Location, Location, Damnation

by Nick Moseley

  'She's right,' agreed Oscar. 'It's about the only time you can believe anything one of those slippery bastards tells you.'

  'All right,' said Trev. He turned his attention back to Granddad. 'So was the Colonel lying when he told me that stuff about the Custodians' history?'

  Granddad gave him a look that said do we have to do this now? Trev gave him one back that said yes we bloody do, if you expect me to go out and do your dirty work.

  'Well,' Granddad replied, 'I don't doubt that he embellished things a little, but I expect most of what he told you was true. Historically there were elements within the Custodians that considered themselves above the principles and laws that they had sworn to abide by. That's not true of all my predecessors, by any means. Agatha is proof of that.'

  'Thank you, Bernard,' said Agatha, nodding to him.

  'Oi,' said Oscar. 'What about me?'

  Granddad stared at Oscar over the top of his glasses. 'Are you seriously suggesting that I hold you up to Trevor as a model example of morality and virtue?'

  'Yep,' Oscar replied.

  Granddad sighed and turned back to Trev. 'I don't know what else to tell you. I'm sorry I didn't fill you in on the entire history of the Custodians, but I thought it was more important that you knew what we are now, rather than what we used to be. We still aren't perfect, but the incidents the Colonel told you about are long since past.'

  'Those who seek perfection in others should first find it in themselves,' said Agatha quietly, fixing Trev with a steady gaze.

  'Fine, I get it - "let he who is without sin cast the first stone" and all that,' said Trev, avoiding her eyes. 'It might've been nice to know why most of the supernatural community is going to hate me on sight, that's all.'

  'I'd say "mistrust" us rather than "hate" us,' said Granddad. 'In some cases they've every right to. All we can do is keep plugging away and hope to eventually prove them wrong.'

  'Fair do's,' said Trev, realising that there wasn't much point in turning the discussion into an argument. 'I'd prefer to be kept up to speed in future, though. I felt like a complete mug sitting there while the Colonel rattled on about all this stuff I didn't know.'

  'Point taken,' said Granddad, raising a hand in a gesture of concession. 'Going forward I'll make sure to keep you informed.'

  'Cheers.'

  'What time are you meeting Louise?'

  'Midnight,' said Trev. 'Not much point looking for Corbyn during the day, eh?'

  'Nope,' agreed Oscar. 'Here's a hint for your search – start with the pubs.'

  'Boozer, is he?'

  'If he bothered to invest the money he makes, he'd probably be richer than the Colonel by now,' Granddad explained. 'Needless to say, he doesn't, and he isn't.'

  'He's a drinker, a gambler and a lecher,' said Agatha. Her expression suggested that she did not view these as positive qualities.

  Trev disagreed. He grinned. 'I like him already.'

  'You won't say that once you've met him,' said Oscar, scratching behind an ear with one of his back paws. 'He's not one of your charming, whimsical pub philosopher types. He's an arsehole, basically.'

  'With any luck he'll be pissed by the time we find him,' said Trev. 'Should make things a bit easier if he wants a fight.'

  Granddad shook his head. 'Not really. It takes a lot of alcohol to seriously impair a vampire. It's just another way their physiology is different from ours.'

  'I won't suggest we settle our differences with a drinking contest, then.'

  'Best not.'

  'So have you been watching Kolley again today?'

  'Some,' Granddad admitted. 'He was in his office this morning, then went out to lunch. We tried to follow him but were foiled by a set of traffic lights. He didn't go back to the office in the afternoon and I was worried that something might've happened to him, but when we went past his house later on, he was there.'

  'Taking a half day, eh? Lucky him.' Trev rubbed his chin. 'His shareholders wouldn't be impressed, mind. No spooky stuff?'

  'Nothing,' replied Agatha. 'Neither Oscar or I sensed anything untoward at the KolleyCo offices or his house.'

  'No sinister possessed birds?'

  'No.'

  'No axe-wielding old ladies?'

  'No.'

  'At least I didn't miss anything then.'

  'No.'

  'I love these little chats we have,' said Trev. He addressed Granddad. 'Are you going back out there tonight?'

