The Barbershop Seven

by Douglas Lindsay

  He lifted his arm to the sixth shelf on the east wall of the library and pulled gently at an old copy of Robert Louis Stevenson's Virginibus Puerisque. With a mellow hum the shelves adjacent to this one slid slowly back, revealing a doorway leading to a dark, steep stairwell. With a glance over his shoulder, Ephesian flicked on the old brass light switch, stepped onto the top of the stairs and pressed the button to close the door behind him.

  The Judas Tree

  Ephesian had been right about Ruth Harrison's reaction to his phone call. She was very sceptical, yet she so desperately wanted to believe that the Reverend Dreyfus was calling her to him that she was prepared to accept it. And there was no way she was phoning first to check. When there's the slightest ray of light at the end of the tunnel, there's no point in trying the nearest switch to see if it'll turn it off.

  She left her house at a little before one, having recovered from her experience with the spider and mostly managing to ignore any thoughts of what she had found in the bottom drawer of her husband's freezer.

  She swung open the garden gate and looked up at the blue door of the manse. Mouth a little dry, heart pounding, insecurities bubbling to the surface. Walked up the path and stood on the threshold of her future. He had been busy. There were always many things to do for a minister and he had wanted the time to be right before calling her to see him. Now, at last, they would be able to be together.

  She studied her vague reflection in the frosted glass of the door. Smiled. Dabbed at her hair. Rang the doorbell. This was the first minute of the rest of her life.

  ***

  James Randolph had watched Ruth Harrison leave her house. He had followed her for a couple of blocks as she'd walked back towards the centre of town and up the hill, and then he had run back to the small housing estate just behind Kames Bay.

  Now he walked slowly up her garden path, the odd glance over his shoulder to make sure that no one was watching. Quickly down the side of the house, put his hand through the slat in the gate to open the lock from the inside, stepped into the back garden and closed the gate over. He looked around at the neighbouring houses. He was overlooked by only one and he tried to remember who lived there. McGhee maybe. Not sure, but there was no one watching in any case.

  He walked purposefully to the shed, opened the door, stepped in and, without turning on the light, started looking through the drawers of the freezer. Top, ice cream, then vegetables, then a turkey, then bread, then... Then nothing. The bottom drawer was empty.

  He stepped back, not too concerned. He had probably just missed it higher up. This time he turned the light on and started checking more slowly. Each item was taken out and studied. He opened up the ice cream tubs and the unopened packets of frozen peas. Got to the bottom of the freezer, still a blank.

  Back over it again, this time with more urgency, beginning to realise that he was once more about to fail his employer. If it wasn't here it wouldn't be his fault but that wouldn't stop Ephesian blaming him all the same.

  He pulled out all the drawers, spreading the contents over the floor, to see if there were any hidden compartments behind. That would also make sense for such a sensitive item. Still nothing.

  'Fuck,' he said, the single syllable delivered with a thespian amount of drama and exasperation. 'Shitting fuck.'

  Looked around the shed to see if there was another freezer but it was a small shed. A quick, frantic yet thorough search, over in half a minute. He straightened up and looked down at the floor, strewn with frozen peas.

  'Shit,' he said this time and then began to clean up, putting peas that he'd trodden on back into the packet.

  Freezer loaded up again, drawers shoved back in, door closed, he stood back and took a last look at the shed. Still breathing heavily, decided he was clear. It would take CSI to know he'd been there. He stepped back, narrowly avoided clunking his head on the doorway and thereby bringing down the same old spider who had now found his way home, and then back out into the garden. Closed the shed door and then he was gone, back up the garden path, through the gate and on his way.

  It was like he'd been a ghost.

  Except for the fact that Romeo McGhee had watched it all through the small telescope he had rigged up at his bedroom window. He had expected to see Randolph coming. He had known what he was looking for and he had known exactly why he hadn't found it.

