by Denis Byrne
‘I was about to suggest the very same thing myself, Superintendent,’ Mr. Pearson said in his quiet way. ‘After all, we don’t want to give the impression we’re part of a freak show altogether.’
Charlie couldn’t believe his ears. He skidded to a stop, even though he hadn’t been going at more than walking pace beside Danny. A look of hurt came over his shaggy face. His lip trembled, and tears began to form in his big brown eyes. Mr. Pearson immediately realised his error. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ he said, going over and cuddling the goat’s neck affectionately, trying to make up for his unfortunate gaffe. ‘Please forgive me. That came out the wrong way, I’m afraid. You know I’ve nothing but the utmost respect for you. You’re an exceptionally gifted animal, and I do apologise.’
Charlie sniffed back the tears. He was still a bit miffed. Coming from anybody else, apart from Danny, it would have been water off a goat’s back, but he held Mr. Pearson in such high esteem, it took him a while to get over it. But deep down he did understand. Mr. Pearson hadn’t really meant to refer to him as a freak. By the time Danny had cupped his hand and whispered into his ear to transform into a typical tramp’s dirty-coated mongrel, Charlie had forgotten all about it. He pranced along beside the four bedraggled looking members of the team, snapping at the empty air, giving a splendid performance altogether.
The Superintendent halted them again fifty yards away from where they knew the gate was concealed behind the hedge. ‘This is as good a spot as any,’ he said softly. ‘All right, everybody. Action stations. Let the cameras roll.’ He then commenced to shout at the top of his voice. ‘Here, boy, I’m not tellin yah again, yah spankin pup yah! Get that billycan boilin, or I’ll break yar flamin neck!’ With that, he grabbed Danny by the collar and pretended to shake him like a rag doll, before flinging him away with simulated roughness. ‘And you pair!’ he yelled at Harrington and Mr. Pearson. ‘Get out them vittles, or I’ll have yar guts for string beans, I will. I’m flamin famished, I am!’
Harrington upended the contents of his sack. A blackened billycan together with a number of greasy brown paper bags fell out on to the ground. Danny scampered around industriously, looking suitably scared as he foraged in one of the black plastic bags and extracted a large bottle of water, a box of matches and a small primus stove. He lit the stove, filled the billycan with water, placed it on the stove, then delved in the bag again for four chipped enamel mugs and a handful of teabags. As Danny waited for the water to boil, Harrington picked up one of the greasy bags and handed it to the Superintendent, who stuck one huge paw into it which came out holding a cooked chicken. He sat down on the edge of the track and began gnawing at it as though he’d never seen food before in his life.
‘Is that flamin tea not ready yet, boy!’ he roared in between mouthfuls. ‘Yah don’t get a move on and quick about it, I’ll chop yah up for kindlin, so I will!’ He tore off another mouthful of greasy chicken meat with his teeth and chewed on it with gusto. ‘Yah’re worse nor useless with the slow carry on of yah! Yah’ll find yahself back in that orphanage if yah keep me waitin much longer! And yah, Bonzo!’ He jabbed a finger in Mr. Pearson’s direction. ‘Get yarself busy there and start buildin the makins of a dacent fire. We’re campin here for the night!’
Mr. Pearson had been waiting for the order. He went to the second black plastic bag and fumbled around in it before taking out an old car tyre and a can of petrol. Then he began searching around to find suitable rocks with which to build a circular grate in the middle of the track. Once fashioned to his satisfaction, he shook out a few bundles of firewood from the bag and crisscrossed them at the bottom of the makeshift fireplace. He placed the tyre on top, was about to sprinkle petrol on his handiwork, when the Superintendent let a yell out of him to stop him in his tracks.
‘Not yet, yah stupid frogspawn! Yah don’t want to be doin that till we’ve done eatin! Were it in a home for monkeys yah were brought up or what?’
Mr. Pearson tried to look angry, but wasn’t making much of a job of it, though he did manage to prevent himself from actually smiling. He was sure that this was exactly how things must be on a film set. He gave a grimace and shot a look of what he hoped was one of annoyance at the Superintendent, letting him know that the reference to his ancestry was anything but appreciated. ‘I’m no monkey, yah hulkin great ape!’ he retorted, leaving down the can of petrol, hoping his performance was acceptable to the non-existent director. ‘I’ll not be talked about like that by yah or anyone else, or I’ll be takin meself off to wander the roads alone for the future.’
