Few Are Chosen_K'Barthan Series_Part 1

by M T McGuire

  The job hadn’t been watertight, the Resistance had known about it in advance or how would Denarghi have known that the loot played an integral part in the Looking? The Grongles, they had been waiting hadn’t they? They must have known, too. “I can’t get your empire back but I can help you keep out of trouble until we find the old man, or until he finds us,” he said, “two brains are better than one.”

  “Yeh, ’specially your brain,” said Big Merv. “There’s something I wanna know first though.” Had he drawn the obvious conclusion? Was he going to accuse The Pan of being a grass? “You saved my life. Why? You didn’t have to.” Ah. That was an even more difficult question. The Pan scratched his head.

  “I dunno. Habit? I’ve saved your life often enough in the last year.”

  “Nah, that was work, an’ anyway, you did it because I made you. This was your chance to get me off your back.”

  The Pan was taken by surprise. What Big Merv said was true and he’d had no concrete idea why he was rescuing him at the time. He’d acted entirely on instinct. He decided to tell the truth, or at least a tactfully presented variant.

  “I didn’t know you were a GBI, did I? And since I’m blacklisted and you are the only being alive prepared to give me a job,” even if it was a difficult job fraught with opportunities to make potentially lethal mistakes, “I would be an idiot to leave you behind and go back to living hand to mouth.”

  “Yeh, well Denarghi would have got a lot of cash for me. Enough to make him forget about you, maybe.”

  “I doubt it. I’m worth more than you, remember?”

  “Yeh? Then p’raps you need the cash. Maybe you’re thinking of claiming the reward for yourself,” added Big Merv, a hint of menace creeping into his voice.

  “If they want me more than you, how would I be able to claim it?”

  “You could disguise yerself.”

  “Look, Merv, we both know somebody squealed, but it wasn’t me and I’m as confident as I can be it wasn’t you—otherwise, neither of us would be here, would we? I didn’t think, I acted on instinct and if you have to know the truth, you scare the, um, you frighten me. I’m a coward. I didn’t dare leave you behind in case you caught up with me later.” Big Merv raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I’m that yellow,” said The Pan, flatly.

  “Second, I would have been leaving you there to die! That’s not the same as giving you the slip and falling off the grid so you never, ever find me. You know what I’m like, I don’t have it in me to kill anyone, even indirectly. I wouldn’t want it on my conscience—couldn’t have it on my conscience.”

  “What about now?” asked Big Merv. “Now that I’m blacklisted like you are? Does that change anything?”

  He asked the question with an ominous do-you-want-to-make-something-of-it edge although, whether out of habit or intent The Pan couldn’t be sure. Without Big Merv they would never have escaped the clutches of the Grongle corporal and his search squad. He was wily, he had to be – you didn’t build an empire the size of his from nothing – but it helped that he was also big and intimidating. The Pan looked over at him. Very intimidating.

  “Well, we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t given the performance of your life back there in the role of Nutter Grongle Major. Arnold! Even I began to believe you were a Grongle. You also have things I don’t have, like size and presence. That’s enough to justify letting you tag along! You’re six foot three, built like a wall and nobody messes with you. In case you hadn’t realised, I’m five foot nine and I’m a psycho magnet. You saw the way Deirdre picked on me, the way Denarghi wanted me to explain everything, even though it’s obvious you’re the leader. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much how I got blacklisted, I bumped into the biggest psycho of them all in the street—Lord Vernon—and he didn’t like me any more than Denarghi does! Surely it’s obvious why I’d want to keep you around now, I need you to take them down before they get to me.”

  “And ...?” said Big Merv.

  “What d’you mean? And ...?”

  “There’s more,” Big fixed him with a steely green glare and The Pan was glad he had told the truth so far, there was no way he could have disguised a lie.

  “OK and because I know how it feels alright? I’m sorry for you because in your own way, you’re as much of an outcast as me.”

  Eventually Big Merv nodded thoughtfully.

