by M W Foolster
"Fuck them. Jenny Forster phoned through earlier to gauge our reaction to the demonstration, think it is time I had a long chat with her."
"Is that wise, Robbie? You know we’re not allowed to talk to the press. Could be repercussions, hon."
"Beyond caring, Jess."
Slamming open the door to his locker, Robbie grabs hold of his jacket and rucksack.
"Sorry, but I need to get out of here. If any of you want to join me in having a chat with Jenny, then text me."
Jess, with a hint of desperation in her voice
"No hon, please don't go, not like this. We need to all talk this through before doing anything drastic."
"Sorry, Jess, but I am done with talking. Need some time to myself, to clear my head. But like I said, if any of you want to come with me to see Jenny, text me."
And with that he kicks open the staff door. A shriek from Jazz who's approaching it, followed by a garbled apology from Robbie.
"What's his problem?"
A tearful explanation from Jess leaves a now distraught Jazz looking towards Jason for reassurance, but he still can't bring himself to meet anybody’s gaze. He has no answers to give, knows it's hopeless. Jess breaks what has now become an uncomfortable silence.
"Look guys, maybe Robbie is right, we all need a time-out. Are any of you up for a meeting later?"
Exhaling loudly, and now in desperate need of a cigarette, Jason nods in agreement.
"Jess is right. We could all do with a breather, besides which, I really need to get showered. Look, I know the timing is bloody awful but I've got free tickets for the Halloween Dance at the Jolly Roger tonight. A few drinks and a party atmosphere might do us all good. We could stay for a few hours and then go back to my flat for a confab. What do you say?"
Leroy's eyes light up,
"Cool. We can go, right mum?"
Jason replies for her,
"Sorry boys, but it's strictly for adults."
Jazz and Tammy smile approvingly at his suggestion, even if Jess looks anything but enthusiastic.
"I will pass on the pub if that's ok, hon? But I am happy enough to meet up at yours afterwards."
"Good. Let’s all get out of here then."
"Jay?"
"Yes Lewis?"
"Your stomach any better?"
Flashes a glance across at a smirking Jazz,
"Much better, thanks."
26 The Prize in Sight
A huge grins breaks out on DI Jordan’s face as he rubs his hands together.
“Dinae yah just love it when everything comes taegether, John?”
“Definitely. Not quite there yet though, Gov, still three to go.”
A confused DI Jordan looks across at DS Fuller, who’s shining a torch down at a newspaper spread out on his lap, chewing savagely on a pen as he attempts to complete the crossword puzzle.
“Whit?”
“Watch. Eight letters, beginning with an O.”
A grunting DI smacks him around the back of the head.
“What the hell was that for?”
The DI points a finger towards the dark silhouette lurking in the shadows, stealthily making its way towards the Jolly Roger.
“Observe.”
“Well, sod me. Thanks, Gov.”
“Nae the crossword, yah pillock. Look… Over there... Cannae yah nae see it?”
DI Jordan drums his fingers impatiently on the dashboard as DS Fuller slowly raises his head. The DS scrutinises a young couple walking hand in hand, the male stooping to whisper something in her ear that reduces her to a fit of giggles.
“Hmm… Yes. Yes I can. You think they’re looking for somewhere discreet to perform the dirty deed?”
“WHIT HAVE I EVER DONE TAE DESERVE YAH?!”
“Oh thanks, Gov. It’s nothing really, just comes naturally I suppose. Have always been very observant… Oouchhhh.”
Having grabbed the newspaper, DI Jordan rolls it up and starts smacking DS Fuller around the head with it.
“Bloody hell, Gov.”
Stops abruptly as a figure emerges from the shadows, now clearly recognisable.
“That’s our man alright. Jason bloody Sinclair. Nae more pissing aboot John, we’ve spent an entire day chasing around after those diamonds and our laddo across there is aboot tae cough up.”
“Cough up? You think he’s swallowed them now? Have heard of drug couriers doing that to..." ”
“OH FOR… JIST… JIST... Shut the feick up will yah.”
