'Last night?' said Roosevelt. 'That's lovely. Really lovely.'
'I know you must be very surprised,' said Medoc, despite the fact that Roosevelt looked as though he'd been injected with two litres of Valium, 'but do you believe in love at first sight?'
Roosevelt just heard something about love and nodded. The happy couple held hands and smiled revoltingly at each other.
'We do,' said Medoc. 'And I know what people will think. We're only seventeen, it's too early to make these decisions, but we know, deep down. This is the real thing. I feel like I've known Simon all my life.'
'Buster,' said Mack.
'Buster,' she repeated, and squeezed his hand a little harder. 'But you know, sometimes you just know, don't you?'
'Wicked,' said Mack, and Medoc giggled.
'Wicked?' she laughed. 'No one says wicked anymore. That is so ten years ago.'
She took her hands away and smiled at Roosevelt, as if trying to draw him into the joke.
'Are you dissin' me, bitch?' said Mack.
'You can't call me that,' said Medoc.
'If the straightjacket fits,' replied Mack, which wasn't entirely appropriate but was what his father always said to him.
She gave him the finger and then turned back to Roosevelt.
'It's a good thing I love you,' she said, without looking at him, and at the mere mention of the L word, Mack once again disintegrated into a pile of mush and snuggled up to her shoulder.
Roosevelt watched this little display of love, anguish and reconciliation and then suddenly decided that he couldn't put the others off forever.
'Saturday, one o'clock,' he said quickly, looking at Medoc, as it was apparent she was the brains behind the operation.
'You'll do it?' she asked, surprised.
'Whatever,' he answered. Which probably wasn't the appropriate response under the circumstances, but his mind had moved even further away from this business. 'Come and see me on Friday morning and we can sort out all the details.' And the words if you're still together by then came to mind, which was surprising given how little he was concentrating on the two people across the desk.
'Awesome,' said Mack and stood up.
Medoc giggled.
'No one's said awesome in six years, David.'
'It's Buster,' he said bluntly.
'Yeah, I hear you,' she said. 'No one says awesome. It's so, like, last millennium.'
And off they went, out of the door, to argue and make up and argue again, past the waiting Ephesian and Jacobs and on out into the cold grey afternoon of an April day by the Clyde.
As soon as they had opened the door to the office, Roosevelt could see the two men waiting outside. And now he sat and waited as they slowly rose from their uncomfortable chairs, walked into his office unbidden, and closed the door behind them.
'We need to ask you some questions,' said Jacobs.
Roosevelt anxiously looked from one to the other. Jacobs' eyes burrowed into his head. Ephesian looked at the white collar of Roosevelt's yellow shirt.
'Tea?' suggested Roosevelt pathetically.
Artistic Distemperament
They were back in the shop because Barney wasn't entirely sure what else to do. He had offered Igor the chance to finish for the day but had recognised that, as much as he himself, Igor probably craved some normality. A few hours in the place where they both belonged, that was what was required.
They were standing together, as they often seemed to do, at the window looking out on the waves in Millport Bay. The day was getting colder as it progressed towards late afternoon, emphasising the safe comfort and warmth of the shop. Barney glanced at the clock. They had been reopened for just under an hour and, as yet, no customers had come in. Wondering if word had got around that the two of them had been involved in strange dealings of the paranormal.
'Arf,' said Igor quietly, knowing what Barney was thinking.
'Aye,' said Barney.
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being; thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, pestilence-stricken multitudes, thought Igor.
'Aye, but it's supposed to be spring,' said Barney.
'Arf,' said Igor nodding. The seasons are all to cock these days.
'They certainly are.'
The door opened. They turned and looked to their left. A customer had arrived just as they had been expecting there not to be one. Such is the nature of things, after all. Always expect the unexpected...
'Afternoon,' said Barney.
The customer, a dour-looking chap in his early forties with hair that was already short, said nothing, although he did nod uncomfortably.
