Raven and Skull

by Ashley Lister

  Yet Harry Shaw had stated those precise figures as though they were common knowledge. Just as he had been absolutely sure that John Skull had been murdered. And that it was John Skull’s skull on the desk. And that the gold-plating had been done by a nefarious little jeweller who owed Charlie Raven a favour. And that the remainder of John Skull’s corpse, rendered unidentifiable, was rotting in a Midlands’ landfill. And that a voodoo protection spell was safeguarding the corporate interests of Raven and Skull.

  ‘You have me at a disadvantage,’ Charlie decided. ‘You know too many things about my business that you’re not supposed to know. I know nothing about you, aside from your name and the fact that you’re a chef-turned-psychic. Take a cigarette and please tell me about yourself, Mr Shaw.’

  Harry Shaw stroked his Van Dyke and turned away from the window. ‘My knowledge is going to benefit you by keeping you out of prison.’

  Charlie nodded.

  He had expected this much.

  This was a typical blackmailer’s device that Charlie had often used in the past. Negotiations were best started by telling the victim how much they would benefit from the looming transaction. Mentioning such a detail early on in the conversation meant the blackmailer could keep referring back to that advantage, as though the negotiations were civilised and genuinely being set up to benefit both parties. Even though this was a technique Charlie had used on more than one occasion he had never before realised that it could be extremely irritating.

  ‘How laudable,’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘Thank you, Mr Shaw.’

  ‘In return for my keeping you out of prison,’ Shaw continued, ‘you’re going to give me–’

  Charlie raised a finger. ‘I’ve always been curious about psychic abilities,’ he interrupted. ‘May I ask a couple of questions whilst we’re still being civilised? In a moment, I know, you’re going to make a list of demands, I’m going to refuse to give into them, and all attempts at pleasantness will be over. So, now, before we get to that stage of animosity, may I ask a couple of questions about your mystical powers?’

  Shaw’s frown of impatience would have withered a lesser man. As Charlie continued to regard him with cheery expectation, Shaw eventually sighed. ‘Go on then,’ he snapped. ‘What are your questions?’

  Charlie doffed his cigarette into the gorilla’s paw ashtray. Leaning forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the desk he said, ‘Have you been communing with the dead? Have they been giving up their secrets? Have the dead been giving up my secrets?’

  Shaw grinned. ‘I’ve spoken with John Skull. He’s told me everything.’

  Charlie stood up and went to the decanter. After pouring himself a large glass of port, Charlie returned to his desk and got himself another Woodbine. His hand shook ever so slightly when he touched the tip of a match to its end. Absently, he reached for the gold-plated skull on his desk and stroked the parietal bone.

  ‘You always did enjoy talking didn’t you, Johnny?’ he muttered.

  ‘That’s how I found out all those secrets you’d like to keep quiet.’ Shaw’s ferret-like grin was wide and vicious. ‘That’s how I found out about the murder you’ve committed. That’s how I found out about–’

  ‘Why did you talk to this chef, Johnny?’ Charlie rapped his knuckles against the top of the skull. The sound was hollow and flat. ‘What was going on inside that empty head of yours?’

  Harry Shaw frowned at the interruption.

  Charlie turned the skull on his desk so it faced him. An outsider would have thought he was rehearsing a contemporary performance of Hamlet’s graveyard scene. His hand rested on the top of the skull and his gaze was set on the empty dark circles of the orbital sockets.

  ‘What made you chat with this pissant pastry-chef?’

  Harry Shaw rounded on Charlie. His mouth was open in an expression of outrage. Colour flushed his cheeks and his fist gripped tight around the balloon-like base of his port glass. The liquid in the glass sloshed up the sides and threatened to spill.

  Charlie silenced Shaw before he could splutter his first syllable of indignation. Raising his hand, glancing briefly away from John Skull’s skull, he smiled at Harry Shaw and said, ‘Johnny’s spoken with you at great length. It’s only right that you let him chat with me for a moment before you lay down your demands.’

  Before Harry Shaw could raise an argument, Charlie Raven had returned his attention back to the skull.

  ‘Are you telling me you’re psychic?’ Harry whispered.

