The 13th Destiny_Heaven's Deadliest Sign

by Roger David Francis

  He had no right to a happy ending, he understood that. When you lived a selfish life you had to accept the consequences in your old age. No plump white haired rosy cheeked wife waiting for you when you got home, dishing up your dinner on a large plate, no grown up children phoning to ask how you were doing. Normally he didn’t mind but occasionally when he watched elderly couples arm in arm he felt a twinge of regret. He’d had many chances to get it right but he’d chosen to look after number one so it was no good complaining now.

  A plump unhealthy looking young lad in his early teens came puffing along the path and threw himself down next to Bert.

  “Got a cig?” He asked.

  Bert shook his head. He did have a couple of roll ups in his pocket but he wasn’t about to hand one to this strange lad, for one thing he was too young to smoke and for another Bert didn’t like the look of him. His red face was covered in bright spots, some of them oozing a thin trickle of yellow pus. His flabby cheeks kept moving side to side and Bert thought he was chewing gum. Bert tried to shift away as the boy’s left thigh pushed into his.

  “My mum said I’ve got to do more exercise,” the boy told Bert.

  “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Not really.” The boy looked grumpy. “I’d rather read a comic.”

  Read a comic? Bert was amazed. How many young people nowadays read comics?

  “You know,” the boy was saying, “Batman, Spiderman. I’d like to be a superhero.” He gave a small grin, “I like helping people, you know, being there for them when they need me, it’s the best feeling in the world.” His eyes shone, “Magicman, that’s what I’d call myself, I’d have a big wand made of feathers and I’d be able to fly.” He looked questioningly at Bert, “Do you think I could be a superhero?”

  Bert wanted to say that he needed to lose some weight first but he didn’t want to be cruel. “Maybe someday when you’re a little older,” he said kindly.

  “Nah, no chance. I’ll be dead by this time tomorrow.”

  Bert thought he hadn’t heard right. “Dead?” he repeated stupidly.

  “I get run over by a car. It’s my own fault; I took too long to cross the road, too busy reading my comic.” The boy held out his hand, “Frank Dorchester, pleased to meet you.”

  Bert stopped breathing. He stared at the young boy and it slowly dawned on him that he looked familiar, like the old photo’s he kept of himself as a teenager when he’d been overweight with bad acne. It wasn’t possible; it had to be a weird coincidence. The boy was smiling, a crooked grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “I often wondered what you’d be like,” he told Bert. “Mum said you never wanted me but I didn’t believe her. What kind of man wouldn’t want his son? She said you couldn’t wait to do a runner when I was born. Do you know what I was doing when I got run over? I was on my way to the library. My head was full of ideas of how I was going to track you down, find out why you’d left me without a father.” The boy’s face had grown redder and two tears squeezed from his eyes. “Never got the chance though, did I?”

  Bert watched horrified as the tears rolled down Frank’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Frank lifted his head up. “Are you, really? Only you never tried to find me, did you? I looked for you at my funeral but even then you couldn’t be bothered to attend.”

  “I didn’t know, how could I?” Bert was finding it difficult to breathe.

  “I got what I wanted though, didn’t I?” Frank said, “I can fly now.”

  “Yes.” Bert’s voice came out in a squeak. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.

  “Doesn’t matter, at least you’re making an effort now.” He smiled, a hint of mischief in his watery eyes. “It’s never too late to make amends even for a selfish old codger like you.” The boy stood up. “I’ve got to go now, Mum’s waiting for me; she died of a broken heart two years after I was killed. Neither of us think much of you; you’ve spent your life being a worthless piece of shit always looking after number one. I can’t say it was nice to meet you but I will tell you that mum and I will be waiting for you when you pass over and we’ll talk some more then.” He winked suddenly, “See you soon, daddy.”

  Terrified, Bert watched the retreating figure of the boy as he shambled away and disappeared round the corner. He blinked several times to make sure he hadn’t dreamt it and then stood up shakily. What had just happened? Surely he’d imagined it. All these years thinking his son was out there living his life growing gracefully into an old aged pensioner, and now it seemed that had never happened. There’d been no happy ever after for his boy. How could he not have known? And of course the answer was simple, he’d never asked, never bothered to find out until now when it was too late.

