by Neil Mach
She walked down the footpath, headed for home, and suddenly, she felt empty and void. She knew why, too —it was because he hadn’t tried to contact her. On the first evening, and following the risky escape from the pet store, Hopie had felt enthusiastic and chipper about life. It had been the first time she’d felt that way since arriving in this stupid and boring town of Hugh-Lupus. But in the days since their brief Pet Shop Escapade (as she designated it in her mind) things had gone stale. He hadn’t called, he’d not been seen, and he hadn’t been around. There were no more adventures, no more secret engagements, and no more quick escapes followed by dashes hand-in-hand across fields. She feared the worst: Moondog had upped and left. Who could blame him? Who wouldn’t want to abandon this dump? Hugh-Lupus had dried up long ago. It was a dead town, that’s how the lady in the Corner Shop had described it. Hugh-Lupus was no good for a man like him. No good for a girl like her, either.
As she passed the dark-green solitude of the cemetery, she acknowledged that she felt particularly sad at weekends. Sunday’s were the worst because there was no one around to chat to. Maybe she could call her mother? Though even that required extra effort. The last time she called her mum, the discussion had developed into a row. Her only companion, these days, was Sarah-Jane. And only during the week, only in the office, because she was rushed home ever afternoon by her man. Hopie had almost burst to pieces trying to keep the secret of the Pet Shop Escapade from Sarah-Jane. But she’d been sworn to silence. Of course, the confidential nature of the great mischief had made things seem more exciting than perhaps they were. Nevertheless, she wanted to tell Sarah-Jane all about it, but she knew she couldn’t.
Hopie felt thrilled when he was around. But now she felt down, down-in-the-dumps. Where was he?
The cloudy day grew damp, and a vegetable stench rose from the cemetery slabs. Was the odour produced by those little green fronds between the stones? Or was the smell from rotting mulch under slime? Or was it something else much more dreadful? She thought she heard a creak or a rasp or a grinding sound as she walked.
Then she heard it: Too-werp-tiptree-a-wirr —
She stopped short.
Too-werp-tiptree-a-wirr, again. Was it the sound made by a cockatiel? The call whistle used by Moondog when he wanted to get her attention.
Too-werp-tiptree-a-wirr —
She knew what the whistle meant; it meant he was close. So, she approached the sound bit by bit, to make her way through a curtain of yew branches that dripped onto her head with a glassy winter glue.
‘You look glum today, kiddling...’ came the voice.
She could not see him clearly, not at first, but then his face grew distinct from behind a green trunk. The fluorescent blue-eyes seemed even brighter in the graveyard gloom.
‘I’ve had distressing news...’ she garbled. She wanted to shout Moondog and to rush into his arms, to embrace and kiss him. But she felt juvenile and shy. She didn’t know why.
‘Oh, dear, what happened?’ Moondog said. He approached her and hooked one of his brawny arms around her shoulder. Did she need comforting? Maybe she did — she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything anymore. ‘What’s up?’ he whispered.
‘Oh, sorry. It’s not a death in the family or something dreadful like that. I don’t need sympathy...’ And with those words, she reckoned she ought to shrug away his arm. But she decided it felt really good where it was. So, she allowed it to stay. She investigated his gentle face and allowed a tiny smile. ‘The lady in my local shop said they might close their store down. But it’s the only grocery in town. Where would I go?’
‘This town is in decline...’ Moondog said. He sniffed the rank air. ‘It will be extinct in one generation.’
‘That’s what Mrs. Corner Shop told me.’
‘You have a garden. Why don’t you harvest crops? Or hunt for food on open land. That’s what I do...’
‘You grow things?’
‘No, I gather food from woodlands and meadows. Although there’s not much about this time of year, it’s why they call the season the hungry gap.’
‘Do they?’ She felt the pathetic weight of her backpack. It contained her can of pasta, cubes of Oxo and a bit of chocolate. No party tonight.
