A Fate Worse Than Death (16 page)

“I’ll deal with him,” I whispered. “You wait here.”

I jumped out of our hiding spot and lunged at the little man. I grabbed him around the neck, aiming to drag him down and pin him to the ground. It all worked perfectly—except for the one minor detail that when the dragging and pinning was complete, I was the one being held to the ground. For a puny little figure, this guy was amazingly strong.

“Are you dealing with him?” Peter called.

“Maybe I could use a little assistance,” I yelled back as my head was slammed into the floor.

Peter came charging out, huffing and puffing like a weatherworn locomotive. At full tilt, he barreled into the side of my tormentor. The overly-muscled midget was barely knocked off balance, but it was just enough for me to tear myself away from his grasp. Though his hands reached for me, he only succeeded in ripping a long scratch on my arm with his fingernails. Then Peter and I were gone, scurrying away along the tunnel.

Almost at once, we heard the midget’s footsteps in pursuit. He was as surprisingly quick as he was surprisingly strong, and the footsteps gained rapidly. Luckily, not far along the tunnel, we found another hollow in the wall. Right in the nick of time, we darted into the tiny space as the little man raced past the opening.

“Looks like we’ve given him the slip,” whispered Peter.

“Yes, but for how long? We can’t play cat and mouse in these tunnels forever. We need some sort of weapon to fight him.”

“What about the knife?”

“The knife?” I plunged my hands into my pockets, but all I could find were the keys I’d taken from the guard. “I thought you had it.”

“I gave it to you.”

“I must have put it down when I picked up the keys. Damn, we’ll have to improvise. Do you have anything in your pockets?”

Peter reached into the pockets of his robe.

“Not much,” he said, holding up the spoils—an old pen and a packet of chewing gum.

“Give them to me,”

He handed them over. I unscrewed the pen and removed the ink cartridge. Then I took a stick of gum and put it in my mouth. I chewed until the gum was soft and sticky, and pulled the small wad out of my mouth.

“Weapon,” I said holding up the empty pen in one hand. “Ammunition,” I added, holding the soggy piece of gum in the other. I handed the packet of gum back to Peter. “I’ll be the gunman. You keep me supplied with ammo.”

Peter immediately pulled out a stick, placed it in his mouth, and began to chew. I loaded up the pen with the piece of gum I was holding and waited. It didn’t take long for our pursuer to realise he’d been sidetracked, and we soon heard his footsteps returning. When I figured he was in range, I placed the pen to my lips, poked my head out of our little nook, and blew.

I miscalculated. He was much further away than I’d hoped, and the gum fell harmlessly to the ground at his feet. Now aware of our presence, he flattened himself against the side of the tunnel.

“So that’s your game, is it?” we heard him call to us. “Well, two can play at that.” Then, from down the corridor, we heard the sound of chewing.

“Hurry up,” I said to Peter. “He’s armed too.” Even as I spoke, a wad of gum sailed across the front of our hiding space and stuck to the wall right next to my head.

“I’m chewing as fast as I can,” Peter mumbled as he handed me another wad of gum. I reloaded, stuck my head out, and shot. This time, I narrowly missed his face. He returned fire, and I only just managed to pull my head in as the gum flew past.

So the gumfight continued to rage. Soon the tunnel was thick with flying gum. It was all over the walls and ceiling, smearing down like fluorescent pink stalactites. But with each shot, our enemy seemed to be creeping closer. We could hear him as he slid along the tunnel. In barely a minute, he would be onto us.

“Come on, chew faster,” I urged.

“This is the last piece,” Peter gasped as he handed it to me.

This was our final chance. Desperate action had to be taken. I lifted my knee and snapped the pen into two pieces.

“What are you doing?” said Peter. “That’s my favourite pen.”

“
Was
your favourite pen.” I placed a piece of the gum in each of the broken pen halves and I handed one to Peter. “You shoot for the right eye. I’ll shoot for the left.”

At that moment, the little man jumped in front of our hiding place. He laughed and raised his pen to his lips.

“Now,” I cried, and we both shot. Two perfect bull’s-eyes. The man screamed and reeled back, clutching at the gum that was embedded in his eyes. I grabbed Peter by the arm.

“Let’s get out of here.”

We dodged the little man as he stumbled blindly around the tunnel, and we raced away. Finally, after what seemed like miles, we reached the end of the tunnel. We passed through a door and found ourselves in a white corridor lit by fluorescent tubes.

“I know where we are,” said Peter. “This is the lower level of the Pearly Gates.” He turned and looked at the door we had passed through. “And this is the door to the broom cupboard.”

“I guess someone had a lot of brooms they needed to store,” I said. “Looks like they’ve been digging right under your nose.”

