. Still, I was beginning to realise Heaven was not a good place for those with sensitive eyes.

Gabriel did the introductions in a tone you could have mixed with whiskey.

“Mr Clarenden, it is my utter delight to present to you the archangels of my Master’s court, Sally, Jessie, and Raphael.” He turned to the angels. “If you would be so kind as to entertain Mr Clarenden, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Then he disappeared through the door at the end of the hall.

I looked at the angels. Well, that’s not quite true. I looked at the one angel standing in front of the other two, the one Gabriel had introduced as Sally. It was hard to look anywhere else.

She was stunning. Let me rephrase that. She was beyond stunning. No, let me try again. She was beyond beyond stunning. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders like flowing sheets of gold and her eyes sparkled with piercing blue fire. Her lips were red and moist and drawn up into a slightly mocking smile, while her legs, barely concealed by a shorter-than-short robe, were surely the most finely crafted artifacts in the whole of this hall.

“Mr Clarenden,” she purred. “Not Mr Jimmy Clarenden?” Her voice was as clear as an iceberg and just as dangerous.

“It’s hard to tell,” I said. “I’m a master of disguises.”

“So I hear.” She laughed. “They tell me that in your previous life, you were disguised as a private investigator.”

“The best disguise I ever created. It lasted twenty years and no one ever saw through it.”

“How strange that no one saw through it. I hear you haven’t actually solved a case for over five years.”

“Just part of the cover. Wouldn’t want to appear too successful. I’d hate to draw unwanted attention to myself.” I fixed her in the eyes as I spoke.

She paused. For a moment, those fiery eyes locked onto mine, trying to stare me into submission. When my face didn’t drop, she wavered and looked away.

“What are you doing here, Clarenden?” she said softly. Underneath the ice, I could hear just the tiniest shred of doubt.

“What is anyone doing here?” I said. “Enjoying the rewards due after a life of toil and struggle.”

“Toil and struggle? You wouldn’t know toil and struggle if it came up behind you and kicked you in the pants.”

“A kick in the pants would be a lot more pleasant than this welcoming committee. Is this the sort of greeting people usually get when they enter God’s kingdom?”

“You think you got a rotten welcome? You should see the send-off they gave you.”

She raised a finger and pointed up to the nearest painting on the wall. Instantly, the image was replaced by a television screen. On the screen, a small group was visible, standing outside a church beside a grave. It was my own funeral.

A tired-looking priest was speaking. “It betides us ill to speak poorly of the dead,” he intoned, “however in the case of Jimmy Clarenden, I’m not sure there’s much else we can do.”

The others in the group murmured in agreement and then took turns approaching the grave. My accountant, Charlie Singbuck, was the first.

“Jimmy, I’m always real sorry whenever I lose a client,” he said. “But for you I’m happy to make an exception.”

The next person to approach was Stan, the barman at the Greasy Shamrock, a venue where I had spent a good portion of my waking hours. He wasn’t much better.

“Jimmy, I just want you to know that business is booming now that we’ve finally gotten rid of you. The Shamrock has never been so busy. Thanks.”