by steve higgs
Kieran was staying in character and was trying to bite Basic as he got closer. Restrained by his wrists, he could not quite get within biting range though, so was just snapping his teeth in the air.
Basic’s childish singing voice was soothing, and I wondered if he was trying to coax the demon into submission – to calm him somehow. I had not considered how Basic would perceive such a case. He often seemed confused by the concept of the paranormal and had trouble working out whether what he saw on his television was real or not. Cop show: Real. Vampire cop show: not real? I understood how it might get confusing.
Basic sat on the bed about halfway down its length, leaning toward Kieran. He lifted his left hand as if to stroke Kieran's hair, a move I would advocate against as it too looked to have crap in it, but as Basic reached the end of his verse he punched Kieran in the side of his head with his right fist.
‘Pop goes the weasel. Hur hur.’ Basic said, chuckling. Kieran was bleeding from the mouth, but the demon act was gone.
‘What the hell, man?' he yelled. ‘What the hell?
Father McMeadow started up his incantations again. I turned to face him. ‘Really?’ I asked.
‘What's happening?' Mrs. Carter wanted to know.
‘Hit him again.’ I instructed Basic.
‘No. No. No, dammit.’ Protested Kieran as Basic lifted his enormous fist once more. ‘Dave, stop dicking about and untie me.’
Dave?
Father McMeadow was looking a little panicked. His eyes were darting about. From the doorway, we heard a noise downstairs.
The Arbitrators had arrived.
Mrs. Carter looked quite confused, but I believed that I knew what was going on. Basic was looking at me with his fist raised towards Kieran, checking whether he should actually hit him again, or not. I shook my head just enough that Basic got the message.
Father McMeadow was beginning to gather up his things. He was bright enough to know the game was over. I darted forward though and snatched his phone from the dresser behind him before he could get to it. ‘I’ll have that, thank you.’
‘Hey!’ he protested but I ignored him as I quickly scrolled into his messages. Getting more agitated and trying to take the phone back from me his next utterance was, ‘Oi, dickhead!’ as he flailed against my outstretched arm.
Not very clergy-like language.
Basic got up and took a step forward in warning. It was sufficient to convince Dave "the fake clergyman" to give up on his phone. There were footsteps on the stairs and Mrs. Carter was moving to meet with them.
‘Dave.’ yelled Kieran from the bed, reminding him of his predicament. It was time to finish this off.
Using Father McMeadow's phone I dialled 999 and was connected just as two men in black cassocks came into the room preceded by Mrs. Carter. ‘What service? The Police please.' I said smiling at the two new men. They took one look at me, glanced at Kieran on the bed and bolted. As they ran loudly back down the stairs, I covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said, ‘Let them go.' I saw no point in Basic giving chase. The Police would pick them up soon enough.
‘Will somebody please tell me what is going on?' pleaded Mrs. Carter.
‘Of course.' I replied. ‘Give me just one moment please.' The Police dispatch person came on the other end of the line, whereupon I invited him to send a squad car to the address and provided a brief explanation of what the Police would find there. When he asked for more details I asked him to wait a moment and sent Basic to take Mrs. Carter downstairs where he should assist her in making some tea. Bewildered, she complied and went with him, holding his hand.
Father McMeadow moved to untie Kieran but stopped when I instructed him to do so. I wanted Kieran left where he was until the Police arrived, it would not be very long. Kieran was protesting that he needed to pee, which I ignored as he had clearly been content to urinate and defecate on the bed thus far. I did, however, leave the room, quite thankfully, and took Father McMeadow with me.
The Police arrived just a few minutes later by which time I had drunk half my tea and had explained to Mrs. Carter that she was being scammed by her son and his friends. She was going to be asked to pay the Arbitrators a few thousand pounds to rid her son of the demon. I showed her Father McMeadow's phone on which a series of WhatsApp messages between him and Kieran and another chap named Herbert could be read setting the whole thing up.
