by RJ Dark
St Jude’s itself was glowing; the huge lights that illuminated the car park created a halo of light around the building, coloured lights were directed at the cross in the centre of the roof.
‘Round the back,’ said Jackie. He led me down a snicket that hugged the tall outer wall of St Jude’s car park, running between the church and a dilapidated semi-detached that was probably not part of the neighbourhood watch. Jackie stopped at the wall between two buddleia bushes that filled the air with cloying perfume. Behind that was another scent; something foul, something rotting.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Give me a leg up.’ I made a well with my hands and leant over. Jackie placed his shiny brogue in it, and I boosted him up so he could climb the wall and sit on top. Then he offered me a hand. ‘Come on.’ And pulled me up. On the other side was the explanation for the smell of rot: we were right above the church’s bins.
‘Delightful.’
‘There are reasons no one watches some places. Stop moaning.’
We climbed down the wall, then down the bins, trying not to step in anything too squishy or get anything on our clothes. Then we were at the back of the church, in the dark and the stink.
‘They call this bit God’s arse,’ said Jackie.
‘Is there anywhere on the Edge you don’t know about?’
‘No,’ said Jackie, and he dug into his pocket for the key as he walked toward the rear door of the church. It was a fire door, illegally locked with a chain and a padlock. ‘Right, when we go through this door, I am going to run to the office and turn off the alarm. You just wait here for me to get back.’ He pulled down his balaclava and stood there staring at me.
‘What?’
He pointed at his balaclava.’
‘Oh.’ I pulled mine down over my face. Then Jackie unlocked the padlock and put it in his pocket, letting the chain hang loose.
‘How do we get into Larry’s locker?’
The flash of white teeth against the black of his balaclava, and Jackie twitched his shoulders, letting a crowbar slip down his sleeve and into his hand.
‘All-purpose skeleton key,’ he said.
‘How do we know which one is his?’ he shrugged.
‘We open them all, and that will make it look more like a normal burglary, rather than someone looking for something. You ready?’
‘Yeah.’ My heart was flittering in my chest, leaving me breathless and light-headed. I’d not done a burglary for over a decade, and never sober.
‘You don’t look ready.’
‘Just do it, Jackie.’
He grinned again. ‘I love stuff like this.’
He pushed the door open. The smell of damp hit us straight away, and then I heard the high-pitched beeping of the alarm system and Jackie was running. His feet slapping and echoing round the corridors of the church, the light from his torch vanished as he ran around the circumference of the church. I waited, counting my breaths as the alarm continued to beep.
It stopped.
Silence enclosed me and I stared into the darkness, waiting for the false dawn of Jackie’s torch as he sauntered back.
‘Come on then,’ he shouted. Then he stopped. Turned. Something about his posture was off and a thrill ran through me. He motioned me forward, and I started to walk toward him. He brought his fingers to his lips to tell me to move more quietly. I tiptoed forward.
‘Mal,’ he said, ‘I think someone else is here.’
‘What?’
‘I thought I heard someone.’ He glanced over his shoulder, and even though it was warm outside, I could see his breath in the colder air of the church.
‘So we go home, right?’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘Because someone’s here.’
‘So? We just sneak about more carefully than them. They obviously don’t want to be found either.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Cos they didn’t say anything when we came in. No “Who’s there?”‘
‘So they might be up to no good too?’
‘Probably.’
‘What if we bump into them?’ Jackie grinned again.
‘Let’s hope we don’t, but I’ve got my all-purpose skeleton key. Come on, the lockers are this way,’ he whispered, pointing in the opposite direction he had come from. We took a few steps, and he looked back over his shoulder at me. ‘This place would make a brilliant set for a horror movie.’
‘Thanks, Jackie,’ I said.
13
We rounded the curve of the church and I saw the blocky shape of a bank of lockers in the umbra of Jackie’s torch.
