Sealfinger (Sam Applewhite Book 1)

by Heide Goody

  Marvin and Tim weren’t ready with their props.

  “Too soon, too soon,” Sam muttered. In an act of unconscious desperation she threw the wad of dried face wipes she was still carrying. It fell a good ten feet short of Rich’s podium, but he saw it. Sam waggled her feathery butt to draw Rich’s attention. When she had it she made spinning, hand over hand motions for him to keep talking.

  Rich paused for a moment, then, a little too loudly, said, “But before we get onto that, perhaps we need to reflect on the ups and downs of the business year in Skegness. Let’s, er, start with the, um, clothes bin controversy…”

  There were murmurs from the hall. From her position in the wings, Sam could just about see Jacinda at her table, fists balled in tense frustration.

  “Yes, it was an eagle-eyed volunteer from one of our town’s charity shops who spotted some higher value garments being sold for profit by the private contractor who was tasked with emptying the bins and distributing the clothes,” Rich was saying.

  Marvin’s phone buzzed in Sam’s hand. She was still on the open line to Delia but there was a call waiting. A withheld number. Probably the detectives.

  “It seems he’d made several hundred pounds before being intercepted,” Rich continued. “So let’s give a big hand to Maureen in the Cat Shelter Collective, shall we?”

  The applause was lacklustre, the mood restless, and Rich had apparently exhausted the local gossip and raised the award envelope.

  “So, I know you’re all waiting eagerly to hear what awaits in this special gold envelope. And I’m sure you’ll join me in congratulating the winner.” He opened the envelope slowly, either to heighten tension or to give Sam more time. “It’s Jacinda Frost, of Frost and Sons!”

  There was applause, even a restrained cheer or two, but the loudest noise came from Jacinda herself, an orgasmic growl of victory as she rose to her feet.

  “It’s time,” said Marvin, tugging at Sam’s arm.

  * * *

  Jimmy ordered Delia up the steps and to open the stage door. In truth, he dribbled some word-shaped sounds, but she got the idea. A shotgun pressed against the spine was a great focuser of the mind. Inside, a long bare brick corridor led to the backstage area. Jimmy could hear, deadened and distorted by distance, the sound of Jacinda Frost giving a smug acceptance speech. As they made their way forward through the dimly lit corridor, echoes conspired and synchronised to give moments of clarity.

  “…considerate building practices…”

  “…affordable housing up and down the coast…”

  “…a construction legacy to be proud of…”

  Jimmy would have laughed, but his throat wasn’t working properly. A construction legacy? Bob Frost would have hung his head in shame at what his daughter had become. It was only then that Jimmy realised he was holding the very shotgun Bob Frost had killed himself with. And he knew Jacinda was going to be on the receiving end of it. Like father, like daughter.

  “Jimmy!” called a voice from the far end of the corridor.

  His vision was a tiny sliver of what it once was, but he could see well enough to recognise the woman in the outlandish feathery outfit. It was Sam Applewhite! She had some brass neck coming out here and facing him. Didn’t she realise he held all the cards?

  “I need you to let Delia go,” Sam called. “She’s no part of this.”

  “Uurh I ow.”

  “What?”

  “Urg ivv ow!” Jimmy rasped.

  “What?”

  “‘She is now!’” Delia translated. “I mean, I. I am now, is what he meant.”

  Jimmy would have rolled his eyes if his face was capable of such movements.

  Sam adopted a firmer stance. “Let her go, Jimmy. I’m the one you’re really bothered by.”

  “Unh oo!”

  “And Jacinda’s not pleased. She’s angry with you, not me.”

  He could see the woman was trying to rile him. Jimmy knew he couldn’t afford to lose his cool. Cold Jimmy was in charge, and Cold Jimmy knew that hostages were his ticket out of here. But he couldn’t possibly take everyone hostage. Perhaps, right now, he could kill Sam Applewhite and get Delia into the van. It was actually quite doable – especially if Jacinda got her skinny arse outside so the two of them could sort something out. The corridor was all shadows, but a bright light around Sam made her a perfectly clear target. Jimmy couldn’t miss with the shotgun, even if the swelling around his eyes closed them completely. He aimed over Delia’s shoulder.