Barney indicated the chair, the bloke took off his coat, handed it to Igor because Igor was waiting to take it from him, and then took his place in the big chair.
'What'll it be?' asked Barney, as Igor hung up the fellow's coat and then lifted his broom and started to sweep something up.
'Haircut,' said the man brusquely and without any hint of humour or impending elaboration.
'Number one at the sides, finger length on the top?' asked Barney.
The guy caught Barney's eye in the mirror and nodded. Possibly smiled awkwardly but it was hard to tell. Barney made his usual quick three second assessment of the napper before him, draped the cape and the towel around the bloke's shoulders and then lifted the electric razor and clipped on the number one.
'It's getting cold again,' he said casually, as he got the razor up and running and started to make smooth majestic sweeps along the side of the customer's head.
Igor glanced up. You've more chance of getting me to talk, he thought.
'Igor was just saying it's like autumn, and he's right,' said Barney as his next gambit.
The man stared into his own reflection.
Barney waited a few seconds, started to bring the razor round to the back of the head, then continued with, 'We were at an exorcism this afternoon. Igor and I. Pretty weird but glad we did it all the same, I think. Eh, Igor?'
'Arf.'
Barney caught the customer's eye in the mirror but he wasn't biting. He was, however, shuffling around under the cape trying to dig something out of one of his pockets. Barney, while not switching off the razor, at least took it away from the immediate vicinity of his head, while he looked curiously at the man to see what he was going to produce.
Eventually, through the folds of material, the bloke came up with a small card which he held aloft. Barney took it from him, finally turning off the razor.
University of Michigan
Department of Psychology
This man is a writer. As such he suffers from severe artistic temperament and is consequently unable to conduct himself appropriately in even the most basic of social situations, including this one. Please do not talk to him.
Hans Elzinga
Professor Hans Elzinga PhD April 29th 2003
He read it, thought about how wonderful it would be to have something like that and to have the balls to use it, and then offered it to Igor. Igor didn't take it but gave him a rueful smile.
'Seen it before, eh?' said Barney.
'Arf.'
Barney handed the card back to the customer, switched the razor back on, waited until the bloke had returned the card to his pocket and then began again on the back of his head.
Then he thought, bugger you, you cheeky bastard.
'Could do with one of them, myself sometimes,' said Barney. 'Must be pretty handy thing to have. I mean, does it work if you're in court or the police come to your door?'
The customer stared stony-faced at himself in the mirror.
'Are there other cards in the series? I mean, do you have positive cards which actually say something, to save you asking a question?'
He looked at Igor, who sort of smiled back.
'That'd take the hassle out of all sorts of tricky conversational situations, eh, Igor? First time you m
eet a woman in a bar. You could just hand over your card which says, I'm weird so I can't talk to you. However, I'd like to buy you a drink and have sex later. Nod once if you're in agreement.'
Igor laughed. The customer didn't.
'Still, you're a deaf, mute hunchback and you manage fine without that, eh?' said Barney, catching Igor's eye in the mirror.
Igor smiled again, this time a little more sheepishly, deciding that he probably wouldn't ever let Barney see one of his This man is a deaf, mute hunchback. Please take pity on him and let him buy you a drink and have sex cards.
'Funny old world,' said Barney.
The customer said nothing.
'I mean,' Barney continued, intent on a rambling soliloquy, 'had this guy in the other day, who'd said he'd visited every country on the planet. Listed them all, as well. Apparently he was born in Uganda. And every time a country splits into two, or changes its name even, he has to go back. Quite fascinating. Where was the last place he'd been again? Aye, Belarus. Visited a friend in Minsk. And here's the thing about Minsk...'
***
Jacobs cracked his knuckles. It was a primitive gesture but he could tell that the sound went straight down Roosevelt's spine. Ephesian glanced to his side, hoping this could be as painless as possible.
'Why?' said Jacobs coldly.
'I've told you,' Roosevelt answered quickly. 'He said he'd been sent by Mr Ephesian. This has always been an honest brotherhood, I had no reason to think that the bond would be undermined at this stage.'