  “Yeh. Now I believe yer,” he eyed The Pan appraisingly, “coz of the bit about being a big scaredy wuss.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation. Fighting words, but there was a hint of a smile on Big Merv. The Pan, still unsure as to whether it truly was a smile or just wind, remained serious in case Big Merv took a reciprocal grin as barefaced cheek and smacked him one. Eventually, Big Merv said. “You coulda left me there though. ’Specially when I wouldn’t hold hands, you great mincing girl.”

  “No Merv. I couldn’t and I just explained why!”

  “You’ve got principles mate.”

  “No Merv, trust me, I have none of those.”

  “You’ve a conscience then.”

  “Nope. Where do you get all this stuff from? I’m merely hedging my bets in case there’s an afterlife.”

  The Big Thing put out a large hand.

  “Yeh, well I reckon I owe you one. Shake on it.”

  “I don’t think you do,” said The Pan with a smile, but he did as he was asked.

  Chapter 55

  Later, after the pub had closed, Gladys sent Ada up to the kitchen to see how The Pan and Big Merv were doing, while she and Trev put away the last of the glasses and locked up. By this time they were washed and changed and a great deal more relaxed. Big Merv, ever the gangster, wore a pair of dark blue silk pyjamas with white piping round the collars and cuffs, which Trev had found somewhere, and The Pan of Hamgee, a pair of blue and white striped pyjama bottoms with a white T-shirt. As a man who still tended to regard a night in a bed as a luxury he was feeling pleasantly drowsy and looking forward to a good sleep.

  Gladys, Trev and Ada often had a cup of cocoa to wind down after a busy night on duty, so he had made a pot. The slightly smarmy, do-goody feeling this small gesture had given him contributed to the lightening of his spirits. They’d pulled off the biggest heist of all time. They had the loot and they had evaded the Grongles. He felt bad about Frank and Harry, but in a callous way it merely increased his thankfulness to still be alive; alive and on the brink of buying a new identity, leaving the twilight behind and becoming human. He would make it up to them, pay for a memorial, buy some flowers. Perhaps he and Big Merv could get their money out of the old man and give it to their families. Hmm, well, some of it. OK, most of it, minus commission.

  Despite his doubts about the old man, The Pan was confident that, though unscrupulous enough to commit blackmail, he was honourable enough to come through with the cash. The fact that his only post was a receipt from the Great Snurd (of K’Barth) Company Ltd, confirming that Gerry the Work Experience Creature had taken delivery of his wheels and spare keys, raised his hopes further, until he saw the expression on Ada’s face when she joined them after closing. Humbert – there was no getting away from Humbert – flew in behind her and settled himself high up on the top corner of one of the wall-mounted cupboards.

  “Something up?” The Pan asked her as he handed her a cup of cocoa and proffered a plate of Gladys’ home-made biscuits.

  “Oh dear, yes, a dreadful thing has happened,” she told him. In Ada’s world ‘dreadful’ was a flexible adjective and described events which could range from burning the toast to the death of a close relative.

  “Bite my winky!” said Humbert. There was a short silence while everyone waited to see if he would say anything else. The Pan could feel the parrot’s beady eye boring into him but in the presence of Ada, Humbert behaved and stayed where he was. Good.

  Ada continued, “Remember the gentleman who came to see you that time, the one who gave you such a fright that you fell out of the window?” Sh
e stifled a nervous giggle and Big Merv looked sharply at The Pan.

  “I remember,” he said quickly before any mention could be made of smelly bin bags and humiliated Hamgeeans, “I’m hardly likely to forget it. Especially since it’s his job we’ve just done.”

  “Yeh,” Big Merv gave him an I-get-you nod.

  The Pan nodded back at him before returning his attention to Ada with his best serious grown-up expression in place. Ada squirmed.

  “He’s been arrested.”

  “Arnold’s pants!” said Big Merv. “Flamin’ typical.”

  “It had to happen eventually,” said The Pan. “He’s the most obvious Nimmist I’ve ever met, so obvious I reckon they could even get a religion charge to stick. Presumably that’s what’s happened, is it?”