The DI grins on seeing Jason hiding a long object that appears to be wrapped in bin liners behind a large refuse bin. He then opens the pub door and peers inside. Seemingly satisfied, he retrieves the object and sneaks into the pub. He’s closely followed by a female wrapped in a black cape who, if anything, appears to be spying on him. Her face is disguised with a black Venetian half-mask. Loiters in the shadows before slowly making her way towards the pub.
“Now that, I dinae like. Was it me being paranoid or wis she acting very suspiciously?”
“Wearing that disguise, she sure is, Gov.”
“Not the bloody costume. It’s Halloween for crying oot loud. Nae, something’s nae right. Look at her body language.”
“Hmm, think you could be right, Gov. Something definitely shifty about her. Or is it a her?"
With her cape now flapping open in the breeze, he studies her carefully. The curvaceous figure clearly visible beneath the tight fitting dress that leaves little to the imagination, her bulging cleavage and the thigh length boots. DS Fuller nods to himself.
"Bloody hell, Gov, you don't think it's a man disguised as a woman, do you?"
DI Jordan looking as though he's about to burst a blood vessel.
"WHIT? WHY WOULD?"
The DS shrugs his shoulders,
"Just a thought. That our cue to go in then?”
Are about to exit the car when a cab pulls up outside the pub, the DS watches on keenly as Susie and Carlo slam the door closed behind them, Susie paying the driver before they too enter the Jolly Roger. A fuming DS Fuller grabs at the door, but is restrained by the DI, the distinctive sound of a bike having caught his attention.
“Nae, wait.”
“But did you see where he had his hand?”
“Nae, and I dinae bloody care either. Now keep quiet.”
"But...."
"QUIET!"
The orange bike thunders to a stop outside the pub, the DI noting its licence plate number.
“Got tae be the same bike we saw at the cemetery. Same colour and make. Another mystery solved,”
And then he starts shaking his head in annoyance.
“But that may complicate matters.”
Because on removing their helmets, the DI immediately recognises the two female members of staff from the library. A disinterested and sulking DS Fuller glances across.
“How so?”
“I’m starting tae suspect that they may all be in league wi’ each other. Sae much for keeping it simple.”
“League? Right. A league of quiz teams. Sinclair said that Susie was a member of their…”
“WILL YAH SHUT THE FEICK UP? I am sick tae the back teeth o' hearing that woman's name.”
DI Jordan sits watching in frustration as the steady stream of customers enter the pub, most wearing fancy dress. Is growing more apprehensive by the minute, not how he’d envisioned the evening panning out. So much for the pub being deserted.
“This calls for a change of tactics, John. Any ideas?”
“Not really.”
“Och, there’s a surprise.”
The DI is bashing his fingers so heavily on the dashboard that the DS has resorted to using his thumbs as ear plugs. But then a solution presents itself.
Having flashed their warrant cards at, and then relieved the two shocked Halloween revellers of their long flowing capes and skeleton masks, the detectives congratulate each other on their newly acquired costumes. A smug grin on DI Jordan’s face, loves it when a plan co
mes together. The prospect of being arrested for displaying threatening and suspicious behaviour having been enough of a deterrent to the two dumfounded males not to object to having their costumes and tickets confiscated. Had watched as they’d disappeared into the distance before donning their disguises and approaching the pub door.
DI Jordan whispers,
“Follow my lead, John. Want tae be in and oot as quickly as possible. Got it?”
“Right, Gov.”
Rubbing his hands together with delight, DI Jordan stands rooted to the spot as he stares at the ghoul, now returned to its rightful place in the display. Looking a little the worst for wear to put it mildly, its fiendish face with just the one glowing red eye, its virtually decapitated head leaning off at a strange angle and the mud stained dress in tatters; illuminated by an eerie orange glow from the lanterns above. DI Jordan is slowly easing his way towards the ghoul for a closer inspection when elbows either side link hold of his arms. Music blares out from the illuminated speakers, the hired DJ in his purple booth dancing along. The struggling DI finds himself being dragged towards the makeshift dance floor by a group of revellers. Now trapped between them and with no means of escape, he’s left with little alternative other than to participate in the dance routine. An astonished DS Fuller can but stand and gape at seeing the DI’s successful attempt at a hand jive. DI Jordan follows it up with some outstanding Latin dance moves, even if the DS does find DI Jordan’s twerking somewhat disturbing.
