by D A Walmsley
Chapter 5
Simon Peter wakes up and for a second doesn’t know where he is. A yawn has trouble escaping as his tongue has stuck itself to the roof of his mouth. It feels as dry as the Judean desert. He reaches over for Ruth, only to find that she isn’t next to him. He sits up, the double bed small in comparison to his six foot frame. He looks around the room, oh that’s right, he’s in Jerusalem. It was certainly a long night. How many bottles of wine did they get through? He braces himself for the pounding to start. Huh, it doesn’t, no headache! It has been years since he’s come to the city and visited some of the clients the fishing business supplies. Every one of them had opened a bottle. How can you say no? He had thought about just sticking to beer, but didn’t want to appear a typical unsophisticated working class lad from up north, and the wine they all chose did accompany the fish perfectly. Normally Zebedee or Andrew are the ones to schmooze the clients and his brother was all set to do this trip alone, but Simon Peter had other ideas; there was no way he was going to miss out on this one, oh no.
He gets up and showers before heading downstairs. As he enters the kitchen, Andrew is already up, sitting at the table, nursing his head and sipping a drink. Simon Peter opens the fridge door, aargh it’s empty…of course it is, this place isn’t used that much. Zebedee has a second home in the city, an investment property bought cheap in the recession. The plan was to sell when the economy recovered but his family like it so much they’ve kept hold of it.
“There’s no milk, if you’re thinking about having a drink,” says Andrew.
“Ughh, I don’t know how you can drink black coffee?”
“Easy, it means I don’t have to remember to buy milk.”
Simon Peter’s stomach rumbles as he looks through the empty cupboards; he really needs to eat something.
“No point hanging around here, come on,” he says, eager to get going.
Zebedee’s house is in the suburbs of Jerusalem, a ten minute taxi ride from the old city. Like most others its appearance is just a white box with a flat roof. The neighbourhood is good and well kept, but it is easy to get lost as the houses look all the same and the roads are not very well signposted. They had driven down in Andrew’s truck. Knowing the state of his own, Simon Peter is quite happy to let him. As they drive along, he can’t help looking up at the majesty of the old city on the hill, its yellow stone setting it apart from the modern new white buildings surrounding it. Andrew heads towards the main road, but instead of going north back home to Capernaum they have other plans. The first being to get something to eat and drink, then on to Bethabara, a place the sat-nav has apparently never heard of. The info Andrew had from the latest emails and texts aren’t much help either; they just say Bethabara.
Andrew has an idea where it might be and thinks it’s worth a shot as it’ll only be twenty odd miles away, should only take half an hour.
Simon Peter is starting to get excited. He has been looking forward to this ever since Zebedee mentioned a trip south was on the cards. Ruth wasn’t too pleased but she has her mother staying, so she’ll be fine.
An hour and a twenty minutes later, much of which was spent trying to negotiate their way through the grid lock that’s Jerusalem’s rush hour, Andrew finally sees a road sign up ahead. Bethany (Bethabara) 2 miles.
“See, there we are, not far now!” exclaims Andrew, pleased with himself.
“There had better be shops, I’m starving.”
It looks like they’re not the only ones making the journey. Cars line both sides of the road leading into the town and predictably the traffic comes to a halt. Not again - all they’ve done this morning is queue in traffic. When several people pass them on foot Simon Peter thinks it’s time to park up and walk, so when the cars slowly move forward again he points to a side street.
“Why don’t we park up, this is ridiculous.”
Andrew agrees and turns off, finding a space to park his truck.
Simon Peter has no problems leaving his overnight bag showing on the back seat, but Andrew having brought his Laptop decides it’s best if he takes it with him.
“Good, if you’re taking that you can fit in some books I want signing,” says Simon Peter handing Andrew his copies of A Voice Shouting in the Wilderness and his favourite, Brood of Vipers. Andrew pops them in the bag alongside his laptop.
Not knowing where they’re going they just follow the crowds, until Andrew spots a bakery.
“Oh at last,” says Simon Peter.
In the shop, there’s a dozen people queuing. Two women are serving behind the counter; both look fed up.
Finally it’s his turn, “passing trade’s good this morning,” he remarks.
“Eh, oh yeah, I see what you mean, very good.”
“Can I have a couple of those large pasties, two iced buns and a large white coffee please.” While the assistant gets his order he turns to Andrew.
“You having anything?”
“Oh, I thought…a pasty and a black coffee, thanks.”
The woman hears and nods.
“Don’t suppose you know where I can find…” Before he finishes his sentence the woman says, “Oh so you are one of them too are ya?”
“One of what?”
The question seems to baffle her and she ignores it “Er…That’ll be eight seventy four.”
Simon Peter takes a sip of the hot coffee, finally his mouth can re-hydrate. Before they’ve even left the shop he takes a bite out of a pasty.
“Oh that’s good,” he announces to those in the queue.
Once outside they rejoin the throng, all going in the same direction. As they all go though a village and down a slope towards the river, he polishes off the whole lot. Mmm, just what he needed.