'You knew the Grail had been uncovered,' said Ephesian, before Jacobs could interject more forcefully. 'You knew that the Day of Days is almost upon us. The Brotherhood is made of mortal men, Father, and as such itself has the characteristics of mortal men. Jealousy and rivalry and hate. You cannot see the heart of the beast without looking beneath the surface.'
'I am sorry,' said Roosevelt. 'I am a man of God. I have put my trust in the Lord and in his people, my fellow man. I cannot allow suspicion to rule my life.'
Ephesian stared at Roosevelt's chest. He liked the man; he even liked his argument. Life would be easier if everyone could be trusted. It was also his own basic instinct, one which had had to be suppressed as he had progressed in his business life. If you wanted to get ahead in almost any line of work, there was no place for honesty and trust. He had often found that out to his cost in the early days and thank God he'd always had Jacobs on hand to bail him out.
'Very well,' said Ephesian, 'what's done is done. We must move on. Have you any idea where the Grail is now?'
'I don't know!' blurted Roosevelt. 'Why don't you ask Lawton, it was he who took it.'
Ephesian glanced at Jacobs, who managed to acknowledge his boss without distracting his eyes from the interrogation of Roosevelt.
Ephesian paused, Jacobs stared, Roosevelt wilted. Felt the eyes of the other two men strip him bare down to his soul and then set him on a spit to roast over a fire.
'What?' said Roosevelt.
'He's in hospital,' replied Ephesian. 'He was assaulted.'
'With Archie Gemmill,' added Jacobs brutally. 'He's in a coma, might never get out.'
'Oh, dear God!' said Roosevelt, and his hand clutched at the small cross which he wore around his neck. 'Dear God,' he repeated, heart racing, eyes wide.
'We must be strong, Father,' said Ephesian quietly. 'We must.'
Roosevelt leant back, his hand still clutching the cross, staring at the ceiling. Tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. Jacobs looked at him with complete contempt.
'If you hadn't given him the Grail, it wouldn't have happened,' he said bitterly.
'Simon!' barked Ephesian. 'Enough.'
Roosevelt tried to choke back the emotion and the guilt, yet his tears began to flow and become more audible.
'Father,' said Ephesian gently, 'you have to control yourself. You acted in good faith. You have nothing for which to chastise yourself. Lawton has no one to blame but himself. It was he who chose to extract the Grail prematurely. It is because of this that he paid the price. No one will ever blame you for the attack.'
The words went as far over his head as had the earlier words of Sauvignon Medoc and her trusty new boyfriend, Buster.
'We need your help now, Father,' said Ephesian. 'Now is our time of need and now is when you can play your part in the greatest event to happen in the world in two thousand years.'
'The man is in a coma!' exclaimed Roosevelt without looking down.
'That others may live their lives in harmony!' responded Ephesian strongly, a more apt phrase than his original thought of It's only Lawton. 'Let not Lawton's ordeal be in vain, Father. The Grail is no longer at his house. Whoever attacked him, took the Grail. You must tell us everything you know, everything about what happened when Lawton came to the cathedral to collect the Grail. We need clues, Father, and you are all we have at the moment. You must tell us everything.'
Roosevelt finally lowered his head and looked into Ephesian's eyes, even if those eyes were not staring directly back. He could feel the brutal gaze of Jacobs upon him.
'I have nothing to tell, Grand Master,' he said eventually, the tears streaked down his face. 'I am sorry. I saw nothing.'
Ephesian twitched and in an instant could feel the temper rise within him. He needed to be in control and this just sent him much further away from where he wanted to be.
'Fuck,' he blurted out, the only manifestation of his wrath.
Jacobs glanced at his boss, then cracked his knuckles once more and looked back at Roosevelt.