  Bert reached out and gripped the edge of the bench to steady himself. Was it possible that his son had really died so young all those years ago and he never knew?

  A nasty little voice in the back of his head that sounded to Bert like the old woman, Shandra, spoke in a crackly voice, “You didn’t care, you selfish old bastard.”

  The pain hit him then, it was sudden and furious and Bert felt like his head was exploding. He was vaguely aware of a woman with a dog running towards him along the path but then he felt himself falling slowly. His vision darkened to a small pinprick of light and his last thought was, see you soon, son.

  Chapter 7

  The coffee shop opened its doors at seven thirty in the morning to catch the early office workers before they began their day. Beth arrived a few minutes late and it was already half full of customers. She always loved the first moment of walking through the door; the wonderful aroma of freshly brewing coffee put her in a good mood instantly.

  Yesterday had been strange. Jason had returned telling her that Fiona and Liam were doing just fine and then another neighbour had knocked on her door saying she was collecting for a wreath for Bert who had died that afternoon of a stroke. Beth was ashamed that her first thought was she hoped he’d made the call to Shandra so she wouldn’t have to find a replacement for Pisces. Her second was, please don’t let Bert’s death be anything to do with Shandra. Both thoughts left her feeling uncomfortable.

  Poor Bert, Beth thought. Though she hadn’t really known him well and he was old, it was still sudden.

  And it was yet another coincidence.

  Beth frowned at the thought. Bert had seemed perfectly fine when she’d spoken to him. He wouldn’t have handed over twenty pounds to her if there hadn’t been something he wanted. She didn’t want to believe it but it felt like another wish that had gone in the wrong direction. But how could that awful old woman be responsible for Bert having a stroke?

  Easy, the little annoying voice twittered, Shandra could make that happen and a whole lot more besides. Be careful what you wish for, Beth thought and shuddered.

  Tim was filling up the coffee machines; he smiled when he saw her. He was her Scorpio but she hesitated. Did she really want to do this? And then she thought she didn’t really have a choice.

  “Abby’s not coming in today,” Tim said, surprising her. “She’s taking a few days of her holiday off.”

  “But she’s okay?”

  “She’s fine, sounded excited, told me to ask you about winning some money?” He raised his eyebrows at her. Thank you, Abby, Beth felt grateful for the opening.

  “Five hundred pounds on a scratch card,” she told Tim and proceeded to explain how it had happened. She tried to sound upbeat because as Shandra kept reminding her, time as running out.

  “Sounds too good to be true,” Tim looked doubtful. “You say Abby got her wish too? What was it?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Tim, the wishes are secret but you heard how happy she is.”

  “Who’s happy?”

  A large round face pushed itself in the middle of them. The chef and owner of the coffee shop, Mr Rankin, breathed garlic into the small space.

  Tim grinned. “Abby and Beth. They’ve been to a
fortune teller and both got their hearts desire.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Well,” Beth squirmed, “Not exactly but it’s only one phone call and it worked for us.” She hurried on, “It’s twenty pounds each.” She almost hoped Mr Rankin would give up and go away, his breath was making her feel sick. He was notorious for not parting with his money but his eyes were gleaming with greed. If anyone deserved a wish off Shandra, it was him. She had a thought, “Tim, I know you’re a Scorpio, what star sign are you, Mr Rankin?”

  Geoffrey Rankin leered at her. Silly little tart believing shit, still, it wouldn’t hurt to go along with it, wind her up. What was her game? Making a few bob on the side, he couldn’t blame her for that. Most women when they wanted to earn a bit extra opened their legs, this was a new one.

  He said, “I’ve no idea, my birthday’s January 22nd.”

  “I know that one,” Tim said, “My sister’s January 28th, it’s Aquarius.”

  “So what?” Mr Rankin breathed, his foul breath clogging inside Beth’s nostrils. She tried to take a step back and bumped into the counter.

  “It’s okay, Mr Rankin, you don’t have to be part of it.”