The Superintendent gave a cavernous chortle of amusement, at the same time tossing the remains of the chicken carcass in Charlie’s direction. ‘Yah’d get lost before yah’d gone a crow’s mile, Bonzo, and well yah know it. Now hand me me mug a tay there, and no more talkin outa turn, or I’ll put me hand down yar throat and pull yar inside out.’
Charlie sniffed at the chicken carcass, but wasn’t all that keen on chewing on it. There wasn’t a scrap of meat left on the bones. As Danny made the tea and handed around the steaming mugs, Charlie discreetly nudged the remains of the chicken under the nearest bush. Personally, he’d have much preferred a bowl of cornflakes. Danny, Harrington and Mr. Pearson threw him scraps of bread and cheese from the doorstop sandwiches they took from the other greasy bags. He supposed it was better than nothing, even if the cheese tasted like it was a good bit past its prime. He realised that the set-up had to appear absolutely authentic if the kidnappers were to be fooled, but if all five of them died of food poisoning beforehand, what was the point? But even while thinking like that, Charlie realised he was probably letting his imagination run away with him. The Superintendent certainly didn’t look any the worse for wear after demolishing the chicken. In fact, he seemed in high good humour altogether now.
‘Here, boy,’ he said amiably enough for someone who’d been ordering everyone around like toe-rags not long ago. ‘Gimme out me auld squeezebox there and I’ll play yar all a merry tune.’
Danny fished out a battered old piano accordion from one of the bags, handed it to the Superintendent, who strapped it on and commenced to make the most appalling discordant racket, which resembled a banshee being stretched on a rack. He closed his eyes in concentration, humming along with the sounds of torture emanating from the instrument, striving for the impression of a concert pianist giving a recital at the height of his powers. Charlie ran off up the track as far away as he could go to lessen the sound of the awful playing, but the rest of the team were stuck to listen and pretend to be impressed by the performance. They suspected they were already being watched on CCTV monitors from within, which, of course, was the core of their plan, so they had to sit there and endure it, even at the risk of their eardrums exploding at any second.
When the dreadful cacophony finally ceased, the Superintendent opened his eyes and glanced from one to the other of them without so much as the shadow of a smile as he watched them give him an enthusiastic round of applause. ‘Ah, me buckos,’ he said dreamily, ‘wasn’t that only like a little bit of heaven altogether? Sure I missed me callin. It’s in Carnegie Hall I should be playin instead of out here in the back of beyonds with nobody but yarselvses to appreciate me nimble fingers.’ He turned his gaze on Harrington. ‘How about givin us the pleasure of a song there, Bingybang? Sure yah’ve a voice would coax tears from a turnip.’
Harrington wasn’t prepared for this. It hadn’t been part of the plan. So far, everything else they’d rehearsed had gone like clockwork, now he had the distinct feeling that the Superintendent had slipped this part in to add a little spice to the occasion. As if things weren’t spicy enough already. But that was the Superintendent. You never knew what was coming next, despite all the preparation. He probably wanted to make whoever might be listening from inside suffer a bit more. ‘A noble call!’ Mr Pearson declared solemnly. ‘Bingybang has the floor. Sure there’s nobody sings Silent Night like yarself. Away you go!’
Harrington sto
od up from where he’d been sitting by the side of the track. He could have joyfully strangled both the Superintendent and Mr. Pearson, yet managed to carry on with his performance for the good of the cause. He commenced caterwauling at the top of his voice, making a complete contradiction of the of the hymn’s title, for it was a safe bet that he could be heard for miles around. Doing his duty, he grimly thought, with this extra piece of melodic endeavour. Danny was finding it extremely difficult to remain composed, and when the Superintendent started to accompany Harrington on the squeezebox, he was forced to bury his head in his hands and pretend to be taken with a fit of coughing. By the time Harrington had finished, the coughing fit had turned to severe convulsions, and Charlie had disappeared in a cloud of dust into the distance. He only reappeared when he was certain Bingybang’s party piece had concluded.
