The Temple

by Brian Smith

Two years earlier

  Character is Destiny.

  Heraclitus

  Sycko woke up and looked at his watch. Eight-thirty and his work started at nine. “Yea, whatever,” he said to no one in particular. He knew his boss would be cross with him but he didn’t care. He slowly got out of bed, got dressed with his shirt hanging out of the trousers and left home. On the way he stopped at a kiosk for a hotdog and coke. “Morning, Sycko,” the girl said as she handed him his usual. “Late for work again?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, paid and walked on. Every step he made was accompanied by a dragging sound. He gulped down the hotdog and coke and left the empty can standing on a letterbox. A few minutes later he entered the shop where he worked. He glanced at his watch. “Nine fifteen, not late really,” he mumbled.

  His boss gave him a dark stare as he slowly made his way through the shop and got his things ready. Some customers were waiting already, impatient, wondering whether to go shopping elsewhere in future.

  “Can you do things any more slowly?” the first customer remarked acidly.

  “Yea, whatever dickhead,” Sycko thought. One customer after another came and each one meant more work. “Life ain’t fair,” Sycko thought. “Why do I have to be stuck behind a counter dealing with these idiots all day long when others have millions.”

  “That’s not right, young man,” an annoyed woman said.

  “Eh…?”

  “That’s not the right change you’ve given me,” she said. “Can’t you count?”

  He quickly handed out some more coins. It wasn’t the first time that he gave the wrong change.

  From across the room his boss saw everything, his slovenly appearance, his careless attitude and disrespect to customers. At the end of the day Sycko was fired.

  He left the shop with his final wages and lit a cigarette.

  “Hey Sycko, what’s up man?”

  Sycko turned to greet his friend Judas, a short swarthy man with greasy hair, who was wearing an old T-shirt and torn jeans as well as a pair of filthy trainers that had the power to send the most hardened nose to flight when they were removed from their owner’s feet.

  “Life sucks, man,” Sycko said. “There I go working my butt off for some rich swine and what do I get as thanks?”

  Judas sucked on the joint in his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke looking at Sycko with the vacant gaze of a man whose mind was obscured behind a thick veil of fog.

  “I get up early,” Sycko went on, “I haven’t got time for a decent breakfast, I slave away all day, week after week and what do I get in return from that greedy fucker? He kicks me out. He fires me. All I have is my measly final pay.”

  Slowly an understanding of what had happened seeped into Judas’ mind. “Yeah, life sucks, man. Come, let’s go have a drink somewhere.” He pulled Sycko along past shops lit brightly towards a darker area of town where sordid buildings were home to less reputable businesses. In one such building was Judas’ favourite haunt, a drinking den called The Jamaica Inn. Judas pushed the door open and they entered the smoke filled interior where customers were safe from fresh air and cleanliness. They took seats in a dingy corner.

  “Hey Charlie,” Judas called across the room. “Two of the usual.”

  Charlie nodded and mechanically prepared the drinks. He was an old portly man with white hair and a double chin whose real name was Charles Laughton though no one knew or cared. Everyone called him Charlie. He brought the glasses over and put them on the sticky table.

  “Now just listen to this, Charlie. My pal Sycko here works his butt off for some rich bugger and what does he get? He gets fired. What do you say to that?”

  Charlie shook his head in sympathy.

  “Now where’s justice, I ask you? My pal works and works and then just like that he’s given the boot. No warning, no hint to give him time to find a new job, nothing.”

  Charlie looked at him wearily wondering where the conversation was taking him.

  “And then,” Sycko went on, “he finishes work and his boss tells him not to come back again. Just gives him his final pay and shows him the door. Now what do you say to that?”

  Charlie understood. “That’s bad, very bad, but you’ve come to the right place and the right man. Nothing we can’t cure here. Relax and enjoy!” He turned away with a satisfied smile. Customers with cash to spare and maybe more were always welcome.

  Sycko and Judas drank away Sycko’s final pay and after some illicit pleasures available in rooms upstairs they returned for more drink and smoke. It was well past midnight when realization slowly began to dawn on Sycko that not only had he spent all of his final pay but that they owed quite a lot more to Charlie.

  “The rest of the bill’s on you,” Sycko said to Judas.

  Judas looked at him in a drunken stupor. “You mean you’ve got nothing left?”

  Sycko nodded.

  “That’s bad, man, that’s bad. I’m flat broke.” He shook his head slowly. “Hey Charlie,” he called. “The dosh’s all gone.”