  Sam raised a hand in surprise, as though she wasn’t expecting this – stupid bitch – and he pulled the trigger.

  His clumsy injured finger unleashed both barrels at once. Sam Applewhite flew apart in a hundred shards.

  73

  Sam felt the patter of glass fragments against her arms as she raised them to protect her eyes. The tall mirror, set at forty-five degrees in the corridor, was reduced to a jagged-edged frame.

  Above the distant but growing sound of shouts from the auditorium, Tim muttered, “Well, Antoine de Winter ain’t getting that back any time soon.”

  “He shot both barrels,” Marvin said to Sam. She’d heard it too.

  She poked her head round into the corridor putting herself properly into Jimmy’s view. “He’s out of ammo!” she yelled at a stunned Delia. “Run!”

  Delia slipped out from under the barrel of the shotgun. Jimmy made a grab for her. Delia pulled something from her belt – a Capitalist Whore corkscrew – and stabbed it through the back of his hand.

  Jimmy bellowed like a stuck cow.

  “Run!” shouted Sam.

  * * *

  Even with his compromised sight, Jimmy could see what had happened wasn’t right. He’d not shot Sam. There was no corpse, and now he had a perky knock-off Barbie impaling his hand. He roared, not just with the pain, and ran down a side corridor to his right, towards the sound of screaming. He stumbled into the wings of the auditorium stage almost immediately, running onto a stage where Jacinda, wild-eyed, clung to a podium in a room of startled people.

  “It’s nothing!” she was shouting into the microphone. “It’s nothing! I was telling you about investments for the future! It’s just … just shut up and listen! It was probably only a car backfiring! The future—”

  She saw Jimmy and fell silent.

  Oh, he liked it when she was silent. Cold Jimmy loved all manner of silences. The silence of the deep. The silence of fear. The silence of the dead, their lips sealed.

  He stalked across the stage, gun raised to blast her, before remembering he’d spent both shots.

  “Sfffit,” he muttered, broke the shotgun open, expelling two smoking cartridge shells, and tried to get the spares from his pocket.

  The doll jammed in the back of his hand made it impossible. He huffed, raising the hand to shove the doll’s head between his swollen lips. With a bite and a twist he ripped the thing out of his flesh. The pain was a point of hot bright consciousness that only heightened his anger. He fumbled for the shells in his pocket. Fingers that would not respond properly simply spilled them across the stage.

  This was a cue for the audience to hide or scatter. Seeing his struggles, Jacinda found her voice again.

  “You stupid man!” she shrieked. “What are you doing? You’re ruining everything!” She turned to the retreating investors. “Wait! Mr Branston! Donald! Kerry! Come back! It’s okay! He’s with me!”

  At the door, the bottleneck of business folk trying to get out met a trio of police officers forcing their way in.

  “Drop the weapon!” one hollered. Her colleagues were close on her heels, one with a baton ready, the other with taser drawn.

  Ah, the fucking British bobbies, thought Jimmy. Ready to go up against an armed man with sticks and zappers.

  He looked at the shells scattered on the floor, at his injured hands, calculating whether he’d be able to reload before they reached him. With a snarl, he hurled the shotgun at Jacinda’s face and ran for the balcony behin
d the bar.

  * * *

  Sam held onto Delia until Delia insisted that Sam let her go.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Sam. “So, so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Delia. “I’m fine.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I’m going to need a shitload of counselling, probably.”

  “But as a guild member, you do get a discount off local business services, and I hear Dr Almeida’s a brilliant therapist—”

  Delia clutched at Sam’s feathers. “The award!”

  “What?”

  “Well, you voted for me.”

  “I think it’s been announced…”

  Arm in arm, they returned to the auditorium via the stage wings. Rich was righting the podium while two PCSOs carefully collected the dropped shotgun and loose cartridges.