  ***

  The Reverend Judas Dreyfus closed the lid of his freezer, turned and walked away through the basement of the manse. He never failed to make the walk back to the stairs and up into the large house without being aware of the pounding of his heart and a tangible nervousness about what the future held.

  He rubbed the palm of his hand and turned back to glance at the freezer as he reached the door to the stairs. He hesitated, as if drawn to once more lift the lid and look at the contents, and then he turned finally, stepped onto the stairs and closed the door behind him.

  The doorbell rang. He nodded slowly and climbed upwards. He emerged from the cupboard under the stairs and walked down the short hallway to the front door. He paused. He straightened the sleeves of his sky blue shirt, ran a finger around the dog collar and felt ready. Whatever little personal disaster awaited him outside, he was prepared. He opened the door.

  Ruth Harrison smiled. Judas Dreyfus struggled to keep the instinctive expression off his face. This situation wrote the book on The Last Person You Wanted To See. Dreyfus hadn't thought that she would have had the nerve to turn up uninvited and he'd had no intention of going to visit her himself. He'd already arranged for the session clerk to pay her a visit later that evening. Jonah's funeral was a possibility but it wasn't as if there weren't alternatives on the island. He didn't have to do it.

  'Mrs Harrison,' he began, 'how are you? I was sorry to hear about your loss.'

  He knew the effect his words would have on her but had made the instant decision to be brutal. If she was going to have the neck to turn up here uninvited, then he was going to have the neck to call someone who he had slept with fifty-three times in the last year, Mrs Harrison. No use of the first name and certainly no use of any of the sweet affections such as Sugar Lump, Schnookie Pie or Buttercrush, which had peppered the vast majority of their illicit liaisons over the past twelve months.

  Ruth Harrison swallowed.

  'Fine,' she said, uncertainly. 'You know, fine I think. You're fine? How about you?'

  'Very busy,' he said abruptly. Short and nasty.

  'You wanted to see me?' she said.

  'Why would you think that?' said Dreyfus. No let up. Prepared to be in complete denial about their affair. It had been fine while it'd lasted but it wasn't as if he didn't have two or three others in the congregation to keep him going. Ruthie had been on her way out in any case. 'I understand that this must be a very difficult time for you, Mrs Harrison and, of course, you have my sympathy, but you know how much work falls under my remit. I've arranged for Mr Rowlands to pay you a visit tonight.'

  None of it went in. The individual words and sentences were unimportant. The affair was at an end.

  'You wanted to see me?' she repeated plaintively.

  'No,' said Dreyfus defiantly, 'I did not.'

  'But Mr Ephesian,' said Ruth, 'he said. He called. To say. To say you wanted to see me.'

  Dreyfus' gaze burrowed through her. A set-up?

  'Well,' he said brutally, 'I don't.' And he slammed the door.

  And so Ruth Harrison had a moment of blinding epiphany. The Reverend Judas Dreyfus was a complete and utter bastard. He was a Judas right enough. Had his parents known the second he popped out of the birth canal? Had he appeared in the world, looked at his mother, flicked her the bird, said 'Fuck you,' and made a mad lunge for the mid-wife's breasts to have his breakfast? Had they been able to tell from the first moment he'd looked at them? Or maybe he had changed his own name in later years because he had known the true nature of the beast, the black core at the centre of his heart.

  As her world turned ups
ide down far more than it had done the previous day with the death of her husband, she turned away from the door and walked back down the long path of the Manse front garden.

  As she reached the front gate to go back out onto Hope Street she bumped into old Mr Wallace, who was sporting a very tasty Ronan Keating.

  'William,' she said absent-mindedly, barely able to think, all her functions automatic.

  'Ruthie,' said William Wallace. 'Funny weather.'

  'Aye,' said Ruth.

  Wallace laid a brief hand on her shoulder as he walked past her.

  'I dare say that that's you just been fucked for one last time by the Reverend Dreyfus,' he said lightly.

  She stared at him, eyes wide, unable to speak.

