by Roger Hurn
‘At first Angie was excited,’ Susan told us. ‘She said she’d met this lovely lad who was just the coolest boy in the world. And when I asked what made him so cool, she said he was in the Church of the Dark Light. Well, knowing how mad Angie is about music I thought that was probably a rock group and he was the singer or something, but Angie laughed at me and said the Church of the Dark Light was way more special than a band.’ Susan’s mumsy face clouded over at the memory. ‘It was then I started to feel a bit uncomfortable. I asked her if this boy was religious, but Angie went all mysterious on me and said it wasn’t that kind of church.’ Worry lines etched themselves deep into her forehead. ‘Anyway, the more I asked her about this boy the more she clammed up. Every time she went out to meet him, she came back moodier and ruder than before. Then one day I decided to confront her about her behaviour and we had a huge row and she just walked out on me. I don’t know where she is, but I found this in her room and it scared me witless.’
Susan handed me a piece of paper with a YouTube link on it. I gave it to Carly who typed it in to the steam driven computer on her desk and then we sat back and watched. A smooth looking guy of about my age appeared on the screen. I thought he must have been wearing some kind of fancy contact lenses because his eyes were an impossibly rich shade of sapphire. His voice was a velvet caress.
‘Look inside yourself and see the darkness that lies there.’ He paused for a heartbeat. ‘Don’t be frightened or ashamed of that darkness, but embrace it and it will set you free. This is my promise to you.’ He smiled a smile that seemed to say I know you and you can’t hide yourself from me. Then the picture faded to black. I gave a shudder. It felt like someone had just walked over my grave.
Carly was unimpressed. ‘He looks like the guy from that advert who wears black polo necks and climbs in the bedroom window to leave a box of chocolates on your bed.’
Susan looked at her. ‘Well, he gives me the creeps.’
Carly nodded. ‘Oh yeah, he’s well creepy all right.’
‘Yes, but who is he?’ I thought it was time to start asking some questions to show that I was the detective here and to get this investigation up and running.
Carly scanned the screen.
‘He’s Azrael Bodach. He’s the Arch Mage of the Church of the Dark Light. He’s had 261 views – which is just lame. And 37 likes, 5 thumbs down and three stupid comments: “Awesome”, “Oh Wow”, and “Amazing eyes.” She hit a few more keys. ‘Ok, I’ve googled him, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone called Azrael Bodach online.’
I nodded. ‘And something tells me that, whoever this guy is; Azrael Bodach isn’t the name he was born with.’
Carly gave me a “No shit, Sherlock!” look, but she said nothing and typed in some more stuff. Then she bit her lip and frowned. She does that when she’s concentrating. It’s irritatingly cute. ‘Hey, guess what? Azrael is some kind of Angel of Death and Bodach is another name for the bogeyman.’ She looked at us eagerly. ‘So I guess that kind of ties in with all the Church of the Dark Light garbage.’
‘Well done, Carly. That GCSE you got in surfing the internet is really paying dividends today.’ I grinned at her, but she scowled back and, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Susan staring at me. Carly and I bickered constantly, but now wasn’t the time. I changed tack. ‘No, seriously, that’s really helpful. And, of course “Arch Mage” means top wizard, so I think it tells us that this guy’s some kind of New Age chancer who’s done his “dark arts” homework and given himself a mystical sounding title to hook in the gullible!’
Susan winced and Carly glared at me.
‘Not that I’m saying Angie is at all gullible,’ I said quickly. ‘But obviously cult leaders do make a play for people who are vulnerable or looking for answers. And who better to give them answers than a wise man? Because that’s what a mage is.’
‘You said it was a wizard.’ Carly wasn’t going to help me out of the hole I’d been digging for myself.
‘Yeah, it is, but if you think back to your school nativity play, the three wise men were called the Magi.’
Carly was about to snap back a smart answer, but she caught herself and said, ‘Oh yeah, that’s right, they were.’
Susan smiled at her. ‘And I bet you were Mary in the play weren’t you, dear?’
Carly shrugged. ‘Well, I was, but Miss Collins slung me out for hitting Joseph with the baby Jesus doll.’