Staring disbelievingly at the phone, I watched as the truth of it dawned on her and a mother's rage took over. Yelling that she was going to kill him she headed for the stairs. I had expected something like this from her, so had blocked her route. For her own sake, she needed this to be handled by the Police now.
Basic opened the door to them as they came up the driveway and thirty minutes later, we were back in my car on our way back to Finchampstead. I could not decide though if the smell of human poop was in my head or had permeated into my clothes or was perhaps actually on Basic because he had got quite close to Kieran when he whacked him in the head.
I hoped that it was not the latter as it heightened the possibility that there were actual bits of poop on Basic. I did not want them in my car, stinking it out until I got it valeted, and I did not want a phone call from Basic’s mum asking me what the heck we had been getting up to.
There was nothing I could do about it for now. I swung off the A road, down the ramp and onto the motorway with the car pointed north towards London. It would not take long to get home, but it would be close to 2000hrs by the time we got there and that would effectively be the end of the day.
From the passenger's seat came a gentle snoring noise. Basic was slumped against the window asleep. In the quiet of the car, I thought again about the Klown case. I should call my clients, who I had mentally labelled as the CLITs and check in with them. It was a standard practice for me to call my clients on a daily basis during a case. Give them an update, answer any questions they might have.
My car had a dial to scroll through my phone list which appeared on a screen in the centre of the dashboard. As I pressed dial on my steering wheel, I realised that I did not know which of the gentlemen the call would connect to. It was a safe assumption that I had the number for only one of them.
The call clicked in as someone picked up. ‘Hello?’
I recognised the voice as belonging to Richard Levaraugh. Otherwise known as Big Dick. ‘Mr. Levaraugh, good evening. This is Tempest Michaels. I need to update you on your case.'
‘Ah.’ he said, reluctance in his voice. ‘Ah.’ Again. ‘I, um. I’m afraid there has been a change of plans.’
‘How so, Mr. Levaraugh?'
‘Well, some of the other chaps, not me of course, but some of the chaps they were not convinced that the Klowns are actually real men and not demons like you said.’
‘I’m listening.’ I already knew where this was going. The CLITs would not be the first customer to decide that I had no idea what I was doing when I claimed that their particular case was not at all paranormal in nature.
‘Well, err. Well, they hired a different investigator and those of us that wanted to stay with you cannot afford to do so by ourselves.’ He fell silent.
‘Mr. Levaraugh, thank you for your candour.' I was annoyed, bordering on angry but I was calm. ‘I will be solving this case regardless of whether you and your friends are paying me to do so.' I told him through gritted teeth. ‘The Klowns are just men, I have met several of them now so there is no doubt whatsoever in my mind.'
‘Oh.’ he said, sounding surprised.
I pressed on, disinterested in what he might have to say now. ‘I will assume that your new investigator is Dr. Lyndon Parrish. I am afraid you will find that he is misleading you, so please be careful what your group commits to pay him for his services. Once I have solved the case, I will let you know. If you change your mind about Dr. Parrish please contact me.'
I bid him a good evening and punched the button to disconnect the call. Dr. Parrish and I were going to have a conversati
on soon. It was one thing to set up a rival business under my nose and mere feet from my office but another thing entirely to poach my customers.
Evening Meal. Wednesday, 26th October 2037hrs
I had dropped Basic at home and watched him go into his house. He lived with his mum still and was a necessary part of her life. I had never asked him about his father, so the man may have absconded years ago, be a mystery to his mother or might even have died at some point in the past. Whatever the case was, Basic was the man of the house and took care of his mother just as much as she took care of him.
I lived just around the corner from their house and was home in less than a minute. Just as I had instructed Jane to do, I drove past my house looking for anything that seemed out of place. I took two laps but could see no cars with people in them or cars that I did not recognise. I parked hesitantly nevertheless, then waited in the car with the lights off for a few minutes looking all around for movement. When I was as satisfied as I could be without sending out a patrol to check the area, I got out and locked my car and went to Mrs. Comerforth's.
