by AnonYMous
JD rubbed the small of her back. ‘Hey don’t worry, I’ll come with you,’ he offered.
‘You can’t,’ James interrupted. ‘It’s staff only down there. You’ll have to wait here.’
JD kissed her on the forehead. ‘You gonna be okay on your own if I wait here with this guy?’
‘Yeah.’ Beth looked up at him, unable to mask the worried look on her face. She was about to head into a confrontation with Simmonds and she was going to have to do it on her own. ‘I’m probably going to get fired,’ she whispered.
‘You’ll be all right,’ said JD. ‘Just be confident.’ He stroked her hair and kissed her on the lips, bringing a gentle smile back to her face momentarily. He still knew exactly how to make things better for her just with a simple gesture. After a deep breath and a squeeze of his hand, Beth headed off down to Cromwell’s old office to see her new boss Elijah Simmonds.
JD stood in the reception hall with James the security guard and watched her walk away. Her body language spoke volumes. The walk to the new boss’s office clearly filled her with dread.
Once she was out of sight, James wandered over to him and slapped him gently on the shoulder. ‘I doubt she’ll be very long, buddy. Simmonds gets to the point very quickly.’
‘Is she gonna lose her job?’
‘Probably.’
‘Why? What’s this Simmonds guy got against her?’
James laughed quietly, almost to himself. ‘You don’t know her all that well, do you?’ he said. ‘I can tell, you’ve clearly only just met her.’
‘Kind of, yeah. Why? What do you mean?’
James patted him on the shoulder again. ‘No offence, buddy, but you’ll find out soon enough, so I might as well tell you anyway, she’s known around town as Mental Beth. She’s not quite right in the head.’
‘What?’
‘Seriously, man. Ask if you can meet her friends.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with her friends?’
‘Nothing, man. It’s just that she ain’t got any! No one around here likes her. If I can give you some advice, I’d say get out of here quick. Give her a wide berth. She’s bad news.’ He lowered his voice slightly before adding, ‘She killed her own mother.’
JD nodded. ‘I see what you’re saying.’
‘Yeah, you can do a lot better,’ said James, patting him on the shoulder one more time. ‘Right, I’ve got other places to be, see you later, man.’
As James walked away, JD followed after him. ‘Hold on a sec,’ he said catching up with the security guard.
‘Whassup?’ James asked.
JD pointed at James’s chest. ‘You’ve got something on your shirt.’
Ten
Sanchez wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but somehow he’d ended up in a Volkswagen Beetle with Flake. And he was on his way to the police station to enrol as a member of law enforcement. Not a proper officer by any stretch, but if he couldn’t work out an acceptable way to weasel out of it pretty soon, he was going to find himself in a uniform as one of those useless part time cops with no authority.
Flake babbled on at a hundred miles an hour about how excited she was to be joining the force. She spoke so bloody quickly that Sanchez couldn’t get a word in. He’d had to accept a ride from her after discovering to his dismay that some local kids had vandalised his car outside the Ole Au Lait. All four of his tyres had been slashed. “No doubt unprovoked,” he thought.
Flake had promised she would drop him off at the tyre repair place. But it now seemed that her plan was to go there after they’d been to the police station. As a contingency plan to avoid joining the police, Sanchez was fully prepared to pull out the old “bad back” excuse.
Flake drove like she spoke too. This girl didn’t stop for anything. Red lights, stop signs, pedestrians, snowmen, she just zipped through, over or around them. Her constant chatter would have done Sanchez’s head in under any normal circumstance. At the moment he was unable to concentrate on anything other than clenching his butt cheeks and pressing both hands against the dashboard. As if to make travel that much more terrifying, the passenger side of Flake’s old white Beetle wasn’t fitted with a seat belt. So Sanchez actually felt somewhat relieved when they arrived at the police station. Flake steered the car down the wrong side of the road for a hundred yards or so, before pulling a completely unnecessary handbrake turn which spun the car around and pulled it perfectly into a parking spot directly out front of the station.
Throughout the manoeuvre Sanchez had gripped the dashboard so tight that his fingers had gone white. He was also stuck with a wide-eyed look of terror imprinted on his face. It was a look that would take a few seconds of deep breaths to shift.