  Charlie came over. “Bill’s must be paid,” he said sternly.

  “Yeah, I know,” Judas said wincing under Charlie’s gaze. “I didn’t know, Charlie. I thought there was more, I mean my pal here only told me now he’d got nothing left.”

  Charlie reddened. Customers who couldn’t pay up were troublesome and unwelcome. He went through his mind how much they still owed. It wasn’t that much, and after all they had spent he still stood to make quite a profit on them. He could just let them go and keep it in the books till Judas found some other victim. By now everyone else had left. Charlie hesitated when suddenly the door opened. A middle-aged man came in. He was wearing a dark suit with a blue tie that made him look curiously out of place in The Jamaica Inn.

  “Wait here,” Charlie said and wagged his finger at the two drunken louts. “I’ll deal with you in a little while.” He walked across to the gentleman.

  “Good evening, sir. What will it be?”

  The gentleman placed his order and when Charlie brought the desired drink he took out a wallet brimful with money to pay.

  “I am told,” the gentleman said quietly, “I am told that there are also other, eh, services available in your rooms upstairs.”

  “Why certainly, sir, certainly,” Charlie said with a smarmy smile. “Anything you want can be had.”

  It was his lucky night Charlie decided. First Judas had brought a good customer and now there was a gentleman to solve remaining problems. The sight of the wallet had given him an excellent idea.

  “Just make yourself comfortable, sir, and enjoy your drink. I’ll make the other arrangements.” He left the gentleman, who looked rather pleased in anticipation of coming pleasures, and brought two more drinks over to Sycko and Judas. “These are on the house,” he said. “Just to show that we value our customers here, eh?”

  “Why that’s awful decent of you, Charlie,” Judas said.

  “Just you two sit tight,” Charlie said. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He left the room to go upstairs but then a thought struck him. “Now why should I share anything with those greedy strumpets? I’ll do it all myself. And the two louts will do anything I tell them to.”

  He quickly returned to the bar room and mixed the gentleman another drink.

  “I’m not sure I want another one,” the gentleman said.

  Charlie smiled. “Upstairs will be ready for you in a few minutes,” he said with a wink. “This one’s on the house while you’re waiting.”

  “Well, if you put it that way, how can I say no?”

  “That’s the spirit, sir, that’s the spirit.” Charlie went back to the bar keeping a close eye on the gentleman.

  The gentleman sipped the drink and then suddenly emptied the glass in one fell gulp. Moments later his head hit the table in front of him as he collapsed in a swoon. Charlie hurried over and chuckled. “Welcome to The Jamaica Inn, sir, welcome. You’re not the first to be shanghaied here nor the last.�
�� K.O. drops were his preferred method of dealing with strangers and while it was not something he resorted to very frequently, it was a very profitable sideline in his business. He quickly removed all the money from the gentleman’s wallet. There was also the matter of two gold rings on his left hand and a gold pocket watch all of which quickly disappeared into his own commodious pockets. When he was satisfied that there was nothing more to be had he turned his attention to Sycko and Judas who had watched everything with a strange sense of detached interest.

  “Now then you two,” Charlie said strictly. “You owe me quite a bit of money. But I won’t be harsh on you. I understand that these little problems happen even with the best of intentions, so I’m giving you the chance to do a little work for me and in return we’ll call it even. Now what do you say to that?”

  “Gee, Charlie, that’s awful decent of you,” Judas quickly said.

  “What do you want us to do?” Sycko asked.

  “Why only this, you see this fine gentleman who’s fallen asleep in my establishment? He needs some fresh air and I want him out of here. Carry him to the park and leave him on a bench. He’ll thank you for it, I’m sure.”

  Sycko looked doubtful but Judas quickly pulled him along.

  “Come on, pal. We’ll have this done in no time.”

  They left The Jamaica Inn with its now richer and happier Charlie behind and wended their way through the narrow winding streets to the local park where they dropped their heavy burden onto the nearest patch of grass. Exhausted Sycko sat down beside the unconscious man.

  “We’ve got to go, Sycko,” Judas said and tried to pull his friend up. “Can’t be found here, can we now?”

  Sycko pushed him away. “Leave me, I’ve had enough.”

  Judas shrugged his shoulders and without waiting to hear what Sycko had had enough of he walked away.

  Sycko and the gentleman lay side by side on the cool grass beneath dark tress that gently swayed in the night wind. It was a full moon. Its cold wan light shone through the trees.

  “Just like a scene from one of those old vampire films,” Sycko thought and closed his eyes.