Somehow this didn’t surprise me and I felt an instant sympathy for the long suffering Miss Collins.
‘Yes, well, fascinating as that is, Carly, it doesn’t actually get us any further forward. So, here’s what we’re going to do. You give your two mates who met the Dark Lighter guy a text and arrange for us to go and have a chat with them. They may well have some information that will help us – even if they don’t realise it.’
Chapter Three
I was standing with Carly on a street corner in some god forsaken estate in North London when two girls in their late teens sauntered up to us. They looked like they were auditioning for the part of the hookers from Grand Theft Auto. They both hugged Carly and then gave me the once over. Carly introduced us.
‘Adele, Layla, this is Ryan. He’s sort of my boss.’
I gave them my best, “Hi girls, it’s good to meet you” smile. Adele giggled but Layla gave me a cool, appraising look.
‘Yeah, you’re right, Carl, he is pretty fit for an old guy.’
My smile slipped a bit. I figured I’d just been paid a backhanded compliment, but the key bit of info that my brain was trying to process was that Carly thought I was fit.
‘Shut up, Layla! I never said that.’
Layla laughed. ‘But you did though.’
‘Hey, she’s just trying to wind you up, Carly.’ This was Adele. A tall white girl with a mass of curly hair exploding out from under a beret, a pale face, short shorts, artistically torn black tights and boots. ‘You know what she’s like.’
Carly sighed. ‘Yeah, I do.’ She grinned at Layla who grinned right back at her.
I cleared my throat. ‘Ok, ladies, if you’ve finished squabbling, can we get down to business?’
They all looked at me like I was some bossy teacher who was butting into their private world. I ploughed on. ‘So, Carly tells me a bloke from the Church of the Dark Light was trying to get friendly with you two the other day. We need to know what he was trying to get you into.’
Layla snorted. ‘I think it was more like he was trying to get into our pants, innit.’
‘Yeah, well, he wouldn’t have had to try too hard to get into yours, would he!’ Carly was in pay back mode.
‘But he didn’t tho’,’ Layla retorted. ‘OK, he was really good looking and everything, but he was also like well creepy.’
‘How was he creepy?’ I asked.
She shrugged and pulled a “nobody messes with me” face. ‘He was invading my personal space, innit.’
‘He was,’ agreed Adele. ‘I dunno what it was about him, he was well fit and he didn’t have bad breath or nothing, but he was like standing too close and he kept touching us.’
‘How do you mean?’
Adele pulled a face. ‘Oh not like touching us up or anything, but like touching our arms. He was just like too friendly. And he had a weird name too. He called himself Zander.’
She had the annoying habit of ending all her sentences on a rising inflection so they all sounded like questions. She was very pretty in that kooky kind of way, but her voice was driving me nuts. And Layla’s kick-ass street persona was also getting on my nerves. But I couldn’t help noticing that, just like Angie, both girls were well above average on the looks front. Maybe that was the common thread. The Church of the Dark Light was into recruiting drop dead gorgeous girls. I couldn’t blame them, but why were they doing it? You’d think on the face of it that really pretty young women would be confident and happy and not cult fodder at all, but I remember a tame Home Office psychologist telling me once that l
ots of really stunning girls are crucified by self doubt. Apparently, they feel under constant pressure to always look wonderful; people think that because they’re beautiful they must be thick; other women hate them; men treat them like sex objects; they’re gawped at 24/7; they’re always being gossiped about behind their backs by jealous friends, and they’re never sure if people want to be friends with them for who they are or because they’re a trophy.
Yeah, I know! Who’d have thought it? It made me glad I’m only ruggedly good looking rather than devastatingly handsome, but I’m not sure blokes feel the same way as women about stuff like that. And, in my opinion, most psychs spout utter claptrap and are about as much use as concrete swimming trunks, but this one once saved my backside when I was with the DPG by talking down a nutter with a gun. It was a scenario that could have gone seriously tits up, but it didn’t thanks to her so, from then on, I’d always given her opinions the benefit of the doubt.