‘Aye-aye,’ said Jackie quietly as we approached. ‘Seems someone was here.’ He shone his torch on the lockers; they were the long type generally used in sports clubs, each tall enough to house a golf bag. All the lockers had shiny keypads on them, except the one in the middle, which swung open, squeaking on one hinge, the keypad hanging from the door. Below the locker, its contents had been strewn across the floor: a selection of muddy-looking clothes and an open sports bag. ‘At least we know which one was his, right?’
‘Maybe,’ I said, ‘but if the ticket was in there, it’s gone now.’
Jackie shook his head. ‘Nah, it’s still here.’ He gave me a grin. ‘To get out, you’d have had to come past us. And I’d have seen them when I went to turn off the alarm in the caretaker’s cupboard, so they’re not back where we came from. That only leaves the ministry offices. Whoever did this’ – he pointed at the broken locker – ‘must be in there. You wait here.’
With that he was off. The door at the end of the corridor opened and shut, leaving me in darkness.
In the damp-smelling, creepy church.
Sometimes I wondered if Jackie set these things up on purpose just to test me.
A moment later, I heard a crash, then shouting, mostly Jackie’s voice. Then the door opened and Jackie emerged holding a man, also in a balaclava, by the scruff of the neck.
‘Come on, matey,’ he was saying as he dragged him forward, the light of his torch jerkily splashing against wall and ceiling. He stopped in front me. ‘Sit down here,’ he said and forced the man to his knees with a couple of well-placed kicks. In the gloom, Jackie looked at me. ‘Well, do you want to be Scooby-Doo?’
‘What?’
Jackie shook his head. ‘Do you want to unmask the bad guy?’
‘Oh, right. Yes.’ I pulled off the man’s balaclava only to find what I really should have expected: it was Will Person underneath.
‘This is not what it looks like,’ he said. Despite the chill in the building, a coating of sweat shone around his eyes where the balaclava had not soaked it up.
‘I’m pretty sure it is, Will,’ I said.
‘You know him?’ said Jackie.
‘Yeah, he’s a lay preacher here, used to do the drugs outreach.’
Jackie shook his head. ‘You know, Will,’ he said conversationally. ‘Only an arsehole burgles a place of worship, and I know that doesn’t look good for me and my friend here, but to burgle your own place of worship, that requires a very special level of arseholeness.’ Something flat in Jackie’s voice; something far cooler than the damp air. ‘That sort of thing should be punished really, Will.’
From the look on Will’s face, he heard the threat in Jackie’s voice as clearly as I did; the implacability of it, the simple promise that some form of retribution was needed and that whatever the retribution was it would hurt. Will turned to me, ‘Mal’ he said, so much for anonymity. I knew what was going to happen next. He was going to beg, he was going to ask me to intervene, but I’d long ago learned that Jackie wouldn’t be moved once he’d set himself upon a course of action. Oh, he could be whimsical, easily derailed, but if one of his lines was crossed – and I was never entirely sure where those lines were – then the consequences were generally swift and unpleasant. Will could beg me all he liked, and I could beg Jackie, but it would not change anything.
Fittingly, for a house of God, Wil
l was saved by the intervention of the light. Before Jackie could act he was interrupted by an electrical hum, and then the flickering of old neon lights as the lights around the corridor began switching on in turn, like a bright train running toward us. When the hum had passed and we stood, blinking in the bright light, we heard footsteps. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to; to get out, we would have to pass whoever was coming toward us.
‘Will, did you break in to organise a party?’ said Jackie. He sounded unbearably calm, but he always did when things were going wrong. It was as if he was only really himself in these moments. Calm, ready, frightening. He shook his whole body, starting at his head, rolling it around on his shoulders, flicking his hands out, kicking each foot out in turn.
‘If it’s the police, Jackie,’ I said, ‘no fighting.’
‘It won’t be the police,’ he said. I wondered how he could be so sure.
‘It might be.’
‘It won’t.’
It wasn’t.
The man that walked round, following the light, was tall, dressed in black and not looking at all happy to be here.
‘Reverend!’ said Jackie, and he pulled off his balaclava. ‘Mal, take your hat off – it’s rude to cover your face in front of a man of God.’
