“What happened?”
Alby shrugged. “I guess there isn’t much call for a guy with skills like mine up here.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “We can cry into our lemonades together.”
“So what’s your story?” Alby demanded.
“No story,” I replied.
“You’ve got a story,” he insisted. “You’re just like me. You’re dirty and smelly, and you wish you were drunk. You’re not another mistake, are you?”
“What do you mean, mistake?”
“I’m a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. I was meant to be sent . . . down below.”
Down below. The two words seemed to solidify in the air between us as he spoke. It was the first time I’d heard the other place mentioned, and it sent a shiver up my spine.
“How did you end up here?” I asked, shifting on my stool to make my involuntary shudder less obvious.
“Administrative bungle. By the time anyone realised what had happened, I was through the Gates and into Heaven.”
“And once you were in Heaven, they couldn’t send you back . . . down below?”
“Apparently not. It took ages for them to work it out. There was a big debate in the Heavenly Council about whether anyone who had passed through the Gates could be sent down below. They took a vote at the end and the no’s came up victorious. So they let me stay.”
“You’ve got to love democracy at work.”
“That’s pretty funny.” He paused for a moment. “You know how close it was?”
“Only after you tell me.”
“One vote, that’s all it was. One measly vote. Apparently it was cast by God’s own son.”
“Jesus?”
“No, the other one. I forget his name.”
“I believe it’s Phil,” I said, my interest suddenly aroused. “So he’s the one you owe this stroke of luck to.”
“Yeah,” said Alby. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Thanks to him, I get to spend eternity in this place. Thanks to him, I’m permanently stuck in this lousy dump, without even the chance of a drink to dull the pain.” Did I detect just a trace of resentment in his voice?
“Not a big fan of Heaven?” It was less a question and more a statement of the obvious.
“Oh no, Heaven’s a wonderful place. If you’re in any way opposed to the concept of having fun, you’ll love it here. If your main interest is extreme boredom, Heaven is definitely the place for you.”
I was distracted from his moaning by the sound of the tavern door being forced open. I looked up to see a couple of tough-looking gentlemen stride in.
“Cops,” muttered Alby. “Try to look inconspicuous.”
Cops? In Heaven? What was going on here? I’d been told Heaven was a place of peace and love. If it really was so perfect here, why was there any need for law enforcement?
There was no time to further ponder those questions. No matter how unobtrusive we made ourselves, Alby and I stood out like gorilla masks on ballet dancers, and the cops made a beeline for us. They walked past Alby and stood facing me.
“Goodness gracious, what have we got here?” said the taller of the two. He was a lean man with a long, thin neck that made his head jut forward like a lizard’s.
“Looks like a tramp,” said the other cop. He was stoutly built, with a face that was flat like a frying pan.
“Sure I’m a tramp,” I said. “If you want to know the full story, I’m also a hobo, a vagrant, and a vagabond. And if you fine gentlemen are really nice to me, I’ll get you a dictionary so you can find out what those words mean.”
“Listen, tramp, don’t try to play smart with us,” said Lizard Neck.
“Yeah, we know all about you, Clarenden,” said Frying Pan.
“Even if I tried to play smart, I could never be as clever as the two of you,” I said sweetly.
This threw them. For a moment, they looked at each other in puzzlement. Then, clearly content to take my words at face value, they smiled smugly and turned back to me.
“We’ve got some questions we’d like you to answer, Clarenden,” said Lizard Neck. “We want to know what you’re doing in Heaven.”
“Don’t I get to speak to a lawyer first?” I said. Both cops laughed at that. Lawyers in Heaven? Even they got that joke.
Lizard Neck took out a sheet of paper and began to read from it. “Did you, at any time during your past life, attend a church, temple, mosque, synagogue, or any other official place of worship?”
“No,” I said.
Frying Pan took a turn next. “Did you claim allegiance to any of the world’s established religions?”
“No,” I said.
Lizard Neck had a second try. “Did you at any stage donate money to charity or perform any voluntary works or good deeds?”
“No,” I said. “Can I buy either of you boys a lemonade?”
Lizard Neck put the piece of paper away. As he looked at me, his face twisted into an expression of confusion and disgust. Not really a pleasant mix, but then again, it wasn’t really a pleasant face.
“Okay, Clarenden,” he said. “You’ve got us for now, but I promise you this won’t be the end of it. We don’t know how you got here, but we’re damn well going to find out.”
“Yeah,” said Frying Pan. “You better watch yourself. We can make your time in Heaven very difficult if we want to.”
With that, the two cops turned and strode out of the bar, slamming the door behind them. As soon as they were gone, Alby looked at me.
“And you’re trying to tell me you’re not a mistake.”
“The only mistakes I know about in Heaven just left the building.”
Alby didn’t look convinced. “Well, mistake or not, I guess at least there’s someone new up here for them to hassle.”
“They give you a hard time?”