The dogs heard me coming, or perhaps reacted to the outside light coming on as I neared the house and were both at the door trying to get out to me when Mrs. Comerforth opened it. I greeted them with equal enthusiasm, getting on the floor so they could climb on my lap and lick my hands. I thanked Mrs. Comerforth once again as she handed me their leads and water bowl, then took them home where they went immediately to the kitchen to stare intently at the cupboard I kept their treats in. I followed them to the cupboard, teased them for a moment with a conversation about their lack of exercise but gave them each a chew stick anyway.
I checked my watch to find it was 2037hrs. I was overdue for my evening meal. My stomach rumbled as if spurred into action by my thoughts. The pizza at lunchtime had undoubtedly carried me further than my usual lunch would have, but now I was hungry, and it was already getting late to start preparing something healthy. I opened the fridge and rooted around a bit looking for a magical low-calorie meal to jump out. When one was not forthcoming, I gave in and went to the pub.
The dogs were only too happy to go out again, they still had their collars on when I called them and as usual, they worked out where we were going and dragged me the last hundred yards through the public-house carpark. My ribs were starting to hurt again, reminding me that I was due another dose of painkillers. I fished in my bag and popped two out of their blister pack while I waited for the Landlord to pour my pint. I swallowed them with the first gulp of amber liquid.
‘Shall we take a seat, chaps?' I asked the two dogs. They were staring up at me quite intently as they had heard the Landlord hand a packet of crisps across the bar to me. The crisps were for sharing, although I planned to eat most of them, and they were to tide me over until my dinner arrived. I had ordered a burger and chips as it was something the Landlord assured me would not take long and had paid for a second pint in advance as I was fairly sure I would have finished the one in my hand before the food arrived.
As I lowered myself down into the old sagging sofa near the open fire, my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I had to shuffle around a bit to retrieve it. It was in my back pocket, so I was sat on it, but the simple movement was compounded by the stiffness in my ribs.
The screen identified the caller as Sophie which caused me to swiftly punch the green answer button.
‘Sophie.’
‘Good evening, Tempest.’ she said, her voice guarded and far different from the excited tones in which she had addressed me a few days ago. ‘Thank you for my flowers and the note.’
‘You are very welcome.' I felt that I had apologised enough and that any more of the same would come across as grovelling – not a characteristic I expected a woman would want in a prospective mate.
If she was expecting more grovelling, then she did not pursue it. ‘I have decided to give you one more shot at this, Tempest. I like you, but I have to say I did not expect it to be like this.'
‘I understand. It has not gone as I planned, but I will endeavour to make it up to you. Why don't you tell me what your favourite restaurant is, and I will make arrangements to take you there?'
‘Hmm… that does sound nice. There is an Italian place in Rochester High Street that I like.’
‘Monte Verdi’s?’
‘Yes, that's the one.' I knew it well. It was one hundred metres or so from my office, had an excellent and well-deserved reputation and was expensive. Not so expensive that I balked at the idea of taking an attractive woman there though.
‘Jolly good. I am looking forward to it, Sophie. When would like to do this? How about Saturday?’ I asked.
‘Can we make it Friday instead?’
‘Of course.' I replied without bothering to think. Just like that, I had a dinner date with an attractive, single woman on Friday night. Neither one of us had children to worry about so the evening could take us wherever it fancied. I suggested picking her up, but she answered that she was local so would make her own way. My brain was telling me that I would have to tell the chaps that I was not able to make it for our regular round of drinks on Friday but knew they would understand. I then remembered that Jane had invited me and anyone else from my crowd out for birthday drinks tomorrow night. I had failed to contact any of them yet because my brain appeared to be misfiring recently.
I concluded the phone call with Sophie by agreeing a time to meet on Friday night. I was yet to book a table but was confident I could sort that out. We said goodnight and disconnected.
I put the phone back on the table in front of me and picked up my pint. Technically I had a third date with Sophie Sheard. Third dates came with certain connotations, although chuckling to myself about how crap I had been this week, I doubted she would be interested in hearing me joke about it.