“Well, they’re not digging themselves out now,” said Peter, slamming the door shut. “Give me those keys.”

I handed over the keys and Peter locked the door. Then we dashed up the stairs and burst into his office, where we found the bellhop sitting at the desk. For an instant, his face betrayed shock and disbelief. But he quickly composed himself, stood up, and smiled.

“Peter, thank heavens you’re all right,” he said, pretending to sound pleased and doing a frighteningly good job of it.

“What are you doing?” Peter demanded, eyeing the papers that the bellhop had been rummaging through.

“I’ve been looking after your paperwork,” said the bellhop. “With you gone, someone had to accept that responsibility.”

“Don’t believe him,” I said. “He’s the one. He’s their man in your organisation. Without him they could never have dug those tunnels under the Gates, or breached your security when they kidnapped you.”

“Peter, you can’t believe what he’s saying,” said the bellhop, and his voice was silky smooth. “Surely you’d take the word of one of your employees over a no-good derelict.”

Peter looked closely at the bellhop. “So you’re one of my employees. Funny, I can’t seem to place you. Can I please have a look at your ID?”

The bellhop started to reach into his pocket. Then, without warning, he sprang across the room and lunged for the door. But he never made it. I grabbed him and pushed him hard against the wall. Savouring every moment, I raised my fist and pounded it into his face. As the impact of the blow sent his head jerking back, I noticed a small object falling to the floor. For a fraction of a second, I caught a glimpse of his face, eyes wide open but alert to nothing. Then he collapsed with a thud.

And that’s when I knew him. That’s when I figured out who his accomplices were, trapped in the tunnel below. That’s when I realised exactly what their plan was, and suddenly I was very, very afraid. I turned to Peter.

“Shut the Gates. Now,” I ordered. “Don’t let anyone into Heaven until I give the word. And lock this dirtbag in the broom cupboard with the others, right away.”

“Why? What in Heaven is happening?”

“I haven’t got time to explain. I’ve got to speak to God. The very future of Heaven as we know it is at stake.”

AFTER MY
BRIEFEST
CONVERSATION
with God yet, I was able to quickly convene an impromptu meeting of the Heavenly Council, or at least what was left of it, plus a few extra attendees. We met in a grand hall whose walls were decorated with vast tapestries depicting some of God’s greatest moments, including the creation of man and woman, the parting of the Red Sea, and the invention of the remote control.

The splendid atmosphere of this fine hall was in no way reflected by the mood of the other four participants at the meeting. God sat at the head of the table, His head resting in His hands. He looked like the weight of the world was sitting upon His shoulders, and when it came down to it, I suppose it was. On either side of Him sat Sally and the Devil, each carefully avoiding the other’s glance while concentrating the fury of their gazes upon me. Slightly apart from the others sat Jessie, whom I had demanded the Devil bring up with him. She was still wearing her street mime bodystocking, and her eyes were focussed on everything in the room except me.

I stood up. It was time to get the meeting started.

“First of all, I would like to apologise on behalf of Peter, who is unable to attend this meeting due to some important matters he is dealing with. Therefore I will be taking his place today.”

“This better be important, Clarenden,” muttered the Devil. “I’ve had to cancel my squash game to be here.” This was plainly true. The Devil was wearing shorts and sneakers, and a racquet lay on the floor at his feet.

“If you think we don’t have better things to do than sit around listening to you, you’re a bigger fool than we took you for,” added Sally with a flick of her golden hair.

I laughed grimly. “Oh, you want to listen to me. Especially you. You’re the one who’s always so keen on keeping undesirables out of Heaven. Well, let me tell you, it’s too late. The undesirables are well and truly here. Just take a look at all the rubbish and the filth piling up on the streets outside.”

“I don’t have to look outside. I can see it right in front of me.”

I ignored her and turned to the Devil. “How do you get from Hell into Heaven?”

“There are a couple of different ways,” he replied. “There are about twenty service shafts that my teams use when they come into Heaven on their nightly shifts.”

“And the other way?”

“What other way?” Suddenly the Devil looked more than a little nervous.

“You said there are a couple of different ways. The service shafts are one way. What’s the other one?”

“The other is my own personal passage. I use it on those rare occasions when I need to enter Heaven.”

“So tell me, where does this passage lead?”

The Devil squirmed in his seat, clearly finding the question as pleasant as a Sunday stroll in a firestorm. But here in the presence of God, lying and evasion were no longer options. “To Sally’s,” he said very softly.

I put my hand up to my ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you properly.”

“To Sally’s,” he repeated much more loudly. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No, it isn’t what I wanted to hear,” I shouted back. “I have another question for you. I want to know what the security is like in those service shafts.”