Flake switched off the engine. ‘Come on, Sanchez,’ she said. She gave him a gentle shove on the arm as if she thought he was faking the look of terror.
‘I think we just travelled back in time,’ Sanchez muttered.
‘You’re so funny,’ said Flake, slapping his arm once more. ‘Come on. Stop joking around and let’s get in there before it’s too late.’
Sanchez definitely wanted to be out of the car. He knew that much. But he didn’t particularly want to be walking up the steps to the police station. As the blood began to flow back into his fingers he peeled his hands back off the dashboard and reached over to open the door. Flake was already up and out of the car by the time he had hauled his ass up out of the seat. Closing the door behind him he took a deep breath and with his left hand reached slowly around to his back. He started to rub it slowly and pretended to wince in pain.
Flake looked genuinely concerned. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘Old war injury,’ said Sanchez grimacing. ‘Not sure I’ll make it up them steps.’
Flake’s face dropped. ‘Oh.’
Before she could add anything else, a police officer came rushing down the steps from the front of the station. He was a rugged fellow in his mid-forties with a full head of neatly combed brown hair. And he was dressed smartly for a cop too. He had on a pair of black trousers and a white shirt with a black waistcoat over it. Sanchez was surprised to see an officer in such good shape, considering the obligatory diet of donuts that all the local boys in blue stuck to so rigidly.
The officer yelled at Flake as he approached her. ‘You got a license for that vehicle miss?’
Sanchez recognised the officer. It was Dan Harker, a fairly decent, hard-working detective who had never really made it as far up the ranks as he should have. If memory served correctly he was one of the less corruptible cops, not as easily open to bribes as most of the others. He’d dropped by the Tapioca numerous times to question Sanchez about various unsolved crimes.
At the sound of his voice Flake turned around. ‘Hello, Mr Harker,’ she said. She knew him too. The Ole Au Lait wasn’t exactly crime free either.
‘Flake, you drive like a freakin’ lunatic. I could book you for dangerous driving and illegal parking right now!’ Harker said, shaking his head.
Sanchez nodded in agreement with Harker, although he brought the nodding to an abrupt end when he thought Flake had caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye.
‘I’m sorry Dan,’ said Flake smiling. ‘We’ve come to sign up for the police force and I was hoping to impress you with my driving skills, you know? I’m good in a high speed pursuit.’
Dan Harker’s look of disapproval vanished. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Good. I mean, excellent. You’re the first two to come and sign up. Come on in. I’ll get your forms filled in.’
‘I’ve got a bad back,’ said Sanchez, once more rubbing his back and wincing.
Harker ignored him and spoke to Flake, ‘There’s a thousand dollar incentive for the first two people to sign up.’
Sanchez perked up and looked around him. There were a few other people milling around in the street. No sense in waiting for one of them to race up the steps and get into the station before him. Straightening up, he rushed out of the icy road and onto the sno
w-covered sidewalk, then bounded on to the steps and up towards the glass doors at the front of the station.
‘Gosh, he’s keen,’ said Harker.
Flake rushed up the steps after Sanchez. ‘We’re both very keen to do our duty,’ she said.
Sanchez reeled back in shock when he saw the state of the reception area in the station. The place was a bloody mess. Literally. In fact it was one big crime scene. The walls and floor were covered in blood. And it smelled like the Tapioca after a curry night. Harker followed them in.
‘It’s a real mess in here,’ he said walking briskly past Sanchez and Flake. ‘One of your first jobs will be cleaning this place up. We’ve had forensics in to collate all the evidence, now we just need someone to wipe the blood off the walls.’
‘Sanchez will be good at that,’ Flake said.
‘That’s true,’ Sanchez agreed. He’d cleaned blood and piss off the walls of the Tapioca numerous times. And for a thousand dollars, he’d clean up just about anything.