  'Yes,' the old man replied. 'For what it's worth, anyway. His house is very secure – big gates, high walls and all that.'

  'Like the Colonel's, you mean?'

  'Well, when you put it that way…'

  Trev rolled his eyes, then looked at his watch. 'I'd better get my arse in gear,' he said. 'I've got to be at Webster's for half eight.'

  Granddad looked up sharply. 'Trevor, tell me you're not going drinking prior to tracking down Corbyn?'

  'Works do, couldn't get out of it,' said Trev with an apologetic shrug. 'Don't worry, I'll make sure not to get leathered.'

  'If you have to go, stay off the alcohol altogether,' Granddad advised him sternly. 'You'll need all your wits about you.'

  'Hey, I said not to worry,' Trev replied. 'I'll give my workmates some story about having to be up early tomorrow. That'll explain me having to leave early and staying off the booze.'

  Granddad pursed his lips, but then nodded. 'That sounds like a decent plan, just make sure you keep to it. I don't think Louise will be too impressed if you're stinking of lager when you meet up with her.'

  'There's no danger of that…'

  'Good.'

  '…because I'll be drinking vodka.'

  'Trevor,' Granddad said warningly.

  Trev smirked. 'Joking, joking.'

  'At least try to take these things seriously. What was I saying earlier about being over-confident?'

  'It's either joke about it, or get so nervous that all I can do is curl up into a ball and gibber to myself,' said Trev with a shrug. 'Take your pick.'

  'Or you could go for option "C",' said Oscar.

  Trev sighed. 'Which is?'

  'Getting a grip on yourself and not being such a pillock.'

  'Oh for goodness' sake, Oscar, you're as bad as he is,' said Agatha.

  'He wishes,' muttered Trev. 'Anyway, with those few kind words ringing in my ears, I'm off.'

  Granddad stood up and held out his hand. 'Good luck.'

  Trev shook the offered hand. 'Cheers. I'll give you a ring and let you know what information I get out of Corbyn.' He paused. 'Unless he kills me, in which case I probably won't.'

  'Trevor,' said Granddad again.

  'Yeah, joking again,' said Trev. 'See you all later. Hopefully.'

  Thirty-Seven

  Webster's Wine Bar was one of the more upmarket drinking establishments in Brackenford. It bore about as much resemblance to the Spigot & Ferret pub as Francesca's Bistro did to the Hot Cuisine Café. It occupied one of the black and white half-timbered buildings on Potters Road, and from the outside it looked rather quaint, if one ignored the two hulking doormen who stood watch on either side of the front entrance. They both gave Trev the standard bouncer's suspicious stare as he approached.

  'Evening,' said Trev cheerfully.

  The larger of the two doormen looked Trev up and down, then replied 'All right, mate?' in a grudging tone. His shaven-headed colleague gave the briefest of nods before seemingly dismissing Trev from existence. Based on Trev's previous experience of pub doormen, this constituted a warm and hearty welcome. He carried on past them and entered the bar.

  The interior of Webster's was modern but understated and tasteful, with little of the soulless glass and chrome that infested the majority of Brackenford's trendier bars. The lack of loud music meant that it was possible to hold a conversation without bellowing directly into someone's ear, and the barmaids appeared to have been hired solely on the basis of their attractiveness.

  Trev would probably have graced Webster's
with his presence more often, were it not for the fact that it was bloody expensive compared to just about every other bar in town, and also because Cledwyn point-blank refused to go there. 'It just looks like the kind of place that's always full of wankers,' he'd said on numerous occasions. Trev figured that he just didn't want to pay the inflated bar prices, which was fair enough.

  The visit to Granddad's had delayed Trev and he was the last of the SmoothMove staff to arrive. His workmates had annexed themselves one of the booths in the far corner. Spotting them, Trev headed over.

  'Evening,' he said, getting a chorus of greetings in return. Phil slid a pint of lager across the table toward him. It was in a fluted continental-style glass. Webster's wouldn't have dreamed of serving their beers in normal pint glasses.

  'About time you got here, another five minutes and I'd have drunk this myself,' he said.