  'Judas by name, darlin', you know what they say,' he added, then he smiled some consolation and went on his way.

  Ruth Harrison turned and watched him go, keeping her eyes on him until he had turned down the hill but never for a second did she take in anything about the scene. Her universe had just been altered forever.

  Seeing Over My Hump

  'Frankly speaking, it's the equal and opposite of all things,' said the old fella under Barney's scissors. Must have been the twentieth old guy of the day and his ability to talk was no less than any of the others.

  'The whole yin-yang thing,' said Barney.

  Tao produced the One; the One produced the Two; the Two produced the Three; and the Three produced the ten thousand things; the ten thousand things carry the yin and embrace the yang, and through the blending of the material force they achieve harmony, thought Igor, internally quoting Lao Tzu. But no, he thought, I can't say it. I just have to stand here with my brush listening to old muppets talk shite. Such is the way of the warrior.

  'Exactly,' said Hugh Fraser, who was only just getting started on his dissertation on the exact nature of the female of the species, just as Barney was completing his Colin Firth 'Love Actually'.

  'Think about it,' Fraser continued. 'Women are smashing to have sex with, they're usually quite happy to clean up and stuff, they give birth to your kids, they change nappies, they do all sorts. They're nice to look at, they have breasts... You know what I'm saying about breasts?'

  Barney nodded.

  'Breasts,' continued Fraser, even though he had already established that Barney knew what he was saying, 'are God's gift to man. Big breasts, small breasts, breasts that have been digitally altered, sagging breasts, breasts that can fit into a champagne cup, breasts that overhang a double D, breasts that cry out to you from across the street, breasts that cry out in the night, waiting to be loved. Big thumping breasts forged by the dwarf kings in the bowels of Middle Earth, beautiful breasts, ugly breasts, breasts with more than one nipple each, eccentric breasts, breasts created by the ancient god-kings of Indonesia! Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies!'

  Are you finished? thought Barney.

  Song of Solomon pish! thought Igor. Fraser's quote was from the same verse that contains the bizarre romantic entreaties of thy teeth are like a flock of sheep, thy hair is as a flock of goats and thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate. On one memorable occasion immediately prior to losing his speech, Igor had used that very verse as a chat-up line in a bar in Riddrie and, as a matter of fact, such was the violent disdain with which he had been treated by Lucile Lewis, 17, he hadn't been able to speak since.

  'Aye, there's plenty more to be said about breasts,' said Fraser.

  'You were making a point about women in general?'

  Fraser paused, as if giving one last pleasant thought to breasts, and then continued with his thesis.

  'Women,' he began again. 'They know how to cook every single vegetable known to man. I mean, some women I've met even know what kohlrabi is without going anywhere near Jamie Oliver. And frankly speaking, they're far more careful drivers than men, say what you like about them. I'm telling you, you want to get from A to B without any trouble, no word of a lie, I'd take a woman every time.'

  Igor raised his eyes. Some days I have trouble seeing over my hump, he thought, but I can still drive better than any woman.

  'Sewing, knitting, all that stuff. Patience, they've got patience. And even though they look great in a nurse's uniform, they make good doctors too. I'm telling you, sonny, if I need to go to see some high-falutin' doctor with more degrees on the wall than shite because I've got a problem with the old waterworks, you know, so that I've got to pop the old Johnson out on the table, I'd rather I was seeing a woman, you getting me?'

  Barney acknowledged him and made another swift movement with the razor to further expedite proceedings.

  'And frankly speaking, most of them, at least most of the ones I've known, have been completely understanding about the male need to watch football, golf and a whole variety of other sports. I was shagging this bird once who used to sit with me to watch the darts on the tele. I mean, frankly, that is outstanding.'

  Fraser looked at Barney in the mirror, took a couple of seconds to catch his eye. Barney's barber sense made him look at the customer and say, 'But?' as the yang part had obviously been dealt with and it was time for the yin.