I did as he asked.
‘Jackie,’ said Canon Armitage. ‘You look well. Now, firstly, it is “Canon” not “Reverend”, as you well know. Secondly, may I ask what you are doing breaking into my church in the middle of the night with this gentleman’ – he pointed at me – ‘whom I met earlier when he seemed interested in getting in here himself?’
‘Purely a coincidence, Vicar,’ said Jackie. ‘This is my friend Mal Jones. We were going out when I got an alert from the alarm, and as I was with Mal anyway and we weren’t far away, we thought we would come check on the church.’
‘In balaclavas?’
‘Yes,’ said Jackie. He didn’t bother trying to explain it, he just grinned at Canon Armitage who, after a moment, shook his head and pointed at Will.
‘And why is Will on his knees?’
‘Praying,’ said Jackie.
‘Is he, indeed?’
‘God moves in mysterious ways, Canon.’
‘Indeed he does, but His servant on Earth would like to know why poor Will is on his knees looking like a heathen offering a burned sacrifice.’ He gave a small nod to Jackie. ‘And let’s have the truth, eh?’
Jackie shrugged.
‘Tell him, Mal,’ said Jackie. ‘The truth.’
‘The real truth?’
‘Edit it how you wish,’ said Canon Armitage. ‘I know Jackie isn’t always on the right side of the law.’
‘Though I’m on the right side of the Lord, eh, Canon?’
‘One can always hope, Jackie.’ He gave him a small smile. ‘Now, let your friend speak.’
I glanced at Jackie, and he gave me a nod. Will tried to smile at Jackie. Jackie raised his eyebrows at him and bared his teeth. Will stopped smiling.
‘Larry Stanbeck had a lottery ticket,’ I said, ‘a winner, but it wasn’t on him when he died. Will knew Larry through Scouts. I asked him if Larry had a locker here. He said he didn’t know.’
‘So you broke in to find the locker and found Will?’ said Canon Armitage.
‘In essence,’ I said. The canon went down on his haunches so he was looking Will in the face.
‘Money will not stop the fire in you burning, Will.’
‘I was going to give it to the church,’ he said.
‘Guilt will only stoke the fire higher, Will – don’t lie.’ He lifted Will’s head and made him look into his eyes. ‘Did you find the ticket?’
Will shook his head.
‘Nothing in there but dirty clothes,’ he said quietly. The canon stood and turned to Jackie.
‘Right, you heard him. You can check if you want, both the locker and Will, but that sounded like a very disappointed man to me.’
Jackie nodded.
‘How did you know about the ticket, Will? I never mentioned it,’ I said.
‘I overheard him, on the phone to someone.’
‘No one likes an eavesdropper,’ said Jackie..
‘I don’t want to get Will in trouble with the police,’ the canon said, ‘and I’m sure you would rather avoid them too, so maybe we’ll just keep quiet about all this And you can be on your way?’
‘What about him?’ said Jackie, pointing at Will.
‘I’ll deal with that,’ said the Canon.
We nodded.
‘Well, on your way, boys,’ he said.
We made our way back to Jackie’s clapped out Fiat, and as I was pulling on my seat belt, he turned to me.
‘That actually went better than I expected,’ he said.
14
THURSDAY
Jackie used to try to dislocate my arm.
‘I’m going to dislocate your arm,’ he’d say.
‘Please don’t.’
‘I’m going to dislocate your arm, and I want you to try and stop me.’
‘I don’t know how.’
‘I’ll show you.’
And he did. First, slowly, he went through the movements that would allow me to slip the grasp of someone trying to grab my arm and hold me. Twice we ended up in A & E, and once you’ve had a dislocated arm relocated a couple of times, you learn how to counter that move pretty quickly. Mostly, it’s about reacting before your opponent realises you know what to do and building up the right muscle groups. But, as Jackie once showed me, if someone knows what they are doing, there’s not much you can do: it’s best just to go with it and not get hurt, bide your time.
