It's Only the End of the World

by J. A. Henderson

She got up and left with the warder.

  The grifter watched her go, fingering the pills in his pocket and wondering just what he had agreed to.

  *

  Daffodil climbed into the van, parked outside the prison gates.

  “Primo’s on board,” she announced. “We can’t take his money though. It’s for his daughter.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t con you about that?” Charlie was sitting behind the wheel. “It’s what he does.”

  “Not at all,” Daffodil replied. “But I gave my word and I ain’t about to break it.”

  “That’s all right. We have another bank account to empty. And this one belongs to a proper scumbag.”

  Charlie started the engine and drove off.

  “My turn now. Tomorrow we’re going to rescue Nurse Samantha McLaren from an extremely bad situation.”

  “You might want to consider something.” Frankie spoke from one of the monitors in the back of the vehicle. “Nobody knows who Daffodil is, but I made the security cameras blurry, just in case. Her prints and ID will also vanish from Sunnyside’s systems when this is over. You’re a different kettle of fish, Charlie.”

  “In what way?”

  “The shootout at your house has been on the news, along with your picture. I can wipe the CCTV near Miss McLaren’s house, but a passer-by might still recognise you. You better wear a disguise.”

  “As long as it’s nothing like my dad’s effort,” Charlie said. “Besides, I’m too young to grow a moustache.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! I know!” Daffodil held up her hand. “I got the perfect camouflage.”

  “This is bound to be good. What have you got in mind?”

  She told them both her idea.

  “I am not doing that,” Charlie fumed. “No way. Not a chance.”

  “You’re turning out to be quite an asset, Mac.” Frankie laughed. “I’d pay serious money to see this.”

  “Not doing it,” the boy repeated.

  “Don’t worry.” Daffodil could hardly contain her glee. “You’re gonna look adorable.”

  “I’ll replicate the things we need. Sorry, Chaz.”

  “Daffodil?” Charlie glowered. “I really hate you right now.”

  17

  Samantha McLaren sat on the couch, an arm round her young son. The doorbell rang and they both flinched.

  “Hide in your room, honey.” She patted the boy’s head. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”

  The child held on tight, refusing to let go.

  “Please, Gus. I’ll be fine.”

  Her son plodded tearfully through to his bedroom. Samantha went to the door and slowly opened it.

  A diminutive, white-faced clown stood on the step, sporting a red rubber nose and painted-on grin. His head was topped by a huge orange wig and he wore a spotted suit with a frilly collar and giant flappy shoes. In one gloved hand he held a large tartan bag; in the other he clutched the strings of a bunch of balloons, which floated above his head like a multicoloured cloud.

  “Miss McLaren?” he said glumly. “You’ve won two free tickets to the circus. Can I come in?”

  “What?” Samantha couldn’t believe her eyes. “Who are you?”

  “The name’s Charlie, but you can call me Chuckles.”

  “You have to go away, son. I don’t want free tickets.” Samantha looked nervously up and down the street. “I’m… I’m expecting visitors.”

  “Yes. You’re waiting for Ryan Cardownie. He’s a loan shark and you owe him several thousand pounds. Only you don’t have the cash to pay him back.”

  “Oh.” Samantha instantly turned hostile. “You work for him, you little monster.”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t have turned up looking like I escaped from nutty town.”

  Charlie stuck his giant foot in the door before Samantha could shut it. “I’m actually here to pay off your debt.” He opened the bag, stuffed to the brim with £100 notes. “Now may I come in?”

  “Why would you help me?” Sammy sat on a chair opposite the stranger. “And how come you’re dressed like that?”

  “No time for discussion. Mr Cardownie is always prompt.” Charlie looked at a big yellow watch decorated with ladybirds. “He’ll be here any second.”

  “And then?”

  “I’ll make him go away.” He curled up in his chair, trying to get his feet to behave. The balloons bobbed and swayed above him, bumping into the walls and ceiling. “You get into the bedroom with your son and let me handle things.”