  Charlie laughed. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I just chat with Johnny occasionally. He was always a garrulous bastard. Death hasn’t stopped that habit.’ Waving a hand to dismiss Harry Shaw, he turned his attention back to the skull.

  Harry Shaw watched as Charlie nodded and continued to mumble through his conversation with the inanimate skull. The chef-cum-psychic scowled and worked away at his glass of port until there were only the musty dregs in the base of the bowl. His shoulders stiffened and he flinched unhappily when Roger Black burst through the office doorway.

  Short and squat, Roger Black’s massive breadth made up for his lack of height. He had dark, curly hair and the swarthy skin of a Heathcliff. Under his left arm he held a manila envelope. His expressionless face flashed briefly in Harry Shaw’s direction. Stepping into the room he turned and locked the door before glancing again at Harry Shaw and then taking the seat in front of Charlie’s desk.

  ‘Roger, Harry. Harry, Roger.’

  Charlie made the introductions with cheery civility. He was no longer locked in studious contemplation with the skull on his desk. His mood now seemed incorrigibly bright.

  ‘I’m sorry for that delay,’ Charlie told Shaw. ‘I wanted to hear Johnny’s side of this arrangement, just so I had a fuller picture of what was happening.’ He exercised a genial smile – as though the nuisance of conversing with a dead man’s skull was an unavoidable inconvenience in the day-to-day running of a modern office. ‘You were going to list your demands,’ he prompted. ‘Do you want to tell me what those were?’

  Harry swallowed.

  His composure began to slowly dissipate. He cast an apprehensive glance in Roger Black’s direction and, catching the man’s eye, his jaw worked soundlessly for a second or two. The remaining port in his glass trembled as though the building was on the periphery of an earthquake tremor. A single bloody droplet of the drink splashed over the side and onto the carpet.

  Roger Black noticed the accident. Frowned. Shook his head.

  ‘Go on,’ Charlie encouraged. ‘Tell me your demands, exactly the way that Johnny told you to make them. It seems, contrary to my earlier reservations, Raven and Skull will be willing to accede.’

  ‘You can’t kill me,’ Harry Shaw said, defiantly.

  Roger Black passed a large envelope across Charlie’s desk. Charlie accepted it without a word of thanks. He poured the contents onto his desk and leafed through foolscap pages and black and white photographs.

  Harry could see his own image in some of the pictures. He swigged at his empty glass, realised there was no drink left, and then slammed it down too heavily. He stared anxiously from Black to Raven and then towards the office’s locked door.

  ‘Just tell me your demands, Mr Shaw,’ Charlie Raven repeated. He continued to idly leaf through the paperwork on his desk. ‘Let’s get this over and done with. It’s getting wearisome now.’

  ‘You’re going to provide me with financial security for the rest of my life,’ Shaw stammered.

  Charlie pushed a notepad and pen to Roger Black. ‘Write this down,’ he said, crisply. ‘Make sure you get it all verbatim.’ His genial smile slipped into something predatory as he added, ‘Old Johnny has been very clever here. We have to meet this chef’s demands to the letter. But I’m adamant it will be to my letter.’

  Black picked up the pen and pad and then hesitated. ‘I could just deal with this problem now, Mr Raven.’ He patted his breast pocket. No one in the room needed to be psychic to understand what he m
eant. ‘It won’t take a minute.’

  Harry Shaw turned pale.

  Charlie Raven shook his head. ‘There is no problem,’ he assured Black. ‘Johnny has just been recruiting for the company. Harry Shaw will soon work for us and we’re agreeing the terms of his employment. Johnny has brought him here with promises of financial security and a permanent place working with Raven and Skull. Harry’s going to state his demands and I’m going to give them to him.’

  Black shook his head. ‘The door’s locked, Mr Raven. The building’s empty. I can snap his neck if you’re worried about the noise of a gunshot. The clean-up will be minimal.’