  Geoffrey frowned. He’s been about to walk away until she said that. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty pound note which he waved in front of her. “So what do I get for this note then?”

  Without a word Beth handed over Shandra’s phone number.

  “Is that all?” He looked disappointed and Beth grinned to herself. What had he expected, dancing girls with witch’s hats to come flying out of the stockroom?

  “It’s all you need.” She assured him. “Phone her up and tell her what you want most in the world, that’s it.” Beth plucked the twenty pounds from Mr Rankin’s fingers before he could change his mind and put it in her pocket. This was one time she didn’t feel guilty, Geoffrey Rankin wasn’t her favourite person, she honestly didn’t care if he got a messed up wish.

  “Okay,” Tim was saying, “I don’t mind giving it a go. I’ll go and get the money out of my wallet.” He left through the back door that led into the passageway where he’d hung up his coat.

  “Well,” Beth chirped lightly, “I’d better get on serving the customers.”

  Geoffrey’s hand snaked out and caught her wrist. “Not so fast. I’m not as stupid as Tim. I’ve seen the way you bat your eyes at him, giving him the come on, the poor sap doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. He’d give you twenty pounds if she said it was for a bag of dried dog turds.”

  “Charming,” Beth said, trying to pull her wrist free, Geoffrey clung on. “You’re a real piece of work,” she snapped.

  “I am, aren’t I?” Geoffrey chuckled. “But you love it.”

  “No, I really don’t,” Beth glared at him feeling the anger rising inside her. He was an obnoxious man, a sexist pig but he was still her boss and if she wanted to keep her pathetic job then she had to calm down. She gave him a watery smile. “I’ve got lots to do,” She murmured.

  “Not yet. What happens when I don’t get what I want? Do I get my money back?”

  “No, there’s no refunds but you won’t need it, everyone gets what they ask for, please, let go of my wrist.”

  Beth pulled away and went to take the first order from a table of four.

  Nice arse, Geoffrey mused, wouldn’t mind a piece of it. He grinned suddenly, maybe that’s what he should wish for, a night of passion with stuck up Miss high and mighty Beth. He didn’t need more money; his six coffee shops were running at a high profit. Perhaps the slapper should be made to earn the twenty quid he’d just handed over. He knew she was hankering for a full time job perhaps he could use that as leverage. In his opinion there was nothing a woman wouldn’t do to get her hands on his money.

  He watched as Tim passed two ten pound notes to Beth and decided to get in first. He didn’t trust the way Tim was all over the slag, Geoffrey had no doubt he’d be making his own play for her. He slipped out of the shop back into the kitchen.

  “You!” He roared to the trembling youth who was ladling chocolate sauce into a large jug, “Don’t set my place on fire, I’m going outside for a couple of minutes.”

  The youth nodded and looked away. Geoffrey smirked and headed out of the back door. Keep the bastards on their toes, it was the only way. Some people called his shouting and abuse of his staff bullying, he called it common sense, letting them know who was boss. Show them a sign of weakness and they’d swallow you up with their demands for higher wages and better working conditions.

  He spent every day in a different coffee shop, six shops, six days, his working week and by God he made sure nothing got past him. There was no slacking when he was around. Mostly the staff came and went, they were interchangeable, but a few stayed on, like Beth. Geoffrey wasn’t sure why the woman got under his skin. He had a docile simpering wife, Veronica at home who reluctantly opened her legs when he asked which wasn’t very often now, he preferred the company of high class paid whores. No questions asked, did as they were told, nothing demanded of him except a large wad of cash. Veronica’s performance in bed was lacklustre and he would swear the bitch played mental puzzles, word games in her head while he was humping away on top of her.

  But Beth, now she was in a class all by herself.

  Something about the way she curved her body around the tables, thrust out her breasts when she was taking an order, chewing on the end of her pencil made him think she was doing it on purpose to wind him up.

  “Hello,” he barked down the phone. “My name is Mr Rankin and I’ve got a wish. It’s cost me twenty pounds so it had better be good.”

  “Good morning, my dear. I’m aware that you’ve paid twenty pounds and you can rest assured you won’t regret it. My name is Shandra.”