Mind you, Adele and Layla seemed to be pretty sorted in the personality stakes. It struck me that maybe they and Carly had bonded because they all knew what it was like to be totally fanciable. Well, that was my theory, and I was sticking to it.
Suddenly Adele clicked her fingers and then pulled something out of her pocket. ‘Hey, the guy gave me this.’
She handed me a small card. It had the YouTube link to Azrael Bodach’s promo vid printed on it and a mobile phone number. I glanced over at Layla. ‘Didn’t he give you one too?’
Layla opened her eyes wide and she grinned mockingly. ‘No, but he did give me one of those cards.’
I smiled weakly. ‘So, have you still got it?’
She shook her head. ‘Nah, I chucked it.’
‘Why did you keep yours, Del?’ Carly sounded interested, not challenging.
Adele pouted. ‘I dunno. I just stuffed it in my pocket and forgot about it. Guess I’m not a litter lout like Layla.’
Layla stuck her tongue out at her. ‘That’s easy for you to say.’ Then she turned to me and said, ‘Are you gonna buy us a coffee in return for us helping you or what?’
‘Stuff coffee. He can take us all to Nandos.’ Carly’s whole body language was daring me to refuse. I rose to the challenge.
‘No problem, girls. Go ahead and fill your boots in Nandos and I’ll take the cost out of Carly’s wages. After all, as she told you, I am sort of her boss.’
This made Layla and Adele hoot, but Carly gave me a sweet little smile. ‘In your dreams on both counts,’ she hissed.
The girls pigged out on chicken, wraps, and chips, but gave the salads the swerve. Naturally, I ended up footing the bill. It was almost worth it for the envious glances I kept getting from the other blokes in the place. When I went to the loo some guy asked me how I’d managed to pull three stunners like that. I told him they were Hot Chic Z, a new girl band and I was their manager. He looked impressed. But it all nearly backfired on me when he came over and asked for their autographs and a photo. Luckily for me the girls went along with the gag, but sometimes my big mouth can talk me into trouble.
Anyway, at some point, it was decided that Carly would ring the number on the card and try and arrange a meet with the guy. I wasn’t convinced that the three witches could stop giggling long enough for her to pull it off, so I wanted her to wait until we were back at the office, but when did she ever listen to me?
As it happened I needn’t have worried because all she got was voice mail. She left a brief message and hung up and it wasn’t until we were walking down Deptford High Street from the station that her mobile rang. It was Zander. I put my head next to hers and listened in.
Zander had a well modulated posh boy drawl, but he sounded friendly enough. Carly came across as nervous and a bit flustered, but that was all an act. She told him that her two friends had spoken to her about the Church of the Dark Light and she wanted to find out more about it. Zander was a bit sceptical at first because, from the way Layla and Adele had told it, they’d given him a seriously hard time when he’d banged on about how embracing the darkness inside would set them free. I sympathised with him because they’d certainly ripped the piss out of me in Nando’s – and I was treating them to a blow out, not trying to fill their heads with some freaky kind of new age bollocks!
Well, the long and the short of it was she agreed to hook up with him the next day at the Honest Sausage Café in Regent’s Park. I raised my eyebrows at this, but Carly twittered down the phone that, with a name like that, even she’d be able to remember where they were meeting. Then Zander asked her to send him a photo of herself so he’d recognise her. She took a quick snap on her camera phone and banged it off to him. When he saw it his voice took on a different quality. The boy obviously thought he’d hit the jackpot. Somehow I knew that the photo was a test and she’d passed it with flying colours. Zander would definitely be there at the café tomorrow come hell or high water.
Chapter Four
I was standing outside the Regent’s Park tube station when Carly turned up. She looked pretty damned appealing in a short denim skirt, low cut T-shirt and a push up bra. What I didn’t finding quite so appealing was the fact that she had a big lad in tow. We eyed each other up and I had the feeling he wasn’t too keen on me either.
‘Hey Ryan, this is Tyrone.’
Tyrone and I grunted at each other. We weren’t far from the zoo and I’m sure any keeper who happened to be passing would have recognised our behaviour.
‘Tyrone’s an old friend of mine from school and he’s come along in case things go pear-shaped with this Zander guy.’