On the banks of the river Jordan, he and Andrew join thousands of others. Some of them, going by all the accents, have travelled hundreds of miles to be here.
Standing waist high in the river, with unkempt hair and a long beard is the preacher the press have dubbed John the Baptist. His message is simple. “The Kingdom of God is near, so turn from your sins and turn to God.” He then baptises people by dipping them in the river, making them clean before God.
They find a good spot on the grassy slope where Andrew finishes his breakfast, and Simon Peter sips his coffee. They watch as one after another go down to the river to be baptised. Every so often John stops and addresses the crowd, after which more people go forward.
“A lot of them are going be late for work this morning,” a man beside them remarks. Andrew laughs, agreeing with him.
“Come far?” the man asks.
“From Galilee,” says Simon Peter.
“Wow! Really, good for you.”
“Well, we were in the city on business, so we thought we’d try and see him.”
Simon Peter and Andrew had heard about John from a TV documentary entitled A Voice Shouting in the Wilderness, named after John’s first book. The wilderness being the desert country around Jericho. It showed John living a very simple life, going around the small towns and villages in the area with his message of repentance and baptism. It wasn’t until his second book, Brood of Vipers, attacking the holier than thou approach of the religious authorities, that his popularity took off. In this image obsessed world more interested with looks than substance, to some John is a laughing stock. But to others his words ring true and crowds flock to hear him speak and be baptised. This had struck a chord with the brothers.
Again John stops baptising, and turns his attention to the crowd. “I baptise with water those who turn from their sins, but someone is coming soon who is far greater than I am. So much greater that I am not even worthy to be his servant. He will baptise with the Holy Spirit and with fire.”
“Wow, did you hear that, S P?”
“I wonder who it is?”
More people get up and go forward to be baptised and Simon Peter feels the urge to get up and go down to the river himself. He resists, it’s not really his thing, but his hand
s start to shake and he gets all nervous. He fights it - no not me, not in front of all these people.
Feeling uncomfortable he gets up.
“I can’t just sit here, maybe I’ll just nip down and get my books signed.”
He stands up and the next minute he’s in the water and John, the actual John the Baptist, is lowering him down into the river. He is under the water for a second and when he is lifted up he makes quite a splash with his arms and it takes two of Johns’ assistants to help him. As he is led back to the bank of the river he’s sure he doesn’t feel any real difference - only he can’t stop smiling. He is given a towel and is handed his wallet and phone. It happened all too quickly. He looks back to where he’d been sitting, unable to see Andrew. That’s because his brother is right behind him coming out of the water.
As the sun is shining, they decide to sit back down and dry off a little before going home. He’s got a change of clothes in the truck but the truth is, he doesn’t want to leave. John has a few close friends who help him, one of them sits down next to Andrew. He asks him where they’re from, and does he have any questions?
“Yeah, who is this man John talked about?”
“He was here a minute ago, on the grass over there.” He points to the place where Simon Peter and Andrew had been sitting.
Chapter 6
Capernaum Police Station, the once white exterior now weathered and grey, isn’t as imposing these days. Today it’s half hidden in between larger office blocks and apartments. Inside it’s still got the same big wooden counter and light blue walls from when it was new, though they are now old and worn. The musty smell takes Matthew back to the first time he ever walked through the doors. It was two years after his parents had died, so he would have been thirteen. Old Eli had brought him here saying, “so, you enjoy the money; well, you also need to know the risks.” Sixteen years later this is still the worst part of a collectors life.
It’s busier these days. Three officers are behind the counter now, instead of one. He joins the queue and waits for his turn, listening to the utter trivial things people are here for. One woman is worried about her lost cat: a man wants to know what they are going to do about all the litter in his neighbourhood and an old woman in front of him wants something done about her noisy neighbours. An officer tries to look concerned and gives her a form to fill out.
“Next” he shouts, before recognising Matthew, “I know why you’re here….” Matthew nods.
“I’ll get someone to take you downstairs.”
“Thanks. Is Hebdon around?” asks Matthew.
The old woman interrupts, “Excuse me, I haven’t finished. What are you going to do about…?” Matthew turns, looking her straight in the eye and shouts “go away.” She looks at the officer who ignores her and phones officer Hebdon.
Officer Tim Hebdon comes out of his office and waves Matthew through. They walk along a corridor and down two flights of stairs, the same walk he did all those years ago.
“Isn’t it time they built a new station?”
“Tell me about it,” replies Hebdon, with a sigh of resignation. “Y’know they’ve got a new one in Chorazin.”
Matthew nods, “I do, intimately.”
The basement feels damp and cold. A fluorescent light flickers over a sign indicating Morgue. Hebdon tells Matthew to wait while he goes to a desk and explains to another officer the situation.
“Got your ID?” asks Hebdon, beckoning him over.
Matthew knows the drill and produces his driving licence and his official collectors licence.
“Any ID for the deceased?”
Matthew takes out two brown envelopes from his jacket pocket. He puts one on the desk and slides it over to Hebdon, who empties the paperwork out and hands it to the other officer who flicks through it. “That’s fine, come this way,” says the officer.