My flat was above the shop and I returned home to lie on the bed with only confusion for company.
Nothing made any sense.
I had lots of bits of puzzle spinning around me, but they refused to fit together, and not one of them seemed like it would help me find the lottery ticket. For all I knew, Larry Stanbeck had it in his hand when he was hit and it had fluttered off down the motorway verge, never to be seen again. In a detective book, this would be where I would have had a contemplative whisky and I could almost feel the smoky liquid as it warmed my mouth. That led to thoughts of fragrant marijuana smoke and the way it burned the back of my throat. Those thoughts led to thoughts of other stronger drugs that took a fiercer hold and demanded you submit to them. There was a bottle of whisky downstairs, and an old syringe and an empty bottle of pills. My hand twitched.
There were no solutions for me there; only ghosts and lost days …
… weeks …
… months.
So, I tried to sleep, but sleep wasn’t coming, so I tidied my flat. Sometimes Beryl came up and tidied round, but she hadn’t done that for a long time, so by the time the flat – three rooms, a kitchen-sitting room, a bedroom and a bathroom that barely fit in a toilet basin and shower – was in a reasonable state, it was 3 a.m. and sleep came up and took me like a long-lost lover.
Banging woke me, and it took me a while to put together the noise I was hearing and where I was because the flat was so tidy. I thought I might be in a hospital room and experienced a moment of panic before realising I was in my own bed in my own flat. I grabbed my watch from the side of the bed – 8 a.m. Too early. It could be Beryl banging on the door, but she had a key, so she could come and go as she pleased. She could have lost it, I suppose.
No, Beryl never lost or forgot anything – which was annoying; she was like a walking encyclopaedia of every stupid thing I had ever done.
So, it wasn’t Beryl.
I dragged myself over to the window; my head was throbbing, haunted by a hangover I had neither earned nor deserved. I pushed aside the blind. Below me I could see the blobby shape of Mick Stanbeck on his ragged old mobility scooter, flanked by the twins, their heads like two bright ginger moons orbiting the greasy planet of his body.
‘Jones!’ he shouted. ‘Open up, Jones!’ He looked up, some sixth sense telling him
he was being watched. ‘I know you’re up there, come down and open up.’
Busted.
I opened the window.
‘I’m coming down, Mick. Just give me ten minutes to get dressed.’ That was a lie, I didn’t need to get dressed as I’d fallen asleep fully clothed, but I wanted time to get my head together. Thoughts were racing through my head. What did he want at this time? An update? Maybe, but he wasn’t known for being an early riser, and he hadn’t looked like his usual calm self.
I hoped he wasn’t angry with my lack of progress, because if he was, then I had nothing to say that was likely to make him feel any better. I smoothed my hair back. Splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth and sprayed on deodorant and stared at myself in the mirror. Too thin, haunted-looking. Nice eyes. Strong nose. Not looking too lived in despite the life I’d lived.
‘You can handle Mick Stanbeck,’ I said to myself and went downstairs.
Two bolts, three chains and a Yale lock. The minute the last lock was undone, one of the twins barged the door open, knocking me backward. Then the second was in through the door, ferret quick, and before I opened my mouth, he delivered a quick punch to my gut, knocking the wind from me and doubling me over. As I went over, his brother grabbed my arm and twisted it up my back, forcing me round and forward, slamming me down on my desk. I turned my head at the last minute, so he smashed my ear painfully against the wood of the desk, but I avoided a broken nose.
I couldn’t help thinking Jackie would be very let down by how easily Kray One had got the drop on me.
‘Mick …’ I began. One of the twins’ faces appeared in my vision.
‘Shhh,’ said Kray Two. I nodded as best I could and listened as Mick’s scooter brought up its burden, whining about it all the way. The twin vanished, and Mick rolled up to my desk. He leant over, letting his weight topple the scooter forward so he was sitting with one elbow on my desk and the two side wheels off the ground. Then he brought his head down so his face was level with mine. Not only did he not wash, he didn’t brush his teeth either.