‘Well, if that don’t take the jar of biscuits, Bingybang, me lad, I don’t know what ever will!’ the Superintendent bellowed, ‘That there was the sweetest bit a croakin I ever heard in me natural. Sure a lark itself couldn’t have done it prouder.’
‘Get off with yah outa that,’ Harrington replied as modestly as he could under the circumstances, after having nearly disgorged his tonsils, his throat raw from screeching, and still not altogether pleased at how he’d been called upon so unexpectedly. ‘It wasn’t nearly a patch on yar squeezebox playin.’
‘True enough, Bingybang, true enough,’ the Superintendent conceded, slipping out of the piano accordion’s straps, letting it dangle in his hand for a few seconds, then handing it to Danny to replace in the bag. ‘Time to light the fire there, Bonzo!’ He shouted in his best king tramp’s commanding accent. ‘And make it right snappy while yar about it!’
Mr. Pearson dutifully followed orders, sprinkling petrol on the already prepared fire, then eventually igniting it after several failed attempts. He used up nearly the entire box of matches before he was successful, lighting one match after another and pitching them towards the petrol-soaked materials from a safe distance. Most of them fell short and fizzled out on the ground. After about the sixteenth effort, a match finally found its target, resulting in a sudden whoosh of flame shooting from the improvised hearth. It showed how sensible Mr. Pearson had been in displaying such caution. Had he knelt down and held a match too close to the petrol-doused material, there’s little doubt that he’d have been deprived of at least his eyebrows, and goodness knows what else. He could possibly have become a human torch had he not been so careful.
Within minutes, the tyre began to do its job, and the smell of burning rubber sent them all scurrying off to a safe distance to avoid the stench. Thick black smoke then began to arise into the air, its suffocating fumes doing nothing to improve the environment, though in this case deemed necessary to alert anyone on the far side of the hedge that they had unexpected visitors. That’s, of course, if the impromptu concert hadn’t already done the trick.
*
Myles Moran was not amused. Not one to lose his temper under any circumstances, he was having no small difficulty in maintaining his serene composure to the full. Why on earth he was being bothered with trivialities at a time like this, he found it hard to fathom. And by Miss Conway of all people, his most trusted and reliable second-in- command. Myles could hardly believe it. It was twenty minutes to five, he was waiting for one of the most important emails he was ever likely to receive, and now this! Perhaps the strain of the whole operation was beginning to take its toll on her. He took several deep breaths, then reminded himself that she was still only a relatively young woman, despite her enormous potential. Allowances would have to made, even at this vital stage of the operation. He pressed the button of the speaker on his desk.
‘I really think this is something you should handle yourself, Miss Conway,’ he said pleasantly enough. ‘I’m rather tied up at the moment. And as you are only too well aware, our deadline is fast approaching. I’ve much more important matters to attend to.’
‘Sorry for disturbing you, Boss,’ Anna answered into her own speaker. ‘It’s just that I thought you should know. They’re making a terrible racket out there. I was listening to them on the sound system for as long as my ears could stand it. They’re having some sort of a party, bawling their heads off, even though none of them can sing a note. And they’re burning rubber tyres or something. I was afraid they might draw aerial attention to our position.’
‘Then please take the necessary measures, Miss Conway.’ Myles replied with just a hint of sarcasm. ‘I believe a couple of our employees equipped with fire extinguishers should solve the problem.’
‘Right away, Boss!’ Anna responded, wondering why she hadn’t already thought of such a simple solution. ‘I’ll see to it immediately.’
Myles cut her off and engaged his outside monitor, minus sound, to see what all the fuss was about. Black smoke was streaming skywards like a twisting snake, writhing its way upwards before thinning and disintegrating into little dark shapes before dispersing into nothingness. At least the four vagabonds had the sense to have taken themselves far enough away from the fumes not to choke themselves, though why on earth they were burning tyres, heaven alone knew. It was only themselves could say, and he really wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in discovering what motivated them. They probably hadn’t more than a dozen brain cells to share between them, Myles thought contemptuously, as he switched off the monitor, still awaiting the vital email.