  'You must be gutted I turned up then,' replied Trev. Phil didn't go out all that often but he could more than hold his own on a pub crawl, as Trev had found to his cost on a few occasions. He reached for the glass and tipped it in salute. 'Cheers.'

  Phil was sitting next to Sarah, who had perched herself on the very end of the leather bench seat, presumably to keep Barry from parking himself next to her. Helen was to Phil's right, with Barry himself slumped alongside her. He was wearing an ill-fitting electric blue shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a tuft of wiry chest hair.

  Trev had just resigned himself to sitting next to Barry when Sarah shuffled herself sideways on the seat, forcing everyone to move round one space. Trev sat down with a nod of thanks. Barry gave him a brief glare before redirecting his attention to the nicely-turned backside of a barmaid who was collecting glasses from a nearby table.

  'Stand back, his tongue'll start hanging out in a minute,' said Trev quietly. 'Be a shame to get slobber on your shoes.'

  'He's not subtle, is he?' Sarah replied with a wince.

  '"Subtle" and "Barry" are two words that go together like strawberries and creosote,' said Trev. 'I think he's reached the point where he just doesn't care any more.'

  'Helen said his wife left him,' Sarah said. 'He must've taken it badly.'

  'It was his own fault,' Trev explained. 'He thought she was having an affair, so he hired a private detective to keep an eye on her. It turned out she wasn't having an affair after all, but she spotted the detective, confronted him and they got talking.' He took a swallow of his drink. 'They're getting married in March, I believe.'

  'Really?' asked Sarah. 'Poor Barry. I can understand why he seems to be a bit messed up about women, now.'

  Trev shrugged. 'Like I said, his own fault.'

  'You two don't get on at all, do you?' Trev shook his head in response. 'Why not?'

  'It's a personality thing,' said Trev. 'I have one, and he doesn't.' Sarah said nothing, but raised her eyebrows. 'All right then, it's probably because I came into the office and started out-performing him. He seemed to quite like me for the first couple of weeks while I was finding my feet, but as soon as I started getting sales he changed his mind.'

  'Is that how it works?' asked Sarah. She took a sip from her glass of white wine. 'If I start out-performing you, will you fall out with me?'

  'I suppose we'll find out… if you start out-performing me,' said Trev. 'You still have much to learn, young one.'

  'You never know, I might show the old dogs a few new tricks.'

  'Like that, is it? Well you'll need to set yourself some targets. The first one is to beat Jurassic Clark over there.' Trev nodded at Barry, who was absent-mindedly peeling the label off his beer bottle while checking out the bar's female patrons. 'Shouldn't be too hard, he spends more time looking at dating websites on his computer than he does working these days.'

  'Really?'

  'Yep. I think he's starting to get desperate on the girlfriend front.'

  'He's a bit sleazy, but I do feel sorry for him.' Sarah said. 'It can't be easy for him to be single at his age.'

  'He's been lucky enough to escape one wife, I can't understand why he seems so keen to find himself another,' Trev replied, frowning.

  'What's wrong with being married?'

  'Never seen the point of it.'

  Sarah looked askance at him. 'The point is that two people are in love and want to spend their lives together.'

  'Love? Pretty rare, in my experience. In most cases there's just lust followed by habit.'

  '"In your experience"?' echoed Sarah, looking mildly horrified. 'What sort of experience have you had to make you that cynical?'

  'My last girlfriend takes the blame on that one.' Trev stared down at his beer glass, slowly rotating it with his fingers. 'She told me I was one in a million, but it turned out I was just one of several.'

  'So one girl cheated on you, and now you're scared to get into another relationship?'

  'I wouldn't say "scared",' said Trev. 'Just slightly apathetic about it.'

  'Surely you don't want to end up old and lonely? Or do you?'

  'I was kind of using Mr. Burns off The Simpsons as my role model, actually.' Trev steepled his fingers. 'Eeeexcellent.'

  Sarah smiled. 'Are you going to do it properly and have a gay assistant who's secretly in love with you?'

  'Hmm. I might skip that part. Artistic licence, you know.'

  'Right. So you want to be an evil, bald old man who runs a nuclear power station?'

  'He's rich. Don't forget the richness.'

  'I hear that money doesn't buy happiness.'