Harker smiled and reached into a drawer on the main reception desk. He pulled out a thick blue hardback book and slapped it down on the desk. ‘I just need you both to sign this register,’ he said opening the book up. ‘You sign this each day and it grants you the authority to arrest, harass and intimidate local civilians at your leisure. You get paid a thousand dollars up front for being the first two recruits. After that it’s a standard five hundred dollars a day.’
Sanchez picked up a pen from the desk and grabbed the book before Flake could get to it. He filled in a few details and signed his name then looked up at Harker.
‘You paying cash?’ he asked.
‘For the first day, yes. After that it’s bank transfer.’
‘Good enough.’
Flake began filling in her details in the register. Harker took a few steps back and stared at his new recruits, looking them both up and down. ‘Right,’ he said frowning. ‘I’m going to nip upstairs and get you two some uniforms. Should be easy for you Flake, you’re a fairly common size. It might take me a while to find a pair of pants for you though, Sanchez.’
‘I’m a medium,’ Sanchez said defensively.
‘And I’m an astronaut,’ said Harker. ‘I’ll find you some pants, don’t worry. Now, while I’m upstairs getting your uniforms you can get started. Flake, you man the reception desk. Deal with any phone calls or anyone who comes in off the street to report a crime. If you’re not sure what to do, just bullshit them.’
Flake looked genuinely enthusiastic. ‘I can do that,’ she said smiling.
Harker turned back to Sanchez. ‘You can start by cleaning the elevator. There’s a mop and bucket over there in the corner. There’s soapy water in it already. All you gotta do is…’
‘I know how to mop, thank you,’ said Sanchez.
‘Fine. Then I’ll expect that elevator to be spotless by the time I get back.’
Harker turned on his heels and headed for the door that led to the stairs. Sanchez pulled a face at him behind his back and mumbled a quiet impersonation of him under his breath.
‘Isn’t this exciting?’ said Flake.
‘Exhilarating,’ said Sanchez sarcastically. He walked over to the mop and bucket and picked it up. Then he wheeled it over to the elevator and pressed a grey button in the wall to call it. The doors opened immediately and Sanchez was overwhelmed by the stench of shit. The elevator was covered in blood, brains and shit from floor to ceiling. It looked worse than the toilets in the Tapioca after a Saturday night. Shaking his head in disgust, he pulled the mop out from the bucket and shoved the head of it into the floor. This would be no five-minute job. The stink alone would take weeks to eliminate.
Two minutes into his mopping task, Sanchez heard someone approaching the reception desk behind him. Then he heard a lady’s voice speak. It was a voice he recognised.
‘I’d like to report the theft of a book from the library,’ it said.
Ulrika Price. The bitch.
Sanchez stepped into a now clean part of the elevator and turned around. His eyes immediately met Ulrika’s. The librarian had obviously come straight from work because she was wearing a woolly brown cardigan over a flowery dress, standard attire for annoying librarian types. She loomed ominously over the reception desk, with Flake seated in front of her, with her back to Sanchez. Ulrika’s piercing green eyes opened wide when she saw Sanchez.
‘It’s him!’ she hissed. ‘He stole it!’
Sanchez shook his head. ‘No. Not me,’ he mumbled.
Ulrika strode around the reception desk. Flake stood up. ‘You can’t go back there,’ she said.
Without taking her eyes off Sanchez, Ulrika shoved Flake in the face, knocking her back into her chair. Then to Sanchez’s utter horror, she opened her mouth to reveal a set of rapidly expanding vampire fangs.
Just as he’d suspected in the past, this evil bitch was a vampire. And right now, she had her eyes set on Sanchez as her first meal.
There was only one thing to do. Press a button in the elevator and get the hell out of there. Sanchez looked down at the keypad. All of the buttons were covered in shit apart from one. The button for the basement. He pressed it six times in less than a second. Through the closing doors he saw Ulrika’s feet leave the floor as she flew towards him, fangs wide open.
Eleven
Beth arrived at Cromwell’s office and was saddened to find that the nameplate on the door had already been changed. Instead of CROMWELL it now read SIMMONDS in bold silver lettering over the black plaque.
She knocked twice on the door and soon heard Simmonds’s voice call through from the other side.
‘Come in.’