The Eponymous Phat
Luigi Linguini stood by the window in Ephesian's office, looking down over the long sweep of the hill, the golf course to his right, the dull firth beneath him, the dull hills of Bute and Arran beyond. Almost recognised the stark beauty of a grey afternoon in Scotland but his natural cynicism about the place prevailed and he quickly turned away, a cold shiver rippling down his body.
'You'd think he'd have the heating on. In Italy, we'd have the stinkin' heating on. Of course, the stinkin' sun would shine for more than two minutes at a time in Italy.'
He checked the time then turned and examined the room. He had been all over the house in the hour or so since Ephesian and Jacobs had gone out. Having no idea how long they would be, he was prepared to be walked in on at any moment, but his basic confidence allowed him to not worry about that. It would be dealt with if and when it happened. And it might just be that he would take up residence somewhere in the house until the evening.
The house had nineteen rooms, most of which were obviously rarely used. Classic bachelor's large house. Kitchen, bathroom and Jacobs' rooms aside, only four rooms were actually ever occupied. The bedroom, the office and dining room overlooking the west coast of the island, and the study at the front of the house. It didn't mean that whatever he was looking for – and he wasn't entirely sure what that was – would not be kept in one of the other rooms, but he knew men and their simplicity. If there was anything significant in the house, it would be in one of the three rooms downstairs.
He had just spent twenty minutes in the office going through the drawers, examining the artefacts on the shelves and the pictures on the walls. It was time to have a closer look at the study.
He pulled his jacket more tightly around him, began to wonder what his helpless idiot of a colleague was doing, and then dismissed the thought and walked back out into the hall.
***
'So, who else would know about the Grail?' wondered Ephesian, as Jacobs drove the car slowly away from the cathedral down to George Street.
Jacobs gave Ephesian a quick glance then turned back to the road. He was well used to his employer's inability to think laterally, his continued trust on face value, no matter how obvious it would seem to others that there was a lie staring him in the face. It was that which had made him a constant butt of practical jokes in his school days, something else which had forced him to retreat further into the dark realms of diffidence.
'It must be one of the Brotherhood,' Ephesian continued. 'My God, that they should choose this moment.' He began to run through the members of the cabal in his head, wondering which one of them was the most likely to jeopardise their magnificent enterprise. And not for a second did the thought occur to him that it would be for any reason other than money.
'Lawton must have spoken to one of the others,' he said, as Jacobs took the car past the tiny St. Andrews church and along towards the grounds of the Garrison. 'Greed can do the most brutal things to the minds of men.'
He looked at Jacobs for the first time since leaving the cathedral buildings.
'Which of them...' and he let the words tail off. Rubbed his left thumb into the palm of his right hand. 'We need to speak to them all,' he said, feeling strangely discomfited by Jacobs' silence. 'In whom was Lawton most likely to confide of our number?'
'Mr Ephesian!' snapped Jacobs suddenly.
Ephesian turned sharply, lowering his gaze and fixing his eyes on the cigarette lighter. Jacobs gripped the steering wheel, trying to control his impatience. Fifty-seven years of servitude had made him quite used to his employer's closed mind but sometimes he needed to be brought sharply to heel. Not everything was black and white. Not everyone could be taken at face value. People lied.
Ephesian said nothing. Jacobs turned right and drove up the road towards East Farm.
'We need look no farther than Father Roosevelt.'
'What do you mean?' asked Ephesian quickly.
'He's lying.'
'He's a priest!'
Jacobs snorted.
'He's a priest,' Ephesian repeated, more forcefully.
Fifty yards short of the farm, past the woods where the ground opened out with fields on both sides, the cathedral now up on the small hill to their right, Jacobs pulled the car into the side of the road. Ephesian stared straight ahead, eyes on the flattened and dried out remains of a long dead roadkill.
'Sir, he's lying.'
'Why? Are you saying that he attacked Lawton?'
'Yes!'
'Why? If he had the Grail, if he wanted money, then why not mention it there? He had us in his office, why let us go without making his demand? He knows we need the Grail by tonight.'
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