“They never stop. As soon as that vote was cast, they were onto me.”
“In my job I used to have to deal with cops a lot,” I said, “and I figured out one thing pretty quick.”
“What’s that?”
“The cops are never the ones running the show. There’s always someone hidden away in the background, pulling the strings. Alby, I might have a chance for you to put your investigative skills into action.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Find out who’s pulling the strings.”
Alby’s eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for me?”
“A few minutes ago, you were saying how bored you were. Wouldn’t you like a little excitement?”
“Excitement I could do with. Trouble, on the other hand . . . ” He indicated the door through which the cops had just departed.
I beckoned for him to come closer. I spoke in a whisper into his ear. “I can’t promise anything, but I believe I can make this worth your while.”
He thought for a moment. “Okay, you talked me into it. I’ll see what I can find.”
“That’s the spirit. Go and dig up some dirt for me. How about we rendezvous back here tomorrow?”
“Might as well. It’s as bad as any other place around here.”
As I left the tavern, I took one last look at Alby Stark nursing his glass of soda water. He might have made it into Heaven, but in his own way he was very much in . . . I think you know the place I’m talking about.
CHAPTER 5
BEFORE I RETURNED TO THE OFFICE, I went into a little sandwich bar to grab some lunch. Then I hit the shops to pick up some of the essentials I was going to need in order to function effectively as a private investigator. This shopping without money was one thing about Heaven I could definitely get used to.
Back in the office, I made some hasty renovations that put my new purchases to good use. Then I paused to consider my progress.
My morning expedition had been surprisingly successful. I’d already found two people with potential grudges against Phil: Raphael, because Phil didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm for a charitable society; and Alby, because Phil had sen
tenced him to an eternity of peace and contentment. All right, so Raphael seemed about as dangerous as a pygmy Chihuahua in a steel muzzle, but you could never be too sure. Alby, on the other hand, was a completely different kettle of slimy gossip. I decided I would have to talk to Peter to find out more about how this special case slipped into Heaven.
Remembering what Peter’s workload was like, I figured I’d better give him a call first to see if he could fit me into his schedule. I checked the information on his card, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed the number listed for St Peter Inc.
After a couple of rings I heard a click and then Peter’s voice.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hey, Peter,” I leapt in. “It’s Jimmy Clarenden here and . . . ” I paused. Not only did Peter not seem to be listening to me, but he kept right on talking.
“ . . . You have called St Peter. I’m sorry, but I’m far too busy to pick up the phone at the moment. Please leave a message at the tone. I probably won’t have time to get back to you, but I’ll try my best.”
I should have expected that. I waited for the tone and then I spoke.
“Peter, it’s Jimmy Clarenden. You remember me, the mug with the bullet holes. I know you’re busy, but I was wondering if we could possibly meet up, like we talked about.” Then I left my number and hung up. The chance of a callback seemed pretty slim. If I wanted to find out more, I was going to have to do my own legwork.
I stood and was about to grab my hat and coat when there was a knock on the door. I opened it and a woman stepped in. Suddenly, my dimly-lit office was bathed in a surreal glow. A glow that, of course, emanated directly from my newly-arrived visitor. It was the third angel, Jessie.
She had medium-length, reddish-brown hair that descended in waves over a pale, slightly freckled face. Her eyes were soft brown, but her mouth was pulled into a tight frown. The robe she wore was long, its bottom swishing against her feet. Unlike at least one of her fellow angels, she clearly subscribed to the virtues of modesty, though as far as I could tell from the outline through the robe, she had nothing to be modest about. All in all, she cut a highly appealing figure. Not stop-you-in-your-tracks, knock-you-down-in-the-street, and rip-your-eyes-out-of-their-sockets attractive like Sally, but highly appealing nonetheless.
I showed her to a seat and went back to my desk. As she sat arranging her robe about herself, I quickly adjusted the Venetian blinds I’d just hung over the windows, attempting to restore the office to its previous state of gloom. Presently, she spoke.
“I just wanted to say how sorry I am, Mr Clarenden.” Her voice was soft. I had to strain my ears to catch it.
I said, “I can’t accept your apology.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because, to my knowledge, you haven’t done anything you need to apologise for.”
She looked down for a moment.
“Or are you apologising in advance, for something you’re about to do?” I continued.
She looked up again. Then she smiled. Just a small smile, for a fraction of a second, but it made a difference.
“I’m not apologising for anything I did,” she said. “I’m apologising for the way Sally treated you yesterday. It wasn’t right or fair.”
“You don’t have to worry about that—it was all my fault. I didn’t realise I’m supposed to be nice to her.”
“You’re a kidder,” she said. “But you don’t understand what you’re saying. You don’t really know Sally.”
“Are you going to tell me more about her?”
“I’m going to tell you to be very careful of her.”