  “Oh no dear,” said Ada, “they’ve no idea who he is.”

  “That makes two of us,” muttered The Pan.

  “Shush dear. He’s quite safe; he’s only been arrested for jaywalking, but it means he won’t be able to meet you this evening. He’d intended to come round after closing.”

  Idiot, thought The Pan’s brain, privately, to itself. “I’m sorry to hear that,” said his mouth, publicly to Big Merv and Ada.

  “He asked me to look after these. He planned to give them to you so I may as well, even though he’s not going to be joining us.” Ada rummaged in the cupboard under the sink and produced two canvas holdalls, one each for Big Merv and The Pan.

  OK. Generous idiot, thought The Pan as he looked into the bag. It wasn’t a fraction of the money they were owed, but there must have been a few thousand Grongolian dollars there – naturally in used, small denomination notes. Enough to make a statement of intent or good will. Enough to live on for a couple of months, but not enough to pay for a new empire for Big Merv or a new identity for The Pan. He and The Big Thing looked up from their bags at the same time and exchanged glances.

  “Not bad,” said Big Merv.

  “But not enough,” said The Pan. Bye-bye sleep, bye-bye bed, hello cold night rescuing the moronic old giffer from prison. Most likely the Grongles would simply leave the old man in gaol until morning to teach him a lesson. Most likely – but, with all this high-security alert going on, they might charge him or check to see if he had a record and if they did that they would fingerprint him. If they found a match, The Pan could imagine there might be all sorts of interesting information on file which, at best, would cause them to put the old boy in prison and throw away the key. At worst they might even realise they could lay the blame for their current heightened state of security at his door, then Arnold alone knew what they’d do. The only way for The Pan and Big Merv to be sure of their anonymity, not to mention their money, was to go and get him out. With a sigh, The Pan turned to Ada.

  “Does your friend have a criminal record on file?” he asked.

  “There is that possibility, dear,” said Ada, warily, “but of course, they have no idea who he is. He has an alias.”

  “Until now.” He explained about the fingerprinting, “For people like me and ...” Ada glared at him and he realised she considered the old man to be a better class of criminal than the one she was talking to, “metaphorically speaking,” he added quickly, to demonstrate his awareness of the distinction between them, “... him, the trick, when you’re arrested, is not to be charged. Just supposing they did take his fingerprints, um, might there be a match?”

  There was a pause while the gravity of these words sank around them, like a wet blanket. Of course the old man’s fingerprints would appear all over the kinds of activities the Grongles considered treasonable. After all, he had clearly been a friend or a colleague of The Pan’s father, and look what had happened to him.

  “There might be,” said Ada.

  “Mmm, I am assuming, from the job we’ve just done for him, that he’s been in plenty of trouble before.”

  “Yer,” said Gladys, who had arrived in the doorway, the vast hulking silhouette of Her Trev looming in the shadows behind her.

  Oh blummin’ brilliant!

  As the two of them came in and sat down, The Pan poured them each a cocoa and pushed the plate of biscuits across the table to them. He raised his eyebrows at Big Merv whose antennae tied themselves into a reef knot and then untied slowly.

  “I’m sure they’ll let him out, dear,” said Ada, “they usually do.”

  “Usually, yes,” said The Pan, “on the other hand, somebody’s just committed a major heist at their impregnable national bank. They might be feeling a little vulnerable at the moment and if they do write him up on a charge, well, he’s not just any old man is he?” He hesitated; what he knew about the old boy could be written on the back of a teaspoon, but it was more than Big Merv knew. Never mind, Denarghi was right, Big Merv was a creature of principle, anyway there was no alternative, he’d have to trust him. “I know he was involved in the Looking with my father. I’m guessing that’s enough to put him in deep doo-doo if they find out who he really is—which reminds me, Gladys, who is he?”

  “You doesn’t need to know who he is,” said Gladys. “’S for your own protection.”

  “He’s an old friend of ours,” Ada chipped in.