  Charlie Raven’s smile was sympathetic. He took another Woodbine from the box on his desk and lit it before responding. ‘Johnny’s thought this one through,’ he said. He patted the gold-plated skull affectionately. ‘And this negotiation can’t work that way. There are forces at work here that are beyond our control. If we don’t meet Mr Shaw’s demands he will expose us to ruin. If we kill him, it’s predestined that we’ll make some mistake that results in our downfall. Johnny assures me that we have to give Harry Shaw everything he believes he wants.’ Glancing at Harry, nodding for him to continue, he told Black, ‘Just write down everything he says he wants. Nothing more and nothing less.’

  As Harry resumed his list of demands, Roger Black wrote and Charlie Raven leafed through the papers on his desk. Harry’s voice trembled over the words, as though he was no longer so sure of his ground, but he made his way through the items. It took him ten minutes and another glass of port.

  Charlie Raven smoked two further cigarettes whilst Shaw dictated.

  ‘Is that everything?’ Raven asked, eventually.

  ‘Erm… I think so.’

  ‘Read the list back to him,’ Charlie told Roger.

  Black cleared his throat. ‘Financial security for the rest of Shaw’s life. This is to include luxurious accommodation and coverage of all expenses.’

  Charlie nodded. He savoured a mouthful of vintage port.

  Shaw swallowed twice. His head was now shaking so much it was impossible to tell if the movement was meant as a nod of consent or a nervous palpitation.

  ‘A salaried position working for Raven and Skull,’ Black went on. ‘This is to be a position of vital importance within the company, honestly acknowledged by Mr Raven.’

  Roger Black drew an exasperated sigh before continuing. His fingers patted absently at his breast pocket. Charlie Raven, again, shook his head.

  ‘The absolute assurance that no harm will befall Mr Shaw. The absolute assurance that no harm will befall any of Mr Shaw’s relatives.’ He slammed the notepad down and glared at Charlie Raven. ‘Just let me kill him.’

  Harry Shaw trembled.

  ‘No.’ Raven’s voice was sharp with authority. ‘There’s a bigger picture, here. Shaw’s destiny is intertwined with ours. I don’t know how and I don’t know why. But that’s an inescapable fact. If we kill Shaw there will be investigations and ramifications and the results will prove disastrous.’

  Shaw flexed a smile and began to relax.

  ‘Shaw was destined to encounter Raven and Skull,’ Charlie explained. ‘The thread of his life was intertwined with mine. The fates had put him in a position where he could have brought the company down, although I’ll be fucked if I know how a mere chef could have done that. But because Johnny is now working on the other side, he discovered there was a way to use Shaw’s destiny to our advantage.’

  Roger Black did not look convinced but he made no further attempt to argue his case.

  Raven glanced at Shaw and said, ‘Initial Mr Black’s notepad, please. Acknowledge that you agree with the terms and conditions you’ve laid out. I’ll have my secretary type this into our usual contract in the morning and then forward a copy for your records.’

  Roger Black offered his pen and the pad.

  Harry Shaw hesitated.

  ‘Sign it, Shaw,’ Raven hissed.

  The echo of the sibilants lingered long in the room whilst Harry nervously scratched his signature against the bottom of the pad. Outside, from the depths of the rainstorm, a grumble of thunder rattled against the windows. When Harry Shaw had finished writing he looked up and saw Charlie Raven was offering a hand.

  ‘There we go,’ Charlie grinned.

  The handshake lasted too long.

  Shaw removed his fingers from the grip and then wiped them on his hip. He leant slightly towards Black, as though trying to snatch another glance at the notepad.

  ‘You’re now employed here as the head of our janitorial services,’ Raven proclaimed. ‘Welcome to the team, Mr Shaw.’

  Shaw shook his head. ‘That’s not an executive position. I don’t think–’

  Raven’s smile disappeared. ‘Refuse the job offer and Roger here will dispose of you immediately.’

  As if to confirm Charlie’s threat, Roger Black put his hand inside the breast pocket of his jacket. His merciless smile made it look like he was more than pleased to make the unspoken threat. His fingers remained out of view.

  ‘The position has executive status and will be salaried. It comes with luxurious staff accommodation located just behind the janitorial offices in the basement. I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable there. I’m sure you’ll also be delighted to hear that your only duty is to help Mr Black here with some of his disposal problems–’

  ‘You bastard,’ Harry Shaw hissed.