“I’ve already learnt to be careful of her. She could skin a man alive with that tongue of hers, and as for those legs—”
“You think it’s a joke.” Jessie was staring at me with her head held high, but underneath the bravado, I could see how tightly her hands were clenched, and the slight tremble in her shoulders. There was no doubt this was an angel who was terrified of something. Or of someone.
“I don’t think anything is a joke,” I said. “When anyone warns me about someone, I listen. But I also wonder about the real purpose of the warning. Is there any reason I should be as frightened of her as you seem to be?”
Jessie looked away. Her eyes scanned the room, eventually alighting on the large picture frame I’d placed in the middle of the desk, from which the face of a young woman gazed out wistfully.
“Who is she?” she asked.
The change of subject took me by surprise. “She was my wife.”
“She’s very pretty. She must be missing you.”
“I doubt that very much. She left me for a smooth-talking shoe salesman many years ago.”
“A shoe salesman?”
“That’s right. She said she could never love a man with fallen arches.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open up old wounds.”
“There are no wounds to open. A man in my business has to take the bad with the bad. But you didn’t come here to chat about my personal tragedies. And I don’t think you came here just to warn me about Sally. So what’s the real story? What do you want from me?”
She tore her eyes from the photo. “I don’t really know how to say this.”
“Words usually work for me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Fending off that question from pretty much everyone I meet.”
“And how long do you plan to keep fending it off?”
“Until you people stop asking and finally leave me in peace.”
“Do you take us for fools, Mr Clarenden?”
“Call me Jimmy, and I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“You really think you can tell us that you’ve just died and gone to Heaven. Come off it, Jimmy. Anyone who looks at you can see you’re not Heaven material. You’re here for some other reason.”
I shrugged. “So maybe I am.”
Her eyes widened. “So you admit you are?”
“I admit nothing. I’d just like to know why it’s such a concern of yours.”
“It’s no concern. I just thought I might be able to help you, that’s all.”
I laughed. “You really want to help me? You’re a saint.”
“Actually, I’m an angel.”
“Okay, Angel, if you really want to help me . . . ” She angled her head towards me. “ . . . Tell me where in this God-forsaken place I can have some fun.”
Back went the head. “What do you mean, fun?”
“You see, that’s the problem. Nobody here seems to have any conception of how to have fun.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know what I’m saying all right. Heaven is a morgue. I could have more fun in an old person’s home. I haven’t even been here a day and I’m already sick of it.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Jessie was on her feet, crying out with surprising violence. Her eyes were filled with tears and her lower lip was quivering.
“Angel, take it easy.”
“You’ve barely been in Heaven a day and you think you know what it’s all about. Well you’re wrong. Heaven is a place where people are happy. It’s a beautiful place, a blessed place. If you can’t see that, then you definitely shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m sure you know far more about these things than I do.”
“Don’t play with me.”
“I’m not playing. This whole business is deadly serious, as far as I’m concerned.”
She looked at me. I looked at her. Nothing moved in my tiny office, save for the slow rotation of the ceiling fan I’d recently installed. Finally, she sat down.
“I’m sorry if that seemed a bit overdramatic,” she said as she went through the whole robe arranging thing again. “It’s just that I care a lot about this place. Maybe in time you will too. Anyway, as I said before, if there’s anything I can do to assist . . . ” As she finished with the robe, she
leant forward, listening intently. Too intently.
I said, “You want to help me and I’m a three-legged ostrich.”
She rocked back. “Excuse me—”
“No, you excuse me. I think I’ve figured out what’s going on here. You want something from me, but it’s not something you can just come out and ask for. So instead, you come here with these apologies and warnings and offers to help, hoping that what you want will slip out of my mouth without me knowing it. You’re waiting for me to give you a sign. What sort of sign, Angel? What do you need me to tell you?”
“I think I’d better go.” She stood up again and began walking towards the door. I called after her.
“Is it something to do with Sally? Can you at least tell me that much?”
She stopped and turned back to me.
“Remember, my offer to help still stands. Anything you want, just ask.”
There was something she could do for me all right. “Angel, if you can scare me up a bottle of whisky, I’ll be your friend for life.”
But she’d already walked out of the office, leaving the door open behind her. I peeked through the Venetians and watched her exit the building and disappear down the street.
I went to close the door, but at that minute the phone rang. I dashed back to the desk and picked up the phone. It was Peter.
“Jimmy, how are you?”
“Just blowing in the wind. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Still busy?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Big earthquake in Mexico. I’ve barely had time to breathe. But I can always squeeze in a minute for a detective like you. How can I help?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Sounds exciting. Are you on a case?”
“I can’t say. Can I meet you this afternoon?”
“Just a moment, I’ll check my schedule.” For a couple of minutes, I heard nothing but frantic paper rustling. Then Peter’s voice came back on the line.
“I’m sorry, this afternoon isn’t good. Gas explosion in the Philippines and mudslides in Bangladesh. It looks like we’re going to be snowed under for the rest of the day.”
A Fate Worse Than Death Page 5