  “Handle things?” Samantha couldn’t believe her ears. “How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?”

  “I’m fourteen. And I’m not alone.”

  “Ryan Cardownie is a vicious thug and he’ll have his gang with him.” Samantha was close to tears. “There’s much more in that bag than the amount I owe. He’ll take it all.”

  “He’ll certainly try.” The boy waved her away. “You go and look after Gus. I imagine he’s freaking out.”

  “I’m not leaving you with that guy. You’re only a child!”

  “Let’s just say I have a rather unique set of skills.”

  “What? Making balloon animals?” She glared at him. “Wait. Is this some kind of police sting, with you as the decoy?”

  “That’s absolutely right,” Charlie retorted quickly, realising this was the perfect excuse for his presence.

  “I don’t see any unmarked vehicles parked out there.” Samantha peeked round the curtains. “Just the usual cars.”

  “If you could spot a sting, so could Ryan,” the boy pointed out. “We have a surveillance van in the next street and I’m wearing a wire.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “It’s him!” Samantha looked round in terror. “Oh God.”

  “Off you go,” Charlie urged. “Don’t come out until I tell you, no matter what kind of commotion you hear.”

  “Thank you, whoever you are.” Samantha vanished into the bedroom.

  The bell rang again, but Charlie ignored it. A few seconds later there was a crash as the front door was kicked open. Two men strode into the living room, led by Ryan Cardownie. Cardownie was well built, with slicked-down hair, a spotty face and an arrogant stance.

  “Evening, gentlemen.” Charlie raised a white-gloved hand in greeting. “I take it you’ve come about an unpaid debt?”

  “Who the hell are you, Coco?” Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Why are you dressed like some freak?”

  “I like to spread joy and happiness,” the boy said dourly. “Got a problem with that?”

  “I’ll be happy when I get my cash. Where is it?”

  “Miss McLaren owes you four grand.” He pointed to the open bag on the table. “Take that amount and bugger off.”

  Ryan pulled the valise towards him and smirked nastily. “Unfortunately, my interest rate has suddenly just gone up, so I’ll be having all of this.” He rifled though the contents and gave a sharp intake of breath. “There are hundreds of thousands in here!”

  “Six hundred thousand and forty pounds, to be accurate.” Charlie corrected. “I’m sure you recognise the figure. It’s the exact amount that used to be in your private account.”

  “This is my money?” Ryan went purple. “How…?”

  “No matter what bank you use, we’ll hack it.” The boy shrugged. “Which means you’re going to find it hard to pay your accomplices.”

  Cardownie’s henchmen glanced at each other.

  “Not now I’ve got it back, moron.” Ryan motioned to his companions. “Let’s do some serious damage to this midget.”

  “You don’t want to take that route.” Charlie held up a large pin. “It’ll make me a very angry clown. And I’m not in the best of moods on any day.”

  “You’re going to fight us with a needle?” Ryan closed in on him, his heavies close behind. “Now that’s funny.”

  Charlie took a deep breath and held it, then reached up and popped a large red balloon. A puff of incandescent dust enveloped the loan shark and he reeled away, gag
ging and clawing at his throat.

  The boy was on his gigantic feet in a second. A jet of acidic liquid squirted from a plastic daisy on his lapel and hit the first yob in the face. The man clutched at his eyes as Charlie jabbed the pin into his leg and twisted. He sank to his knees and shuffled away, groaning in pain.

  The second assailant swung at his diminutive adversary, but he ducked, pulled a rubber chicken from his voluminous pocket and smacked the man across the head. The thug flew backwards, smashing through the glass coffee table, unconscious before he landed.

  “Got an iron bar inside,” Charlie explained, knocking out the first yob as he tried to crawl to safety. “Your turn now, Cardownie.”

  “Get away from me!” The loan shark ran round the broken table, coughing and gasping, with Charlie waddling in pursuit, his enormous feet flapping on the carpet. He leapt into the air and landed on the man’s back, arms round his neck. He tightened his grip and held on until Ryan collapsed and passed out.