  Raven tapped the papers on his desk. ‘You have a lovely family,’ he said, easily. ‘You’ll never see them again. One of the terms of your employment is that you must remain on these premises at all times. Break that condition and Mr Black will terminate your employment, your family and then you.’

  Roger Black fixed Harry with a hungry leer.

  ‘But I don’t see any need for us to be making threats and spoiling the mood of this pleasant occasion,’ Raven continued. ‘Congratulations, Mr Shaw. You are no longer working as a chef in a backstreet restaurant. You’ve used your psychic abilities to blackmail me into giving you an invaluable position here at Raven and Skull. There aren’t many men who get the better of me.’

  Harry Shaw reached for the decanter. He held it by the neck as though he was wielding a club.

  ‘Attempt any retaliatory action, Mr Shaw, and the consequences will be severe.’ Charlie Raven tapped at the pages on his desk again. ‘Attempts of violence towards me will nullify our agreement. And it’s not just Roger here who can make your existence miserable. Johnny continues to work for Raven and Skull on a different plane and he will happily make your move to the afterlife an unpleasant experience. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.’

  Reluctantly, Shaw replaced the decanter. His jaw was clenched tight. Barely moving his lips he asked, ‘What am I expected to do now I’m your janitor?’

  Charlie laughed. ‘This is wonderful really. I’m sure you’re going to love this part, especially since it’s going to capitalise on your culinary skills…’

  He exchanged a knowing glance with Roger Black.

  As Harry Shaw stood and watched, the two men guffawed loudly together. If Shaw had bothered to look at Raven’s desk, he might have noticed the gold-plated skull was grinning along with Raven and Black.

  ‘You spoke with Johnny for a long time, didn’t you?’

  Shaw nodded. Because Raven and Black were both sitting, occupying the only chairs in the room, he had to stand like an errant child summoned to the headmaster’s office.

  ‘He told you that we’d disposed of his body and made it impossible to identify?’

  Shaw nodded again.

  ‘Did Johnny tell you what lengths we go to, to render a body unidentifiable?’ Laughing softly, shaking his head, he said, ‘No. I’m sure he didn’t. Perhaps it will be easier if Roger tells you this part.’

  Roger Black seemed to relish the opportunity. Standing up, squaring himself confidently in front of Harry Shaw, he said, ‘The first process is killing.’ He smiled when
he said the final word of the sentence.

  Harry Shaw said nothing.

  ‘Once we have a dead body we then begin the process of dismemberment. Mr Skull was an exception to this process. Mr Raven needed Mr Skull’s head for part of a voodoo protection spell. Ordinarily we don’t remove the head. It’s easier just to smash in all the teeth so the victim can’t be identified through dental records.’ Black grinned at Shaw and added, ‘You don’t need to worry about that part. It’s something of a speciality of mine.’

  Harry Shaw took a step away from Black’s menacing grin. He raised a faltering hand at chest level, as though he was trying to urge Black back. Watching with amusement, Charlie Raven thought it was like someone trying to fend off a hungry lion with a catnip treat.

  ‘But our main problem comes from disposing of remains,’ Black continued. ‘Bodies begin to smell if they’re just left to rot. You can’t keep them refrigerated forever without running the risk of someone discovering your frozen assets.’

  He chuckled quietly and with obvious personal amusement.

  No one else in the room bothered to smile.

  Continuing, untroubled that no one had shared his mirth, Black said, ‘You can’t burn corpses without facing the danger that some concerned citizen will see the smoke, or some smart-arse forensic scientist will be able to identify something from the ashes. So Mr Raven and the late Mr Skull came up with a secure way of getting rid of human remains.’

  Harry swallowed.

  ‘We tried feeding the corpses to animals,’ Charlie Raven sighed. ‘But animals are so unreliable. They don’t always eat everything you give them. That meant there was evidence lying around.’

  Understanding struck Harry Shaw like a slap across the face.

  ‘Consuming a corpse renders it completely unidentifiable,’ Roger Black assured Harry. ‘The chewing, the digestion, even the elimination: they make it possible for a body to disappear without a trace.’