I sent a group message to Jagjit, Big Ben, and Basic as well as Frank and Poison, telling them that there was a meet for drinks the next evening and encouraging them to come along. Just before I sent it, I added Hilary. Hilary ‘Brian' Clinton was a good friend and member of the regular Friday night pub crowd that had recently come out on a night-time adventure with me and the others which had resulted in his arrest. His wife had not taken it very well and we had not seen him since. I thought his attendance was a long shot, so I added that his good lady would be more than welcome and ended the message with an apology for the short notice.
I drained my drink just as the burger and chips were delivered. They were as tasty as the menu claimed. I had eaten at the pub before but only once or twice; it was not a habit I wanted to fall into and I was already berating myself as I mopped up the last of the ketchup with my final chip.
I am going to get fat, I can feel my waistline expanding.
I told my paranoia to shut up and finished my pint. It was 2127hrs. I needed to get home, get clean and get to bed, so I bid the other patrons goodnight, clipped the dogs back onto their leads and sauntered home with a full belly and slight haze from the beer. Apart from the ache in my ribs, I felt good.
At home, I went upstairs to run a bath and came back downstairs to pour myself a generous rum and coke. It would further take the edge off the pain in my side. At least that's what I told myself. Into the bath had gone a cap-full of my Molten Brown muscle soak. I doubted it would have any real effect on my body, but it sure smelt good, and what is life without a few treats?
Checking my phone, I saw that Jagjit and Big Ben had responded to my earlier group message to say they were coming. Jagjit was bringing a date, the paramedic lady from Saturday night. Big Ben was coming alone but then he always did. He just turned up, flashed his smile and took someone home with him. Basic had also replied but he could not attend as he took his mum to bingo at the church hall on a Thursday. No reply yet from anyone else. Leaning against my kitchen counter sipping rum from a Mason jar, I remembered the missing client from this morning, the one with pertinent information about the Klown case. As my bath ran, I sent a text to Jane. It wa
s late, but I was sure she would not mind. Calling would get a more certain response but it seemed intrusive at this time of day.
Her answered pinged back in less than a minute, answering my question with a name - Angela Barclay.
I stared at the screen on my phone for a while. Angela Barclay was a woman I had met during the Vampire case. She had been dating one of the ringleaders and had been completely blind to the crimes they were committing. I had coerced her into giving me information that had helped me solve the case and now she was trying to give me more information. This time about the Klowns. How did one woman get herself mixed up in so much trouble?
I checked my phone contacts list to find that I did still have her number. I called it and waited for her to answer. She did not pick up though.
I tapped my phone to my forehead thoughtfully. There was something I was missing here. Why was Angela involved again?
I had alcohol and painkillers in my system now, so my brain was a little fuzzy, plus I was tired, so I shucked my clothes and went for a soak in the bath. As I left the bedroom the dogs were climbing onto the bed.
Late Start. Wednesday,October 27th 0812hrs
Sunlight woke me which meant I had slept in again. I was turning into a civilian! I was eating unsuitable food, allowing poor excuses like broken ribs to keep me from the gym and I was laying in my bed getting nothing done. All these thoughts rampaged through my mind in the first few seconds of alertness. I glanced across at the clock to find that it was 0812hrs. Well after the time I ought to be out of bed.
I levered myself up onto my elbows and blinked a few times. Was I feeling better? Did my ribs hurt less? The painkillers I had taken last night would be out of my system by now. I gingerly prodded my ribs with the fingers of my left hand. It was still sore but five days on it was also not as sore as it had been. Was I healing more quickly than predicted or was the Molton Brown muscle soak imbued with magical powers?
There was a knock at my door and an instantaneous episode of barking from the dogs, both of whom were still beneath the duvet revelling in the warmth it provided. They emerged at speed, still barking a warning to the intruder outside. I already knew it was Basic or was most likely to be Basic, as I had offered him a lift in with me this morning. Yawning, I struggled into my clothes and stumbled downstairs carrying the Dachshunds. Their little tails were wagging madly as they tried to evade my grip and get to the front door. Instead, I deposited them by the back door and forced them outside to do their business in the garden, then I went to let Basic in.