*
Dapper Desmond and Needles trudged towards the hidden gate, carrying a fire extinguisher apiece. Dapper was anything but pleased about it. He was on a few free hours and had been watching his favourite video, Goodfellas, when Anna called himself and Needles and told them what she wanted done.
Big deal, Dapper thought. So what if some smelly tramps had wandered down the track and were barbecuing tires? Maybe they were hungry. It wasn’t exactly a world crisis. He’d tried to protest that he was on free time, but Anna was having none of it. When you work for Moran Enterprises, you don’t have free time, she’d snarled at him. And, as usual, it stuck in his craw having to heave himself off the couch and go do what she wanted done, especially without being able to tell her what he really thought of her. Some day, he thought, some day - -.
Needles was struggling under the weight of the extinguisher, despite his regular workouts. It was heavier than he’d imagined, and was getting heavier with every step he took. All he needed now was to stick his foot in a hole or something and have to endure a ribbing from Dapper. Pity Anna hadn’t sent Teddy with him instead. He’d have carried both extinguishers and maybe given Needles a piggyback into the bargain. Needles was almost on his knees, and the gate was still a couple of hundred yards away. It had been a funny sort of day all round. He couldn’t get the image of the kid on the flying goat out of his head. He’d seen them plain as a pikestaff, even if they had been whizzing along pretty fast before they disappeared into the trees. He’d kept his mouth shut, though. He wasn’t going to give Dapper the satisfaction of guffawing at him at the very idea. He’d thought of mentioning it to Teddy or Anna, casually bringing it up and asking if that was now another part of the general fortifications, like the howling wolves and stuff, but he didn’t. They might think he was a candidate for the Looney Bin if they didn’t know what he was talking about.
Dapper thought he’d have a little fun, seeing as Teddy wasn’t with them to step on his toes about ragging Needles. It might put him in better humour after being dragged away from the educational video he’d been watching. ‘Want me to carry that for you, Needles?’ he asked, smiling with all the sincerity of a guy just about to whack someone who’d ratted to the cops. ‘You’re never gonna make it with all those bulging muscles.’ He tossed his own extinguisher in the air and caught it as though it weighed only a few ounces. ‘Bet I can juggle the two of them all the way to the gate.’
But Needles wasn’t falling for it. Not after all the times he’d been made the butt of Dapper’s jokes. ‘Get knotted!’ he ma
naged to gasp, feeling the perspiration begin to trickle into his eyes. ‘I can cope.’
‘Sure you can,’ Dapper said, switching to the condescending tone that drove Needles to distraction. ‘Trouble is, we’ve got to douse this fire and shift these smellers before next week. You think you can heave that thing all the way out there before that?’ Then he started into his infuriating spluttering laughter. ‘Maybe you should have brought along a wheelbarrow while you were at it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Needles did his best to ignore the jibes. What he’d really have liked to do was set off the extinguisher right there and then to turn Dapper into a snowman. And if there wasn’t enough foam to complete the job, he’d make sure to start at his big mouth and shut it up once and for all. But his knees were buckling and he knew that even if he did manage to get the pin out and set the thing off, he’d probably collapse with the effort. And Dapper would have scarpered to safety by the time he’d be ready to aim, squawking his head off like a demented hyena. For about the millionth time in his life, Needles cursed the hand he’d been dealt in the physique department. But his thoughts had taken his mind off how far more he had to tote the extinguisher, for the next time he looked, he was surprised to discover the gate practically staring him in the face. And Dapper was unlocking it, not bothering to make any secret of the fact either, banging the padlock against the steel, then shooting the bolt free with a clanging that Needles was sure could be heard all the way back to the house.
The noise was heard quite plainly by those outside displaying all the signs of living a much less privileged life than those within. The Superintendent gave a grim little smile of satisfaction on hearing the gate starting to swing open behind him. It was what they’d all been praying for. The second the key had been inserted in the padlock, the Superintendent had signalled to his team to remain exactly where they were. Danny, with Charlie sitting beside him, and Mr. Pearson sat facing the gate, well back from where the tyre smoke was still ascending in a thick black spiral. The Superintendent and Harrington sat with their backs to the gate. Both of them glanced questioningly at Danny. Danny nodded his head in reply.