  'But,' said Fraser, 'they are the most conniving, devious, scheming, underhand, calculating, sneaky, Machiavellian, conspiratorial, surreptitious, clandestine, furtive bastards known to man. If we were wild animals they'd eat us after sex. They're mean, merciless, callous, malicious, cold-hearted, pitiless, cruel, spiteful, vindictive and downright naughty. They're the human equivalent of those whales that come up onto beaches, catch seals and then take them back out into the sea and toss them about like a rugby ball, just for a bit of a laugh.'

  Barney stood back and stared at the rounded contours and the perilous abandon of the crown of the head that is a Colin Firth and decided that the little haste at the end there had pretty much brought everything to a satisfactory conclusion.

  'We're done,' he said suddenly.

  Igor looked up quickly. Thank God! he thought. Barney glanced at him and smiled.

  'I'm only just getting started!' wailed Fraser.

  The door opened and another old fella came in, right on schedule, wearing a hat. As he removed the completely inappropriate fedora, Barney's eyes were immediately drawn to his hair and it was obvious that here was a man who had recently been given a very, very poor Felix Leiter by the lad 2Tone.

  'Bit of an emergency,' said the old guy, looking at Barney.

  'I'm done here,' said Barney and he started to brush away the hair from around Fraser's shoulders.

  'Perry,' said Fraser, nodding at the Felix Leiter.

  'Hugh,' said the Felix Leiter, nodding at the Colin Firth.

  'I should leave you to it, right enough,' said Fraser, turning back to Barney. 'Perry's need is greater than mine and I am spent on the subject of women for the moment.'

  Barney smiled but didn't encourage him any further. Fraser rose, brushed himself off, handed over the cash, nodded at Igor who grimaced in return and then was on his way.

  Perry Liebowitz took his seat and glanced at Barney in the mirror.

  'You'll be wanting me to perform a Felixectomy?' said Barney.

  'Aye,' said Liebowitz.

  'Shouldn't be a problem,' said Barney.

  'Fine,' said Liebowitz. Then he said, 'You're new?' as if there was a possibility that Barney might not be.

  'Aye,' said Barney.

  'I was in the war, you know,' said Liebowitz ominously, 'a sapper. Took a hit helping the Yanks cross the Rhine. Long story, but I suspect we've got the time.'

  Barney hit the off button.

  'Arf,' said Igor.

  ***

  Bartholomew Ephesian was beginning to feel the cold. He had been sitting in the chamber, deep beneath his house on the hill, for over half an hour. Taking it all in, the exquisite joy of silence. This room had the dual purpose of serving the brotherhood and of serving his need for solitude and complete calm. When he was younger he had loved to
be underwater, his ears filled, every sound blocked out. He had learned to hold his breath for minutes, so that he could disappear into swimming pools and the darkness of lochs. Now he was too old for that, though he had no doubt that he still required the escape. This room, this sanctuary, was to him now what the lochs around his family's holiday home in Perthshire had once been.

  So it was almost over, only the last rites left to be performed. How incensed the Catholic Church were going to be when the world awoke on Thursday morning to a new day. A new dawn. A new beginning for them all.

  For almost one hundred and thirty years now the Prieure de Millport, the most underground of secret societies, had been operated out of a house on this site, recently re-built by Ephesian, on the west side of Cumbrae, overlooking Bute and Arran. The Prieure de Millport was an institution so clandestine it didn't even allow any of Hugh Fraser's clandestine women to be members, an organisation so enigmatic and underground it made the CIA look like a bunch of brash Americans sticking their noses into other country's political problems.

  In 1876 the Prieure de Millport had taken over from the more famous Prieure de Sion, in keeping alive an ancient legacy. The most important secret of the last two thousand years had been placed in their hands, to safekeep for the benefit of the entire world, until the time was right. Even then, parts of the secret had been hidden, so that the members of the society had been left guarding clues as well as the legacy itself. Now, however, Augustus Lawton had made the discovery that his fellows had sought for thirty years.