‘There are no jobs for working men here,’ Moondog resumed. He tightened the grip on her shoulder. ‘Young people left long ago. To find success in far places. You should leave this place too…’
‘Mrs. Corner Shop said that as well. Have you been talking?’
‘Nobody is in tune with nature anymore. Not around here. Not around anywhere. Folk here have distanced themselves from the cycles of life, that’s their main problem. It’s most worrying. They don’t connect with the cycle of the family anymore, or the cycle of nature, the cycle of sin or even the cycle of toil and exertion…’
Hopie felt a strange calmness in this graveyard. Particularly in his presence. In his arms. She felt hushed and reassured. She felt comforted by his manly strength… though today Moondog seemed as saddened and lonesome as she found herself. So, she made a somber twist with her bottom lip, then looked into his dark-blue eyes. ‘Do we need to be in tune with nature?’
‘Of course, we do...’ Moondog replied. He seemed moderately taken aback by the question. She noticed he widened his eyes before completing his answer: ‘Don’t you know that the earth is dying?’
‘I, er?’ She knew about global warming. She wasn’t stupid; she watched the news bulletins. But she had to admit that that science bored her. That’s why she preferred to read fantasy comics or watch supernatural adventures on the telly. She remembered they went-on about environmental concerns at school. She found it very tedious. ‘Does that affect us here at Hugh-Lupus?’ she asked.
‘The symptoms are felt everywhere, even in a small town like Hugh-Lupus. Natural resources are misused by greedy folk. They have infected the work-force with their greedy ways and have exploited the precious treasures that Nature has given us.’
‘My Sergeant says you’re a hippie. Is that true? He says you’re a communist. Are you both those things?’
‘I’m a feral creature. I’m undomesticated and indigenous if that’s what he means. I take the wild route. I take the path of a warrior. I take my purpose with me wherever I go.’
‘I don’t understand completely. Does that mean you’re a communist? Or not?’
‘I believe in the common good and that all men are equal. Does that make me a communist? Perhaps it does. I think that if humanity wants a future, then a change in consciousness is required.’
Hopie bit the inside of her cheek and balanced herself on unsteady toes. ‘I’m not sure what any of that means. Are you a New Age traveler? My Sarge that says you are.’
‘I am a traveling person, yes. I do not care about labels and categories. I take spirituality and purpose with me. We are all soul-beings. We must all live under the sun.’
‘Thanks for trusting me,’ she said. Hopie went to the tips of her toes and kissed him on his stubbly chin. ‘I feel better when I’m with you. I admit I lost my sense of purpose these last weeks. But since you appeared in Hugh-Lupus, things have become more exciting.’
‘I know.’
‘How do you know? Can you see into my head?’
‘I see it in your eyes.’
She nodded. She didn’t know what to say but held she his hand tight and squeezed his arm.
‘What are you doing tonight?’ he asked.
Hopie felt a huge surge of static electricity bounce across her tendons. Then she came-over light-headed. Was he asking her on a date? ‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘Why?’
‘Want to join me on a hunt?’
‘Oh, yes, please...’
Groby Pool
Moondog gave her two fresh banknotes before he left her at the graveyard. She looked into her palms and saw a pair of new tenners. He stipulated that one was to pay for a minicab that would take her out to the Little Chef restaurant on the Rothley by-pass. The other tenner was
for the taxi ride home if the plan failed.
He instructed her to get to the restaurant at eleven o’clock precisely and order a frothy coffee. She had been told she must drink the coffee by the window and take fifteen minutes to do so. After that, Moondog insisted she must visit the toilet. Then she must leave the restaurant via the back entrance at eleven-twenty, spot-on. And that she should vacate the premises using the private rear door that can be found at the back and that only staff use. He told her she ought to walk confidently beyond the trash bins. He would pick her up near those containers and take her to the stake-out exactly one minute after that. He insisted that if any of these crucially important timings were missed, the plan would fail and the whole thing called off. If things didn’t work out, or if she missed any deadlines, the idea was that she must leave the way she came. And call for a cab in the main restaurant that would take her back to High-Lupus.