  “I don’t bloody care what you name is. Are you and Beth running a scam?”

  The old woman’s voice crackled down the line. “Don’t bully me, Geoffrey. I’m not one of your workers.”

  “Hey? I never told you my name, what’s your game?”

  “Now, my dear, would you like to tell me your birth date?”

  “January 22nd. I’m not telling you the year; my age is none of your business.”

  “It’s of no matter. Ah, I see you’re an artistic man, Aquarius, how interesting. Are you a poet, Geoffrey?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. The cat sat on the mat.” Geoffrey thrust his jaw out, what was the old bag rattling on about?

  “Poetry is more than the rhyming of simple words, my dear. Poetry is life. It doesn’t matter what you do, the snake is coming after you. Do you like that one?” Shandra chuckled.

  “For Christ’s sake, woman, just get on with it,” Geoffrey bellowed.

  “Very well, my dear, I’ve had my fun. It seems life is about to throw a surprise at you so you’d better be on your guard. Beware of smoke and mirrors, my dear. Now, I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, be careful what you wish for?” She made a small gurgling sound in the back of her throat that sounded to Geoffrey as if she was about to hawk up a wad of chewed tobacco. Dirty old cow, he thought. He had no time for old women, he like his gals young, thin and available.

  “You seem to spend a great deal of your time thinking about women and sex, Geoffrey.”

  “What?” Geoffrey thought he’d misheard her. The word sex shouldn’t be coming out the mouth of some raddled old tart, it was just wrong.

  “You should be careful where you put it, my dear, you wouldn’t want it to drop off, would you?”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Geoffrey yelped. “Are you going to give me my wish or aren’t you? I’d get more sense out of a tin of sardines.”

  “I’m only trying to help you. You’re a man after my own heart; ambitious, mean and cunning. In another life we could have been friends, Geoffrey.” She paused, “Maybe more than friends if you get my meaning.”

  “In your effing dreams!” Geoffrey was beginning to sweat.

  “S
o tell me, my dear, what is it you desire most in life?”

  “Shit, don’t make me laugh, is this where I ask for a million pounds?”

  “I don’t know, my dear, is it?”

  “No, I want to have sex with Beth.” He waited, “Hello, did you hear me; I said I wanted sex with Beth.”

  He shook his mobile phone but it was dead. “Bloody con,” he growled. What was he supposed to do now, proposition Beth? She’d never go for it. He had a high opinion of himself but even he knew he wasn’t physically attractive with his bullish looks and squat figure. “Waste of twenty quid,” he muttered making his way back into the kitchen. God help any piss pot worker who upset him now, he was liable to punch their lights out.

  Tim sat in his parked car at the back of the coffee shop. He’d often wondered what he would do if he was offered one wish. It didn’t matter that he didn’t believe it, he wanted to please Beth. He’d decided a little while ago that he was falling in love with her, not that he’d ever tell her, she was far too good for him. He pretended to search for dates on the internet so Beth and Abby wouldn’t feel sorry for him.

  Since his wife Tina had died, or to be more precise, accidently taken an overdose of heroin, Tim had been lonely. A year ago he’d waved his precious daughter, Jackie on her way to Australia with her young husband, Trent, to start their new life together and now he rattled around the large three bedroomed semi finding things to do to ward off his loneliness.

  He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. He’d promised Beth he’d phone but when he heard it ringing out it had a hollow sound as if there was nothing at the other end. His finger moved to press the off button when the phone clicked.

  “Hello, what is your emergency?”

  Tim’s throat closed up. The voice reminded him of someone. A long time ago when he was a child of seven, his grandmother had fallen down the stairs and had lain in a crumpled heap at the bottom not moving. She was supposed to be looking after him and he hadn’t known what to do. So he’d dialled 999 and the voice at the end of the phone had said, “Hello, what is your emergency?” and his throat had closed up. Tears had poured from his eyes and he hadn’t been able to speak. His mother had come in through the front door, took in a glance what had happened and taking the phone off him had called for an ambulance. His grandmother had recovered, no thanks to him. Now he was seven again, his eyes filling with tears, not knowing what to say.