Tyrone just stared at me. I smiled a smile that was as genuine as a nine bob note. ‘I don’t think so, Carly. This isn’t a job for amateurs.’ I flashed my teeth at Tyrone. ‘Sorry, mate, but if it goes pear-shaped that’s when I step in.’
Tyrone glanced at Carly who folded her arms and sighed. ‘God, I knew you’d be difficult about this. You can be such a prat at times, Ryan.’
I felt myself colour up as I struggled to keep my temper. ‘I’m not being difficult, Carly. I’m merely stating facts. I call the shots on this operation and I say we don’t need Tyrone getting involved, OK?’
But, of course, it wasn’t OK.
‘Look, Ryan, I know you reckon you’re shit hot at martial arts and all that crap ‘cos you were in the DPG – as you never tire of telling me – but I don’t think for a second this Zander geezer is gonna try anything stupid in public right, so we won’t need you doing any karate or stuff.’
As it happened, I don’t really know any karate as we were taught that a swift kick in a bloke’s bollocks with your boot is way more effective than any amount of “Fancy Dan” martial arts. But I could see this wasn’t the time to mention it because Carly was in full flow.
‘However, if I spook the guy by asking too many questions and he legs it, you ain’t gonna be able to catch him ‘cos you’ve got a gammy knee, right?’
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t because I did have a gammy knee and these days I’d be hard pressed to outsprint Long John Silver. Carly took my silence as a complete capitulation, but she hadn’t finished twisting the knife. ‘But Tyrone can do the hundred metres in ten seconds flat so, unless Zander is really Usain Bolt in disguise, he’s toast.’ She tilted her head slightly and looked at me triumphantly. ‘So I’d say Ty coming along with us is a no fucking brainer, wouldn’t you?’
I made the best of a bad job by slapping a grin on my face. ‘You should have said that upfront, Carly. Now I get why you want Tyrone on the team.’ My tone implied that the misunderstanding had been all her fault. She glowered at me, but I ignored the daggers and held out my hand to Tyrone. ‘Welcome on board, mate,’ I said with all the sincerity of a politician touting for votes. We shook, and his big hand was surprisingly soft.
‘10.8 seconds,’ he muttered. ‘I can run 100 metres in 10.8 seconds, not 10 flat.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘Carly tends to exaggerate a bit, but I am pretty quick.’
I nodded. ‘I
think 10.8 seconds still cuts the mustard, Ty, so don’t worry about it. Anyway, let’s hope young Carly here works her magic on this Zander so no one has to break sweat.’
We followed a few yards behind Carly as she made her way into the park and over to the Honest Sausage Café. Tyrone and I didn’t chat, we were both too busy watching her walk. A poem I’d studied in school suddenly came into my mind. It had a line about a girl called Grishkin giving promise of pneumatic bliss. That image has always stuck in my head and I figured Grishkin, whoever she was, would have been a dead ringer for Carly. I didn’t share this insight with Tyrone. I didn’t have him down as a guy who’d be big on poetry.
Carly stood outside the café and I gave her a bell on her mobile and told her to keep the line open so I could hear everything she and Zander said. For once, she agreed without making a song and dance about things. I think she was feeling a bit nervous about screwing up. Not that she would ever admit it of course. She’s what people call feisty. They say it like it’s a good thing, but Carly takes it to the limit sometimes. I cut her slack though because I’m a grown up and I know she does it to cover the fact that she isn’t as confident as she likes to pretend. And also ‘cos she’s cute as hell.
Suddenly, Tyrone gave me a nudge. A tall, slim, young bloke fitting Zander’s description was heading straight for Carly. She looked up and gave him a shy smile that was as sweet as caramel with maple syrup topping. She really was a great little actress. He shook her hand in a gesture that was curiously old fashioned and formal and they went and sat down at a table near the rose garden. Carly just sat there looking gorgeous and Zander sat there drinking her in. He looked like a guy who couldn’t believe his luck. The waitress took their order and, when she’d gone, Zander leaned towards Carly and took her hands in his. His touchy-feely routine had started.
‘You know you’re beautiful, don’t you?’ he said.