  “I can see that,” said The Pan with an involuntary glance at Trev.

  “Then that should be enough for you to take him on trust,” said Ada.

  The Pan thought about it.

  “Despite what’s happened with the job we’ve done for him, I think we’ve decided we sort of do,” he said. Big Merv nodded. “It’d be nice to know who we’re dealing with though.” Trev, Gladys and Ada stared back mutely. Nothing doing there, clearly. “Look, if he is charged and he has a history on file, it could put us all in danger. Not just us, you too. Frank and Harry died in this robbery and if they make the connection, if they come here after us, then I have to say that Big Merv and I, um, we’ve had an interesting couple of days and we’re a little ... how can I put it? ... twitchy about lining ourselves up for a second helping?”

  “I is sorry,” said Gladys.

  “Yeh. We are an’ all,” said Big Merv in a way that suggested he was not feeling overly pleased, either.

  “If they finds out who he is, we is lookin’ at the end of civilisation as we knows it,” said Gladys ominously.

  “Really?” said The Pan drily.

  “’S true! More’s the point, as you well knows, you won’t get yer money neither.”

  Yes, The Pan realised that, but Arnold’s earwax! She knew how to push the buttons of a criminal mind. He glanced across at Big Merv who raised his eyebrows. Yep, there was only one thing for it. He stood up.

  “Excuse me Trev,” he made a slight bow, “ladies. Merv, sir, you got a moment?” he asked. The Swamp Thing nodded, left the table and followed The Pan into the hall.

  “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” asked Big Merv.

  “Yep. We’re going to have to spring the old gimmer from gaol or we can say goodbye to our reward and I, for one, am not going to let a cool one million Grongolian and a potshot at normality slip away.”

  “Yeh,” said Big Merv. He smiled, a slow, easy smile revealing wall-to-wall white teeth. Blimey! That was a first. The Pan had never seen Big Merv smiling, ever. His surprise was soon overwhelmed with worry as to why he should suddenly be doing so now.

  “What are you looking so confident about?”

  “’S not a problem with that gadget of yours. We can slip in, grab ’im and be out in two ticks.”

  No they couldn’t. The Pan was sure.

  “I seriously doubt that. This isn’t the Resistance. We’re talking about a Grongolian gaol here, they may know about my thimble and what it does. The old man told me it wouldn’t work everywhere.”

  “Works most places tho’ don’it and we ain’t talking about public enemy numero uno.”

  “Actually, I think we may be.”

  “Cobblers! I’m public enemy numero uno!” said Big Merv, pointing proudly at his chest with both thumbs.<
br />
  “Don’t get fussy, you know exactly what I mean,” said The Pan.

  “Yeh but even if he is, they don’t know that coz he’s in disguise you twonk. So he won’t be in high security will he?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So?”

  The Pan hated being beaten in an argument, especially by the sheer force of logic.

  “Alright, alright.” He went to collect the thimble from his bedroom. When he returned he pictured the old man in his imagination and held it up to his eye. “Well, well. You’re right. I can see him.” It was the usual palatial suite: dark, dank dungeon, bucket in one corner, straw on the floor and not forgetting a big and violent-looking cellmate, although this one was slumbering on the wooden pallet which passed for a bed. The old man was sitting on the floor reading a book. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in that particular cell but it looks like the Central Police Station to me,” he held out the thimble, “want a squint?”

  Big Merv peered in.

  “Piece of cake then,” he said. “You hop in, grab ’im and hop out again?”

  “In theory.” Would it be that simple? No. He hesitated.

  “Go on then. What’s the problem you big pink skipping rope?” Big Merv asked.

  The Pan held the thimble up and regarded it thoughtfully.

  “This thimble was loot. Our loot, the first share you ever gave me, the stuff that was supposed to have come from Lord Vernon’s safety deposit box.”

  “Nah, it never did, they told you that to scare you.”

  “Absolutely, but it was a Grongle’s safety deposit box wasn’t it? That was the point of the robbery, we only stole the stuff put in the bank by Grongles.”