She reached for the large brass doorknob and twisted it first one way and then the other. It didn’t open so she tried pulling hard as she twisted it this way and that. She could never remember if the door opened inwards or out. Eventually she was relieved to find that it opened when she pushed it and turned the knob to the right simultaneously. Breathing a sigh of relief she entered the office and closed the door shut behind her.
Simmonds was sitting in the large black leather chair behind the shiny oak desk. And he looked smug. Even by his own smug standards as the undisputed King of Smug Town. He had his blond hair scraped back into its traditional greasy Steven Seagal style ponytail.
‘Hello, Elijah,’ Beth said smiling tentatively.
‘It’s Mr Simmonds to you, Lansbury,’ he replied coldly.
She approached one of the two seats on the near side of the desk opposite Simmonds.
‘Don’t bother sitting down,’ he said waving a dismissive hand at her. ‘This isn’t going to take long.’
‘Umm, okay.’
‘Terrible news about Bertram obviously, but life goes on. I hope you’re not too upset.’
‘Are you kidding? Mr Cromwell was a lovely man.’
‘Yes, the emphasis there being was. Unfortunately now he’s dead, but the museum is not. And I, as the new manager am going to have to make all the changes that Cromwell was too weak to make.’
Beth nodded, knowing what was coming. ‘Okay.’
‘We have to cut costs and I’m afraid that means that some staff will lose their jobs.’
‘Oh dear, how many?’
Simmonds grimaced. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. Basically we only need to lose one head, and, well, it’s you. You’ll be paid up to the end of the week, but I’d prefer it if you left now.’
Beth’s heart sank. She’d known this would happen the second she’d heard about Cromwell’s death. ‘I think my contract says I get paid up to the end of the month if I lose my job.’
Simmonds shook his head. ‘You’ve got some nerve, haven’t you?’ he said with a look of disgust on his face. ‘Bertram Cromwell is dead, murdered at the hands of the Bourbon Kid, in cold blood, with a machete, and all you can think about is yourself and how to take advantage of your contract.’
Beth was taken aback. ‘No, it’s not like that.’
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‘Well that’s how it looks, Lansbury. God, you disgust me sometimes. It’s not enough that you killed your stepmother, you now want to trample all over the memory of a great man like Bertram Cromwell, after all he did for you.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Take it up with the union.’
‘I didn’t know we had a union.’
‘We don’t. Now get out. I can’t bear to look at you. Honestly, did it never occur to you to cover up that scar on your face when you came to work? It upsets everyone else here having to look at it.’
Beth could feel tears welling up in her eyes. The scar ran deep for many reasons. She tried to downplay it though, so as not to give Simmonds the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to her. ‘It’s just a scar,’ she said.
‘Yes, but that scar represents the struggle of your stepmother trying to defend herself when you stabbed her to death doesn’t it? Awful, just awful. I don’t know how you have the nerve to walk around with it on display like that.’
Beth had no further response. A tear trickled down her right cheek, slipping into her scar and sliding along it towards the corner of her mouth. Simmonds gestured towards the door and then looked down at some papers on his desk to signify that their meeting was over.
‘Go on, run along,’ he said. ‘We’re done here.’
Beth felt her bottom lip tremble. Being fired was a humiliating experience at the best of times, but to be ridiculed in this manner was too much to take.
‘What about my uniform and stuff. What should I…’
Simmonds looked up. ‘Are you still here?’ he sneered.
‘Yes, I just…’
‘Oh God, you’re not going to cause a scene, are you? Seriously, if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people coming into my office and causing a scene. If you want a drama, go join an acting club or something, don’t do it in my office.’
Beth turned away. She’d had all she could take. She grabbed the doorknob. There was an awkward three or four seconds as she fumbled with turning and pulling it before it opened. Luckily it came open just before she began sobbing out loud. Being humiliated by a bully like Simmonds had really gotten to her. Bullying didn’t get any easier to take as an adult. Her only comfort was that now unlike in the past, at least she had JD to offer an arm of consolation or a kind word to make it all better. She trudged back up the stairs to reception, wiping away the tears as she went, in the hope of not looking like too much of a mess when she got back to him.