  “Now, the police have told us all to stay here while they deal with the gunman,” Rich said to the audience. He looked at the gun in the PCSOs hands. “Well, not a gunman anymore. The … man. We’re all going to stay here.”

  The audience didn’t look like they were in the mood for glitzy regional business events right now.

  Rich thought on his feet. “I’ve put a tab behind the bar. Drinks are on me until the police get back.”

  The audience changed its mind very rapidly and there was a sudden rush for the bar.

  Rich saw Sam, Delia and the two older men coming through the stage area. “You all right?” he said. “No injuries? I know CPR.”

  Sam saw Delia give the millionaire a quick up and down before she sighed. “I’m a married woman.”

  “She’s here!” yelled a voice in the hall.

  As Sam looked, fingers were pointed at Jacinda Frost, trying to sneak her way to the exit, while holding what appeared to be a bleeding and broken nose. A grey-haired lump of a woman leapt out and powered Jacinda to the ground.

  Rich shaded his hand against the stage lighting to see clearly. “Well done that woman,” he said. “Everyone – give it up for Maureen from the Cat Shelter Collective! Again.”

  74

  Jimmy ran between Carnage Hall and the fairground. There were blue flashing lights up on the promenade, and a cluster of figures around one end of the car park near where his van was parked. There was a heavy thumping sound, and the shouts of someone telling that idiot copper they’d have him out soon.

  Jimmy kept down to the right, in the shadows of the closed shop units alongside the fairground. He followed the building round and into the darkness of Scarborough Esplanade. He was having trouble seeing exactly where he was. On the one hand, he wanted to stay out of the light, but on the other, he could barely see anything anymore. Cold Jimmy knew this was bad, but that he’d survived worse. Probably.

  He stumbled into a concrete wall. He heard the sea slurping on the sand. He was down near the front. Jimmy worked his way along, found a metal railing and then a set of stairs. Wooden stairs. He climbed, realising where he was. He’d made his way round to the pier and onto the open boardwalk that jutted over the beach, now closed for the night. As he edged along he looked back at the illuminated town. The lights around Carnage Hall, the extravagant illuminations on the parade, the bars and arcades that were still open: the warmth and innocence of it all sickened him.

  He saw swinging torch lights on Scarborough Esplanade. He made his way further out. Out to sea there was only the blue-black of night and the occasional pinprick light of a passing ship. He would be trapped if they decided to search up here. The tide was lapping around the supports below the pier. If he climbed down, he could paddle or swim up the coast. He’d only need to go so far as Ingoldmells, or the north end of Skegness, to bypass all the search efforts.

  It was a bold plan. Cold Jimmy approved. He grasped the rail and clambered over, immediately realising the cold slippery metal presented a greater risk than he’d anticipated. He clung to the railing and fumbled in his pockets. Gloves! He forced his aching hands into them feeling much more secure. He found a grip further down and lowered his feet onto one of the diagonal supports. It was so dark he would have to do most of this by feel, so he wasn’t necessarily impaired by his injuries. Also, the more he used his hands the more the pain receded.

  He was delighted by this. He could feel how straightforward it would be to simply trust to instinct, like a jungle creature. Maybe he would scamper through the forest of cross beams head first, just to embrace his new abilities. As he reached for a new support, he felt a tug at the hairs on the back of his hands, remembering too late the drugs patches he’d glued in the gloves earlier.

  “Fuhk,” he murmured, although he didn’t feel as panicked as he knew he ought to. Cold Jimmy and a massive dose of horse tranquiliser wrapped him in their protective embrace. He let go. He felt so light, he thought he might just soar towards the water, then swoop upwards again, shrieking like a seagull.

  He hit the water hard and plummeted beneath the surface. His feet kicked at the sand mere feet beneath the surface. Giddy and near unconsciousness, he thought he’d best breathe through the gills he knew were there somewhere, if he could only remember where. He swallowed sea water, gagged and spat as it burned along his ruined throat.

  He splashed towards the shore, but his arms were weighed down, clothing soaked, limbs losing all sensation.