  'Nope, but it can buy you a much better class of misery.'

  Sarah shook her head. 'I can't tell if you're being serious or not.'

  'I'm not sure even I know if I'm being serious or not,' admitted Trev. 'Who knows, the girl of my dreams might come walking in through that door any minute and banish my cynicism.'

  'You might have to go out and find her, rather than waiting for her to come to you.'

  'I was hoping that she'd use some initiative and search me out, the lazy cow. Anyway, if I announced that I was looking for a girlfriend I'd be inundated with candidates.' He put a hand on his chest and struck a chivalrous pose. 'I regret that I have but one body to give to the women of Brackenford.'

  'You're so noble, Trev,' cooed Sarah, doing an exaggerated eyelash-flutter at him. 'Is your white charger tied up outside?'

  'No, bloody thing got clamped.' Trev thumped the table in mock anger. 'I parked it in a disabled space by mistake. Now I have to go and slay a dragon and nick its treasure so I can afford to pay off the fine.'

  'Are you handy with a weapon then, Sir Knight?'

  'You have no idea,' replied Trev truthfully, thinking of The Twins stashed in his car boot. The thought distracted him so much that he missed the rather obvious double entendre in Sarah's question, which wasn't like him at all.

  By telling his colleagues that he had to be up early the following day to play taxi driver for his Granddad, Trev was able to limit himself to just the single beer that Phil had bought for him. His switch to soft drinks was mocked ruthlessly by Barry, whose red and sweaty face indicated that he was fast approaching the point where he was drunk enough to make a fool of himself by trying it on with a woman young enough to be his daughter. This was a common enough occurrence that Trev sometimes ran a book on whether Barry would get slapped, have a drink thrown over him or be clouted by an angry boyfriend first.

  At about a quarter to eleven the group decided they were going to head to a club. Brackenford only had two nightclubs – there was Graphix, which was awful, and The Front Room, which was worse. Trev had had some pretty good nights out at both of them, although he'd had enough booze on those occasions to have had a good night out just about anywhere.

  'Aren't you going to come to a club for a little bit?' asked Sarah when he announced that he was going to call it a night, adding quietly 'I need someone to rescue me from Barry.'

  'No, sorry,' replied Trev with an apologetic smile. 'I can't trust myself to just stay for "a l
ittle bit", I'll end up staying until four in the morning given half a chance. Sorry. Just stay close to Phil if you're worried about Barry, he'll look after you. He'll probably be quite glad of a decoy girlfriend, he always gets pestered by the ladies when we go out.'

  That was true, at least. There was no doubt that Phil was a good-looking bloke, but he only had eyes for his wife Gloria and wouldn't have dreamed of cheating on her. This meant that if he went to a nightclub he had to spend half the evening politely declining the advances of Brackenford's single ladies. Trev was slightly jealous, but not much – he’d pulled a few times by approaching women that Phil had turned down.

  'All right then,' Sarah said. 'See you Monday.'

  'Yeah. Have a good night,' replied Trev. He dithered about whether to give her a hug or not, and in the end settled for giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder.

  'OK then, er, bye,' she said, and rejoined the rest of the group. Trev gave them a wave and made his escape.

  He returned to his car and retrieved The Twins, which he buckled on and concealed with the camouflage jacket. Thus equipped, he hurried back across the town centre and along Montgomery Road to the riverside where he'd arranged to meet Miss Pine.

  Although he was five minutes late, there was no sign of her when he arrived at the agreed spot. He began to worry that she'd either been unwilling to wait or had decided not to come at all, when she appeared from between the trees that lined the riverbank and beckoned for him to join her.

  'I could've sworn you said midnight,' she remarked by way of a greeting as Trev reached her. She was wearing a long navy blue coat over a pair of jeans and a dark red jumper.

  'Sorry I'm late,' Trev replied. 'It is only five minutes.'

  She sniffed. 'I can smell beer,' she said, her eyes narrowing. 'Have you been in the pub?'

  Trev flinched. 'Bloody hell, you've got a good sense of smell.'

  'Well, duh. Did you forget that I'm a werewolf?'

  'I'm not likely to, am I?'

  'Good. So, have you been drinking?'