With his head bobbing up and down behind the skeleton mask, the DI displays both a sensual hip action as he now salsa's with a witch, admittedly, his flying buttocks do send a few of the other dancers hurtling from the dance floor, and a strong upper body movement as he tosses the witch around like a rag doll. Finishes off the routine by spinning her around dramatically before leaving her to stagger from the dance floor clutching at her head.
A gobsmacked DS Fuller is so impressed by DI Jordan’s ability to express himself rhythmically, that he breaks into a round of applause. Probably not the wisest course of action as the other pub customers do likewise, and in so doing, it attracts the attention of a thin female dressed as a vampire. The distinctive sound of la cumparsita bursts forth from the speakers. DI Jordan suddenly finds himself held in her tight grip, his hand cleverly manoeuvred into the curve of her back, hers resting on his elbow, a long and shapely leg forced between his; knows that he is being left with little choice because both are now poised to dance the tango. Thrusts his leg forward and she yields. He runs a firm hand along her now raised leg towards her thigh, his confident steps demonstrating that he is now in control, his sharp flicks and masculine strides have the enthralled audience who gasp with appreciation. Her graceful and elegant movements compliment his. The quick turns of her head, long and lithe legs moving purposefully as they mirror his, her demeanour both sensuous, and demanding. But despite her constant attempts to redirect his head, DI Jordan’s eyes remain focused on the ghoul. As do Ryan’s and Toby’s. DI Jordan hooks his leg through the vampire’s, they share a passionate and steamy embrace, followed up by a slow and deliberate drag of his foot as he pulls her upright. They dance their way across the floor, some delicate manoeuvring allowing the DI to position himself directly in front of the Halloween display. But his attention is suddenly drawn towards the grim reaper creeping past an awe struck DS Fuller, seemingly heading straight for the ghoul. With his arm wrapped around the now arched back of the bent over vampire, he supports her weight whilst deftly pointing his leg forward. A smug grin of satisfaction as he watches the grim reaper fall over his outstretched foot, plummeting head first towards the DJ’s booth; just as the music comes to an end.
The grim reaper barely manages to avoid the booth but can't stop himself from crashing into the table next to it, sending the couple sat there sprawling. With no time to waste and in his desperation to get to the ghoul, the DI just drops the now shocked and screaming vampire. She lands heavily on the wooden flooring, kicking her foot out in anger. The foot catches DI Jordan square in the knee, just as he is about to make his move on the ghoul, causing him to lose his footing, and sending him soaring backwards into the revellers. His hands flailing around wildly as he attempts to regain his balance, one grabs hold of Frankenstein, and the other of the witch stood next to him. The horrified witch is left traumatised as her black dress is torn from her. Hands attempting to cover her bare boobs, she runs screaming from the dance floor. DI Jordan is brought to a sudden stop as he collides forcefully with the bar. He slowly slides down it, one of Frankenstein's bolts dropping from his hand. DS Fuller barges his way through the now shocked revellers to reach the DI, and kneels down in front of him.
"Gov? Gov are you okay?"
A stunned DI Jordan whispers,
"Get the diamonds, will yah."
Having removed his wolf's head, a deep and booming voice explodes across the pub.
"OI! YES YOU! WHAT'S YOUR GAME THEN?"
The DJ peeks over the top of his booth towards the bar. Cringes on seeing a now enraged Mick shaking a fist towards him.
"Not bloody well paying you to stand there gawking, mate, so get the sodding music goin’ will ya?"
After an apprehensive wave of his hand, the DJ fiddles with his decks and a blood curdling song is soon blaring out of the speakers. A woman screams loudly as drums start to play, a husky female voice now filling the pub.
♪You can wail.
And you can scream.
But you won't be heard,
And it's not a dream.
Go hide in your attic.
Run for your life.