  “This is so undignified. I should have run away and joined the library instead.”

  He took a pair of plastic garden ties from his other pocket and fastened Ryan’s hands behind his back. Then he grabbed a vase from the windowsill and poured water over him.

  “I will kill you for this!” The loan shark sat up, spluttering and shaking his head. “You’ll never be safe.”

  “You don’t even know what I look like under this make-up.” Charlie pushed the brute down and sat on him. “Thing is, that smart TV in the corner has a video cam, which my accomplice is controlling. Tomorrow I’m going to post our little fight on YouTube, along with your name and address.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Ryan tried to buck him off.

  “Nobody will spot the toxic gas I used on you,” the boy said. “It’s almost invisible. What they’ll see is Ryan Cardownie and his mates roughed up by a kid in a clown suit. You’ll never be able to intimidate anyone again.” He leaned closer. “If that’s not enough, we also recorded you telling your henchmen to beat up a child. That’ll land you quite a stretch in prison. And you can’t afford a good lawyer any more.”

  Ryan stopped struggling. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to leave this family alone, get out of town, and never come back.” Charlie held his pin to the man’s throat. “Because, if you do, my associates will be waiting. And they don’t clown around.”

  “Look, we can work out a deal—”

  “In your dreams.” He whacked Ryan over the head with the chicken. “Goodnight.”

  “You seem to have everythin sewn up.” Daffodil strolled in and fastened a strip of tape over Ryan’s mouth. “I’ll hog-tie the other two, though it don’t look like they’ll wake any time soon. When they do, it’ll take them a few hours to get free.”

  “Thanks, Mac.”

  Charlie picked up the bag and clumped into the bedroom. Samantha McLaren was on the bed with her son. The child was sobbing into her shoulder.

  “You won’t be bothered by those louts again.” He dropped the tartan holdall. “In this bag is £600,000 and some loose change. Take it and go start a new life.”

  “You’re not with the police, are you?” Samantha’s eyes were red-rimmed.

  “Does it matter?”

  “And you don’t want anything in return? For all that money?”

  “Send me a postcard. I hear the south of France is a nice place to live.”

  “I only got in debt because I wanted a few decent things for my boy.” Samantha got up and squeezed her son tightly. “I don’t make much on a hospital salary.”

  “No need to explain.”

  “C’mon, Gus.” The woman pulled the boy to his feet. “Let’s get out of this terrible place.”

  “Thank you, Mr Clown,” the child said. “For helping my mum.”

  “Seems I’m in the saving business, whether I want to be or not.” Charlie patted his head. “Pack anything important to you, but make it quick. You have enough cash to buy whatever else you need.”

  “This is my mobile number.” Samantha scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “If you ever need anything, just call. Unless I’m in the Bahamas.”

  “Much obliged.” The boy tucked it into a spotty pocket.

  He waited until the pair left. Then he went back to the living room, sat on Ryan again and dialled the Sunnyside prison switchboard.

  “This is Samantha McLaren,” he said, imitating the woman’s voice perfectly. “I need Warden Bishop to call me at home immediately. It’s an emergency.”

  He hung up and waited. After a few minutes, the phone rang and he picked it up.

  “This is Warden Bishop. What’s wrong, Samantha?”

  “You use a product called Promundus in the soap dispensers at Sunnyside.” Charlie continued to impersonate the nurse. “Don’t you?”

  “I believe so. Why?”

  “Because I work in the infirmary, I use it more than anyone else.” He coughed for effect. “For the first time, it’s given me a really nasty rash. I think it might be a bad batch.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll live. But, to be on the safe side, can you dump what you have and order a new supply immediately? I’d do it myself, only it looks like I’m going to be bed-bound for a few days.”

  “That’ll be expensive.”

  “It’ll be a lot more expensive if all your guards start calling in sick.”

  “True.” The warden sounded suitably concerned. “I’ll get it done right away. Thank you for alerting me and get well soon.”