“Very strict,” said the Devil emphatically. “No one passes between Heaven and Hell without me knowing.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “There’s at least one service shaft that is completely unguarded. I don’t know if it’s a disused one that’s been forgotten about, or if it’s a general reflection on your security, but I used it to get into Hell and then back to Heaven without anybody stopping me. And I’m not the only one. Other people have been using the same shaft to sneak into Heaven. Evil people with evil plans.”

“I should have guessed she was the one behind all of this,” cried Sally, pointing an accusatory finger at Jessie.

Jessie looked up. “No,” she said in a trembling voice. “It isn’t me.”

“Do you deny that you used this service shaft to sneak into Heaven?” demanded the Devil.

“No, I don’t deny that. But I just wanted to get into Heaven. I didn’t have any evil plans.”

“It’s lucky I found her out before she could get away with it,” said Sally.

“But it’s not true,” Jessie pleaded. “Tell them, Jimmy. You know it’s not true.”

“Leave her to me,” said the Devil. “I’ll deal with her.”

“Yes, but who’s going to deal with you?” I said.

Sally and the Devil both whirled to face me.

“What is that supposed to mean?” said the Devil.

“You’re not listening to me. I said that people with evil plans have been sneaking into Heaven, but I never said Jessie was one of those people. You’re quick to lay blame, but you’re not so quick when it comes to looking at the consequences of your own actions.”

“And what actions would you be talking about?” The Devil’s tone was polite, but it was about as friendly as a customs officer with a migraine.

“How are things in the garbage collection business?” I said.

“I’ve told you before, I refuse to speak about my business dealings.”

“Is that because garbage collection is no longer part of your business dealings?”

The Devil didn’t immediately reply. In the ensuing silence, God leaned forward. He’d been sitting quietly during the preceding bickering, but it seemed my last question had aroused His interest.

“What is this about garbage collection?” He asked, His gaze bouncing between the angel and the businessman.

“Just ignore him,” said Sally. “He has no idea what he’s talking about.” Still, the Devil did not speak.

“Please continue, Mr Clarenden,” said God. “Tell us all what you’ve discovered.”

“What I’ve discovered is a web of corruption that can be traced back to one business deal. I’m afraid our high-flying friend here was finding that certain enterprises had become less than profitable. The garbage collection in particular was highly problematic. Don’t try to deny it,” I added as the Devil started to protest. “I’ve seen the books, and I’ve got a very good memory. I can quote you back the figures for the last three financial years.

“But imagine if suddenly he is approached by a group of men,” I continued. “They also describe themselves as businessmen, and they say they would like to make a deal with the Devil. What better opportunity for the Devil to offload this drain on his financial resources? He agrees to sell the garbage collection to these men. Unfortunately, the Devil has no idea whom he is dealing with. There is only one sort of deal these men want to make—a deal with the Devil that the Devil cannot refuse.”

“How can you know all of this?” asked the Devil.

“Let me explain,” I said, leaning back to better enjoy the Devil’s discomfort. “Before this meeting, I’d been captured and held alongside Peter in a cell beneath the Pearly Gates. We managed to escape, partly due to the stupidity of the guard, and partly due to the fact that he had a wooden leg. As we fled from the cell, we were attacked by a small but immensely strong man. Fortunately, our combined strength was just enough to fight him off, although he did manage to inflict this injury on me with his fingernails.” I held up my arm to show the long scratch.

“Finally, we returned to Peter’s office to discover the third member of the conspiracy, and no doubt the leader—a crafty sneak with fetid breath. As I dealt with him, I noticed something small fall from his face. It was a tinted contact lens, designed to disguise the fact that his eyes were different colours.”

“Well, that is a rousing story, Mr Clarenden, and I look forward to the motion picture version,” said the Devil. “But I don’t see what any of it has to do with me.”

“I’ll tell you what it has to do with you. I know who those three men are. I can put names to each of them. The dimwit with the wooden leg is Billy Bostino. The tiny strongman with the long fingernails is Freddy Bostino. And the smart guy with the mismatched eyes and halitosis is Franky Bostino.”

“And you expect those names to mean something to us?” said Sally, forcing her eyes up to lock with mine.

“If they don’t, they will very soon. The Bostino family is only one of the cruelest, vilest, evilest criminal families in the entire history of organised crime. And Billy, Freddy, and Franky just happen to be three of the cruelest, vilest, evilest members of that family. Their appearances fit the descriptions I was given by a former employee of the family. He claimed that all three were murdered over trivialities, but let me assure you, when you’re dealing with the Bostino family, nothing is trivial.”

I paused for a moment, hoping the silence would allow my words to make an impression. Almost immediately, it was broken by Sally’s laughter.