She admitted she got a kick from all the secret skullduggery and maneuvering involved and she felt thrilled to be permitted to join Moondog’s clandestine world — of double-bamboozling and slippery-slick chicanery. On the other hand, she knew it was likely that she wouldn’t meet his expectations. A lot was riding on this.
*
Hopie did as Moondog told her.
She arrived at the Little Chef by minicab and paid the man ten pounds, even though he asked for eight. Then she entered and took her frothy coffee at the window. After fifteen minutes, she attended the bathroom as instructed. She washed her hands for thirty seconds, then crept around to the where the secret staff door was located. At the rear entrance, she left the building. She marched across a private backyard area, with her nose in the air, as if she owned the place. She ignored the overloaded trash containers and arrived at the place where she was told she would meet him. There she stopped. But she felt confused. There was no car. Where was Moondog? Did she have the wrong times? She probably did, silly. He’d never let-her-down, so it must be her fault. She’d mucked things up, as usual. She looked at her bag and thought about the ten pound note he’d given her to get home.
Then she heard a strange noise: A-whit a-wee-are-it —
She tried to focus.
A-whit a-wee-are-it —
Then again.
She walked towards the squeaky sound. She passed a trellis on her left, then brushed against an ivy plant on her right. That’s when an arm emerged from the darkness to grab her by the elbow. ‘Shitshong...’ she shouted. She jumped almost an inch into the air.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to rattle you... but you need to come this way.’
Moondog tugged her arm and turned his back on the restaurant. ‘Quickly now. We have to leg it.’ He pointed at an enclosed field. She might have known; there would be more bloody climbing. This time it would be over a wooden fence. It’s a good job she wore denim.
‘Where’s your motor?’ she asked as they ran.
‘I parked it in the truck stop. It’s on the other side of that field.’
*
After a crazy race, more like an assault-course than a cross-country jog, they arrived at a truck park, and he took her towards a colossal rig.
Where is the car? She started to get nagging doubts about this whole thing. What’s going on? Where is he taking me? Why didn’t I tell anyone where I would be going? What’s got into me? She had more serious thoughts too: Who is this guy? What do I know about him? Why have I allowed myself to be taken to a truck-stop in the middle of the night? Isn’t this a one-way ticket to rape-city? Will I end up in a shallow grave? Am I out of my teeny-tiny freaking mind? Hopie gazed at Moondog’s face and, for a moment, she seriously considered running in the opposite direction. To get away from him. She tried to console herself by repeating what the Chief had said: ‘you should treat him like you would any other fellow police worker.’
They dodged around the front of an articulated truck and then she saw the most remarkable vehicle she’d ever seen. It was immense. Moondog stopped by it and patted the flanks of the fire truck-sized car as if it was a gigantic metal horse.
‘This is yours?’ she gasped.
‘Get up, get in,’ he shouted. ‘We haven’t got much time.’ He pushed her leg onto a step. The immense car had gun-metal footplates so passengers could climb high inside. ‘Hurry.’ He pulled the huge door open with a mighty tug. Then literally bundled her bottom into the huge leather seat. Moondog slammed the door shut with her trapped inside. That’s when she recognized that she was on the wrong side of the vehicle, he had sat her on the left.
‘What?’
After he closed her door, Moondog ran around to get into the vast door opposite. He clanked it shut. It took Hopie several seconds to realize the steering wheel and pedals were on his side. Phew! She let out a long snort of relief, but her hands still trembled. It’s true; she felt nervous. But also felt ultra-alive. Moondog did that to her.
The interior of his monster-vehicle looked like something out of a science fiction movie. The seats had monumental armrests, there was a huge console in the middle of the car, between the front seats, and it had a built-in safety deposit box. A massive computer screen, in the mid-section of the dash, burst alight with a million colours, while an assortment of dials, spheres, knobs, and switches all energized. The whole thing came to life and buzzed with impressive energy.
Moondog’s steering wheel read ‘HUMMER.’ He pulled back what appeared to be a giant joystick, Hopie thought it had possibly been taken from a jet airliner, and immediately the huge machine pulled away from its stationary position and purred elegantly along the ‘runway’ and into the main thoroughfare. It almost glided along in one smooth, liquid, motion.