  “I appreciate your concern.” Charlie set the receiver down.

  Daffodil was watching him from the doorway.

  “Well?”

  “Next phase is complete. Now we have to repaint the van.” He began to struggle out of his costume. “In two days we break the White Spider out of jail.”

  18

  The White Spider sat on his own in Sunnyside’s exercise yard, perched on a bench with his back to the wire fence, reading a book. He was a tall, sinewy man with a shaved head, bug eyes and thin, cruel lips. Nobody came near or tried to engage him in conversation, for his temper was as legendary as his fighting ability.

  Not long ago a convict called Carl Wicks had tried to make a reputation for himself by ambushing the Spider, backed by three of Sunnyside’s most vicious hard men. All were carrying home-made weapons.

  He was now known as One-eyed Wicks, and his accomplices hadn’t fared much better.

  Scotty shuddered at the thought of getting close to this lunatic, but he had no choice. He straightened his shoulders and walked over, trying to act cool and collected.

  The White Spider glanced up as Primo approached and sat down next to him. “I have no wish to be disturbed, my good man.” His tone was crisp. “I intend to finish this volume by lunchtime.”

  “And I’ve got no desire to disturb you.” Scotty flashed his most disarming smile. “It’s just that I have a proposition.”

  “I shall not warn you again.” The White Spider went back to his paperback. “Your very presence is irritating me.”

  Scotty was an expert at quickly sizing people up. This maniac required a short, direct approach.

  “I recently received a visit from a fourteen-year-old girl,” he said. “She offered to break you and me out of prison in the next few days. Nobody else. Just us.”

  “That does sound intriguing,” the Spider conceded. “Though I’m surprised a seasoned con artist like yourself would believe such a far-fetched notion. Especially one put to you by a mere child.”

  “She was extremely persuasive and I’m certain she has some serious backing.” Scotty wasn’t surprised that the Spider knew who he was. The creep seemed to be aware of everything that went on in Sunnyside. “As you pointed out,” he continued, “I’m a con man and not the type to fall for a scam.”

  The Spider shut the book, his interest piqued.

  “Did this girl tell you her plan?”

  “S
he didn’t have the opportunity to say much, but she gave me these.” Scotty opened his palm to reveal two pills. “If we take them, it’ll make us look sick enough to be moved to the infirmary. Her accomplices can break us out from there.”

  He felt a sharp pain in his leg and looked down.

  The Spider was pressing a six-inch nail against his knee.

  “The last time someone persuaded me to take a strange pill, it landed me in this establishment,” he rasped. “So you have until the count of three to provide me with actual information. Or you will walk with a limp for the rest of your exceedingly short life.”

  “That’s all I know!” Scotty spluttered, sweat beading his forehead. “I’m just passing on what she said.”

  “One.”

  “OK! She also gave me a message that I was to repeat to you.”

  “Two.”

  “She said she needed your help taking on Manticorps. Only I don’t know who Manticorps are. Honestly!”

  “Did she now?” The nail vanished up the Spider’s sleeve. “Those were the exact words she uttered?”

  “Wasn’t hard to memorise.”

  “Hmm.” He opened the book again, suddenly a model of politeness. “Have you read this? It’s called Groundworks for the Metaphysics of Morals by the German philosopher Immanuel Kant. Quite fascinating.”

  “No,” Scotty replied apprehensively. “I mostly like historical romances.”

  “If I may quote from Kant…” The Spider closed his eyes and recited. “‘One who makes himself a worm cannot complain afterwards if people step on him.’”

  “Eh… OK.”

  The Spider took his pill, slid it between two pages and snapped the volume shut.

  “I shall make my intentions plainer,” he said pleasantly. “I graciously accept your offer to remove myself from Sunnyside. If you are attempting to make a fool of me, however, I will grind you under the heel of my boot until you are dust.” He stood up. “I look forward to seeing you in the infirmary. Try not to be tardy. I am not known for my patience.”

  He left without a backwards glance, leaving Scotty sitting rigid with fear.

  19