“Do you really think you can scare us with these threats of yours? No dice, Clarenden. We’re not afraid of a handful of former thugs. No amount of name-dropping is going to hide the fact that you’re a sniveling half-wit with the deductive skills of a brain-damaged centipede. I move that we halt this ridiculous charade and find something useful for this imbecile to do.”

“Perhaps he could start on giving Heaven the clean-up it so desperately needs,” suggested the Devil. He too tried to laugh, but he sounded as convincing as an ex-politician plugging weight loss formula on late night television.

“No,” said God, and His voice rang with sudden clarity. All laughter stopped as everyone in the hall turned to Him. “I hired Mr Clarenden to do a job for me, and I’m going to make damn sure he sees it through.”

“You hired him?” Sally gasped. “But why?”

“I hired Mr Clarenden to search for my missing son.”

“Jesus?” said both Sally and the Devil.

“No,” said God. “Not Jesus. My other son. My indispensable Philip, without whom I could not possibly keep Heaven operational, as any look outside this palace will confirm. So I suggest that the two of you zip your lips and allow Mr Clarenden to explain exactly who we are up against and what their evil plans are.”

It seemed that disagreement with God in the Heavenly Council was not an option. Neither Sally nor the Devil seemed thrilled at the idea of hearing me out, but they both nodded and turned to me. Their mouths were sealed tight. The floor was mine.

“Let me tell you about the Bostino family,” I began. “Their souls are black, but their plots are cunning. Their criminal web is so deep and tangled, it cast a shadow that not even God could see through. And so, safely hidden within that web of darkness, they’ve been plotting the ultimate takeover. A city is no longer enough. A country, even a planet, is not enough. Billy, Freddy, and Franky are just the advance troops, sent to their deaths with a specific mission. The Bostino family is moving in on Heaven.”

Sally started to open her mouth, but a look from God hastily discouraged her from making any further contribution to the conversation. I continued.

“Their plans started small—a takeover bid for a struggling business. The Devil’s garbage collection was the perfect target. All they had to do was sabotage the operation from within, then when the profits started to drop, they could move in with their offer and take the business off the Devil’s hands. There was just one obstacle. The Devil had signed an iron-clad, no exemptions contract to maintain the garbage collection. Once it became clear that the Devil had broken that contract, the Bostinos would almost certainly have been exposed—unless they acted first. If they removed the other signatory to the contract, they still had a chance to escape detection.

“This was where the unguarded service shaft came into play. The Bostinos discovered it, just as Jessie had when she entered Heaven. They took advantage of this opportunity to sneak into Heaven and kidnap the person who had signed the contract on Heaven’s behalf. And that person was God’s son, Phil.

“With Phil out of the picture, the Bostinos set their plan in motion. They began by imposing drastic conditions on the garbage collection workers, deliberately forcing them out on strike. The idea was that without any garbage collection, Heaven would soon be flooded beneath a sea of rubbish. Then, in the resulting confusion, the Bostinos could move in.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” God protested. “Phil disappeared almost two weeks ago, but the rubbish only starting building up in the last day or so.”

“Actually, it makes complete sense. There was one other thing the Bostinos failed to take into account. One little man who cared deeply about the sort of place Heaven was, and who wouldn’t tolerate even the smallest piece of rubbish on its streets. Raphael saw what was happening before anybody else and took immediate action.”

“If he saw what was happening, why didn’t he say anything?” said God. “It might have saved us all this trouble.”

I couldn’t help laughing at that. “Every time Raphael tried to say anything, you were all washing your hair or mowing your lawns or changing channels on your televisions. When Raphael saw the rubbish accumulating on the street, he did what he always did when something needed to be done. He got off his backside and did all the tidying himself, filling dozens of garbage bags every day. It began to look like his actions alone would be enough to thwart the Bostinos.

“But those hoodlums weren’t going to be discouraged so easily. The next step was an easy one. A little guy like Raphael was never going to be a match for the Bostinos, and soon he too disappeared. With Phil and Raphael gone, there was no one else to interfere with their plan, and the result is obvious to everyone. Heaven has become one giant rubbish tip.”

Once again, silence fell over the great hall. Once again, Sally was the one who broke it. She stood up, pointing that accusatory finger again. But just for a change, it wasn’t directed at either Jessie or me.

“This is your fault,” she screamed in the Devil’s face. “Thanks to you, our glorious kingdom has been turned into a sewer. You broke the contract. You sold your soul for a lousy, stinking profit.”

The Devil immediately returned fire. “I didn’t hear you complaining about it back then. I seem to recall you were more than happy to receive the fruits of that profit.”

“Well, you can have your rotten things back. I never liked them much anyway.” Sally began ripping off earrings, necklaces, and other sundry accoutrements, and hurling them at the Devil. He held up his arms to ward off the assault and pleaded for her to stop, but it was another voice that finally brought her bejeweled barrage to a halt.