Cries of pain now heard
As the infected ones bite
Will hunt you down
Will drain you dry
Bite on your mother
And feed on your child
Show no remorse
And have no regret
An ever growing army
of the evil undead ♪
The earlier chaos now forgotten, the song has the revellers leaping around in a frenzy, singing along to the words, stomping heavily and raising their hands like claws as they mimic the feeding undead. Having laid amongst the remnants of the smashed wooden table for several minutes, a somewhat bewildered grim reaper flinches on feeling broken glass crunching beneath its hands. Not that the revellers are paying him any attention, all too absorbed in the music. Those not dancing around stand at the edge of the dance floor clapping and encouraging the others. Finally, the grim reaper is approached by a blood drooling zombie and helped to its feet, the zombie leans into him and whispers,
"For fuck sake, Toby, asked you to do one simple thing, is all."
"Ain’t my fault, is it? See what that crazy twat did?"
Both look across to the bar, but DI Jordan is nowhere to be seen.
"What you talking about, brov?"
A now confused grim reaper scans the bar but it's as though the skeleton has literally vanished into thin air. More through luck than judgement, the zombie catches a glimpse of two skeletons escaping the pub with the ghoul tucked under their arms.
"Shit, they've got the poxy ghost, Toby."
"Ehhh."
The brothers stand and stare in surprise as the ghoul's head disappears through the door.
The zombie is the first to react as it darts through the dancers, closely followed by the grim reaper, but both then come to a complete standstill as the door bursts open. The two skeletons come charging back through the door towards them, still carrying the ghoul, the large one yelling,
"SATAN!”
With his teeth bared and snarling viciously, Satan casts an enormous shadow across the pub's ceiling which only adds to the confusion. The two petrified skeletons bowl the grim reaper, zombie and now screaming revellers out of their way as they make a panic stricken dash through the pub. Growling ferociously, Satan gives chase. DI Jordan shrieks in surprise as the dog leaps up at him. Having sunk his teeth into the DI Jordan's trouser belt, and despite the D
I's best efforts to shake him off, Satan refuses to release his grip. He's now swinging from side to side like a pendulum as DI Jordan leaps around on the deserted dance floor yelling,
"Will somebody get this poxy thing aff o’ me?"
In his panicked state, the DI tosses the ghoul around wildly. It's virtually detached head bounces around precariously, before suddenly flying free of its body. DS Fuller makes an attempt to catch it but can only watch helplessly as it bounces off his hand. The wolfman comes charging into the middle of the pandemonium, brandishing a baseball bat in his huge hairy hands.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Catches sight of the freakish head with its flashing red eye fast approaching him, and swings at it with the bat, hitting it square on. The plastic head literally explodes and in so doing, it sends a black cloth bag plummeting straight into the hands of an elderly lady entering the pub.
"Satan? Satan, are you there boy?"
Squinting to see anything in the darkened pub and with the strobe lighting making her dizzy, Mabel struggles towards the bar; bag still in hand. But she can now hear a dog growling.
"Satan? Satan, is that you?"
Having heard Mabel calling him, Satan lets go of the squealing DI’s belt and sprints towards her. Springs up at her, barking excitedly but then the cloth bag catches his attention. Mabel suddenly forgotten, Satan snatches at the bag and runs along the bar clutching it in his jaws. That's until the outstretched hands of the zombie make a grab for it. But the dog has too strong a grip on the bag to allow it to be yanked from his teeth and growling ferociously, he starts to play tug of war with the swearing zombie. Satan digs his claws into the wooden bar but is still being dragged along, the high pitched screech from his claws scrapping the wood has everybody covering their ears. Finally, he looses his grip on the bar, if not the bag and is still growling viciously as he's swung around in circles by the fuming zombie. And then comes the sounds of tearing cloth, just as the pub lights come on.
Satan goes hurtling through the air towards the DJ's booth, still clutching hold of the ripped bag. Gasps of astonishment from the dozen or so customers who have remained in the pub. A tall and muscular male, dressed as a Voodoo doctor, shakes his head in annoyance before slipping out of the door. Those left can barely believe their own eyes, the floor is littered with sparkling gems.