All three enter the morgue, but Matthew hangs back, standing in the entrance a second. He covers his nose and mouth with his hand, the pungent odour filling his nostrils. He knows the smell is a mixture of spices from traditional Jewish burials and the more modern embalming fluid. On a steel table is a body covered with a white sheet. The officer uncovers the head.
“Thanks, that will be all,” says Hebdon, hinting that the officer should leave.
When your occupation is violence, you’d think you would become accustomed to death, but Matthew hates it. He’s not yet seen a peaceful corpse. He’d said to old Eli all those years ago, “it looked like his soul had been sucked out.” Old Eli was a wise man; bringing his young impressionable nephew down here had helped keep Matthew alive.
“That’s him, that’s Dave Milo. Where?”
“An alley at the side of Angels nightclub.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s because it’s in the The Estate. What was he doing down there?”
“Nothing official.”
Hebdon covers up the body.
“Oh, this is for you.” Matthew hands over the other envelope.
“Much appreciated, ” says Hebdon peeking inside to see how generous Matthew has been this time.
“What about his belongings?” asks Matthew.
“We didn’t find anything, no weapon, wallet, keys, not even spare change.”
“You’ve not found his car then?”
“You know The Estate. We don’t have enough officers to cover half the city, let alone that place. I’m surprised someone even called us about your man.”
Matthew takes a business card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Hebdon.
“Do you know this guy?”
Hebdon looks at the card. On it is the name and number of Adam P Samuels, Funeral Director.
“All too well.”
“He’ll arrange collection.”
Both men shake hands and Matthew makes his way upstairs, getting out his mobile and dialling the office.
“Hey it’s me, get hold of Samuels and tell him to ring me, I’m going over to Dave’s place.”
It takes Matthew only half an hour to drive to the small town of Nain, the other side of Mount Tabor and south-west of Capernaum. He’d been to the town a few times but never to Dave’s apartment. Collectors, along with other government officials and many from the police force, live in their own community. Anyone helping the Union are seen as traitors and hated by society.
Dave had stayed put in Nain, never getting round to moving. Matthew always told his people that south Capernaum was the safest place to live, they have protection and safety in numbers.
Collectors are either born into the job, or drawn into it. Dave was the latter and when Matthew hired him, under next of kin Dave had left a blank. This means that under the law, Matthew must act as executor in the event of Dave’s death. The government includes a special clause in licences for the tax and debt businesses, as it was regularly having to sort out the mess of so many dead collectors. Matthew has an insurance policy just to cover the funeral costs of his employees, should they leave no next of kin.
The apartment on Cedar road is just off the main street. Matthew pulls up in front of the white two storey building and gets out of the car. A residents parking area, enough for four cars is to the left and there is a large Cyprus tree to the right. Matthew wonders why the road isn’t named after that tree as there haven’t been cedars around Galilee for generations. He also isn’t expecting to be the first here. He takes out his gun, holding it low down to avoid arousing suspicion. In the building there are four apartments, two up, two down. Matthew goes to number seven. He tries the handle. To his surprise it’s locked, maybe nobody has been after all. He looks around, the road is quiet, there’s no one about, “Okay, Dave, lets see what sort of security you have.”
Matthew steps back a few feet and then as hard as he can, lays into it with his shoulder. There is a crack of plastic, but the door stays intact. He tries again and this time one side comes away from the wall, leaving him enough room to squeeze in. In front of him are stairs lea
ding to the first-floor apartment. Going up them two at a time Matthew stops when he reaches the top, his feet crunching on broken glass.
Someone has been here. The place is trashed; every cupboard, every drawer has been emptied onto the floor. Matthew rubs his shoulder, puts his gun away and goes into the living room. A black leather suite has been slashed with a knife, a chrome finished cabinet is in pieces. That’s it, they’ve taken everything of value. He looks through the rest of the apartment; it’s the same. What’s left is smashed up or of little worth. Matthew rummages through the papers on the bedroom floor, looking for anything that may be important. He picks up an official looking letter with an insurance company’s name on it. The address is here in Nain, let’s see what this is for?
He rings the number at the top of the letter.
A woman answers, “Good Morning, Nain Insurance, how may I help you?”
“Hello. I’m ringing on behalf of a Mr D.R. Milo account number DRM995483, could you tell me what kind of policy he has with you?”
“One moment please.”
There is silence for a few minutes until a man’s voice speaks. “Hello, I’m the manager, how may I help? Matthew repeats the question again.
“Hello, is that a Mr Milo?”
“No, this is his employer.”
“Well, I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to give out customer information.”
Matthew rings off, not even bothering to say thank you and goodbye.
The address for Nain insurance is along the main road, so Matthew decides to walk there and talk to the manager in person.
The office has several staff either tapping away on computers or talking on phones. There’s an empty chair behind the nearest desk. Matthew suspects it belongs to a receptionist as nobody even looks up at him. He decides to find the manager himself and goes towards an office at the back of the room. A young man with a headset on looks up. “Excuse me sir, you can’t go in there.”