  There were two figures on the shore. They stood in near darkness, no torches. Not the police. Night time beach drinkers? Teenagers looking for a bit of privacy? He splashed and shouted to them, but only a desperate hooting noise emerged from his throat.

  “What’s that?” said the thin one.

  “What?” said the thickset one.

  The seawater around Jimmy was simultaneously freezing cold and a comfortingly warm blanket. Cold Jimmy’s tentacles coiled around his legs and torso and tried to pull him down into the dark, safe depths. Jimmy fought against it and cried out to the two figures.

  “It’s just a seal,” said one.

  “Careful,” said the other. “A seal can bite a man’s hand clean off.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “I heard that the other day. Happened to a bloke at Seal Land.”

  Jimmy dipped below the surface. Stinging seawater flooded his nostrils and mouth. With failing effort, he bobbed up again. He’d have coughed, but he’d forgotten how. The two figures were still there. The thin one looked stooped and frail, like an old woman. The heavy one had a fat, shaved head and the slouch of a happy-go-lucky moron. They looked like they were waiting for him.

  A low wave broke over Jimmy and the tide pulled him back. Better Cold Jimmy and the dark than those two. He let the water take him.

  75

  Time heals all wounds, and alcohol does a pretty good job too. Cleopatra presented Sam and Delia with a pair of shimmering cocktails.

  “End of the Night,” she said.

  “Far from it,” said Delia. “We’ve only just got tonight back on track. There better be karaoke before the evening is through.”

  “Guild events aren’t renowned for putting on karaoke,” said Sam.

  “We’ll soon see about that, won’t we, Tim?” said Marvin. “We’ll go find the sound engineer.”

  “Some ABBA!” Delia shouted after them.

  The women leaned against the bar and drank.

  “Definitely the two best-dressed gals in here,” said Delia eventually.

  Sam compared her feathered monstrousness with Delia’s seed bag and cannibalised toy construction. “Positively smoking,” she agreed.

  Up on stage, Rich was deep in debate with the guild chairman. On a table nearby, a couple of people were sifting through voting forms.

  Rich waved Alistair Green away and took to the microphone. “I would very much like to get this ceremony back on track for you, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “The police assure me that the building is now secure, and we can safely continue.”

  “Is there still a free bar?” someone shouted out.

  “I’m a man of my word,” he replied. T
here was much applause.

  “There remains the difficulty of the award, which has been removed from the previous recipient, so we’re just conducting a recount.” Rich looked over at the table to see if they were done, and got a headshake in response. “However,” he continued, “I do feel as though our humble awards ceremony has been eclipsed by the heroics of a very brave woman this evening.”

  Sam felt her cheeks redden.

  “Let’s show our appreciation one last time for Maureen from the Cat Shelter Collective!”

  “Unbelievable,” said Sam. She applauded nonetheless.

  A piece of paper was handed to Rich.

  “I can now reveal that we’ve run the numbers and we have a clear winner, after removing the entries for the recently arrested Jacinda Frost.” He looked at the paper. “With a staggering one vote, it’s Delia from Back to Life.”

  The audience generally had no idea who Delia was, but it was a night for cathartically enthusiastic applause and they gave it some welly. Delia looked genuinely astounded and was frozen to the spot.

  “Come on,” said Sam. “This is for you.”

  She dragged Delia to the front, while Delia mimed shocked and delighted me? gestures all the while. Sam propelled her to the podium. Rich gave her a small but perfectly formed trophy plaque and a kiss on the cheek. Delia stood before the microphone and waited for the applause to die down.

  “Now, I won’t be making a speech, because, quite frankly I have no idea how. But I think it’s fair to say that this evening has not turned out how I expected. I love our town for that. It’s always got a curveball to throw at you. Mind, I’m beginning to think Sam Applewhite is a one-woman curveball all on her own.”

  Delia paused and Sam did a little curtsey of thanks.

  Delia raised the trophy high. “That’s it. Let the karaoke begin!”

  There were blank expressions. The guild chairman was clearly about to explain they didn’t do karaoke when the intro to Dancing Queen struck up over the PA system.