‘This is lovely. What sort of car is it?’
‘It’s a left-hand Kreisel Hummer.’
‘I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’ve seen cars like this on the telly, though. I saw one like it on C.S.I. Miami. Yours is better. Um, damn good. It’s quite magnificent.’
‘I requested the paintwork. I had it changed to matt black,’ Moondog told her as if it was the most extraordinary thing he could think of about his vehicle. He began to make it glide down a bypass. They headed deeper into the country.
‘Being close to you makes me say bold truths...’ she said. ‘So, I hope you don’t mind if I get something off my chest… I want to tell you something...’
He glanced over from the left side of the vehicle: ‘Go on.’
‘I kind of now believe you are real...’
‘I wasn’t real before? Is that what you are suggesting?’
‘Er, yes, I think I’m saying that. Originally, I agreed with my sergeant’s assessment of you. He told me you were a scallywag and a wide-boy. I certainly didn’t imagine you were a private investigator. But this... this thing…’
‘The car?’
‘Yes — this is the same car as the detectives use in N.C.I.S. on the telly. Do you watch those shows? I watch them all the time.’
‘I never watch television.’
‘Oh? Really? Well, anyway— this car makes you seem real. That’s all I wanted to say. It makes tonight real too. It makes the whole escapade seem real. I know you are pukka now and I feel safer with you. I now know you’re the real deal...’
‘You needed a car to convince you that I’m real?’
She shrugged and rubbed her elbows. After a short pause, she said, ‘God, the car is so quiet. We’re going so fast. How come there’s no noise?’
‘The car’s electric...’
‘Oh, my dizzy aunt…’ She allowed a wide smile to spread across her face. After a short time, they headed down a narrow lane and deeper into the country. ‘Where are we going?’
‘A place called Groby Pool,’ he told her. ‘Have you heard of it? Not far from Hugh-Lupus.’
‘It rings a bell in my head. Where have I seen those words? Anyway, what’s there?’
‘The Pooka. He reportedly lives in a hole by the pool. Groby is an ancient and very sacred site.’
; ‘What the heckling hell is a poo-kah?’
‘He’s a natural spirit; he lives alone. He doesn’t bother anyone, well normally he doesn’t. However, he can be a nuisance if he changes shape, then he can cause problems. He’s a shape-shifting entity.’
‘Do you believe in natural spirits?’
‘Of course, I do. Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Not any people I know.’
He gave a stern look from his side of the vehicle, ‘You do not know the right people.’
*
They arrived at Groby Pool, and Moondog turned off the lights, then drove past the place, without a sound, and at a snail's pace. He leaned from his electric-window and checked things by listening and smelling. Hopie thought he sniffed at the air as a dog might do. After two more methodical drive-bys, he parked his incredible car under a canopy of dark oak branches about five hundred yards from the main entrance — in a little-used yard track. That’s when Hopie understood the significance of getting his vehicle painted matt black. The huge car blended into the darkness.
‘We’ll plod the rest of the way,’ Moondog said, as he jumped clear of the vehicle. The door was too heavy for her to manage, so he hauled it open and let her out. He took her hand to help her navigate the step. He went to the rear of the vehicle and tugged out a bunch of weighty clothes. ‘You’ll have to put this on...’ he said. He passed her something that resembled a man-size ‘Babygro’ made from synthetic fabric. ‘Throw it over everything else you’ve got because it’s going to get cold out there — very cold indeed. We won’t move our bones for some time.’
‘Right ho.’
‘Did you go to the lady’s room like I told you?’
‘Yes siree,’ she said, giving a comedy salute. ‘I did a pee.’
‘Good, because you won’t get another chance. Not for a while.’ He pulled his work-boots off then showed her how to pull the ‘Babygro’ over her day-clothes and demonstrated how she must Velcro the sleeves. When she tried to pull on her suit, she kept getting her toes stuck in the lining.