It was a fine Friday evening. It smelled of fish and chips, as Friday evenings so often do, and there was still some sun left, as there generally is on a summery Brentford evening. And as I strolled along I wondered, quietly and all to myself, exactly what Dave might have come up with and where it might lead me and whether it might make me rich. Because I was warming more and more to the prospect of becoming rich. I felt that it was about time that I got what I knew I deserved.
It was all quiet and peaceful in the Golden Dawn. As quiet and peaceful as it had been the last time I was there. Which was more than six months before: on the night of my wedding anniversary, when Sandra had told me that she was going off for the caravanning holiday with Count Otto Black. I had Sandra wearing red now, by the way. I felt that she had mourned long enough.
But I’d actually quite forgotten about Eric the barman’s threats to me. About how he said he’d grass me up if I didn’t find out all about what went on in Developmental Services, because he had this thing about people’s True Names and how some of the folk in Developmental Services – well, one at least: Neil Collins – didn’t seem to have a True Name.
When I strolled into the Golden Dawn, and saw him standing there behind the pump, it brought it all back to me and I really cursed Count Otto for fouling up the orders I had sent him through the voodoo medium of Frank the invisible Chinaman, which caused him to butcher my Sandra instead of the blackmailing landlord.
I only mention all this in case you might have forgotten about it.
“Well, well, well, well,” said Eric. “If it isn’t my old chum the Archduke of Alpha Centuri.”
“Well, well, well, well,” I replied. “If it isn’t my very good friend Kimberlin Malkuth, Lord of a Thousand Suns. A pint of Large, please, and a packet of crisps.”
“I’ve been missing you,” said the barlord. “For so many months now. You and I had an understanding, I remember.”
“Indeed,” I said. “I’ve not forgotten. But I had a death in the family. My dear Sandra was cruelly taken from me.”
“Yes,” said Eric. “I read about all that in the papers. Tragic business. Poor Lady Fairflower of the Rainbow Mountains. The world is a sadder place without her.”
I nodded and he nodded and then he presented me with my pint. “But life goes on,” he said. “We should be grateful for that.”
“We should,” I agreed.
“And the fact that you stand there before me means that you are now all grieved out and ready to face life without the Lady Fairflower. It also means that you have come to tell me all that I need to know regarding Developmental Services.”
“It does,” I said. “Shall we step outside and discuss this matter in private?”
The barlord nodded and I smiled at the barlord.
A hand, however, fell upon my shoulder.
I turned and said, “Dave,” for Dave’s hand it was that had fallen.
“Not now,” whispered Dave in my ear. “Wait until after closing time. You can do for him and I will do for the cash register.”
“You are, as ever, as wise as your years,” I whispered back. “I’ll tell you everything later,” I said to Eric. “After closing, in private.”
“Right,” said Eric. “And you see that you do. I’ll lock up, then when I’ve kicked everyone out I’ll let you back in the side door.”
“Perfect,” I said.
“Double perfect,” said Dave.
“A pint for Dave too,” I said to Eric.
“Indeed,” said the barlord. “Always a pleasure to serve a pint to Barundi Fandango the Jovian Cracksman.” And Eric once more did the business.
Dave took me over to a side table and we took sup from our pints.
“It has to be this weekend,” said Dave.
“What does?” I asked.
“Mornington Crescent. We have to go this weekend.”
“OK,” I said. “But why?”
“Because I’m in too much danger of getting nicked and dragged back to prison. I’m working at the telephone exchange under a fake name. I’m a wanted man, remember. I told them that my cards and my P45 were being sent on by my last employer, but I think they’re already becoming suspicious. I shall have to run this weekend no matter what. So we do it now, or we don’t do it at all.”
“Seems reasonable,” said I. “What is your plan?”
“Well, I’ve chatted with a lot of dead blokes this week and remembering what you said about them lying, I’ve been careful to cross-reference everything. I know how to get into Mornington Crescent and I have a pretty good idea of what kind of booty is in there. And it’s lots. But there’s something more. Something in there that frightens the dead and they don’t want to tell me about.”
“Something that frightens the dead? I don’t like the sound of that.”
Dave shook his head. “You’ve had months and months at this, haven’t you?” he said. “You could have asked loads and loads of questions of the dead. You could have found out amazing stuff. Why didn’t you?”
I shrugged. “I’ve thought about this,” I said. “Death was my major interest when I was young. All I ever wanted to do was find out the point of it. I could never see the point, do you understand? I could see the point of life, but never death.
“I wanted to find out the truth. But when it actually came to it, when I actually found myself talking to the dead, I never had the nerve to ask. The first dead person I spoke to was my dad and he wanted to tell me something fantastic. But Barry cut me off and I never spoke to him again. I bottled out. I don’t know why. I think it’s because the living aren’t supposed to know and I didn’t want to know.”
Dave shook his head again. “You’re a real mess, Gary,” he said. “Other people, given the opportunity that you were given, would really have gone for it. They’d have found out.”
“So, have you found out, then? The truth about everything?”
“No,” said Dave. “I haven’t. But that’s because they wouldn’t tell me. But I know enough to know where to look. It’s all there at Mornington Crescent. And if you have the bottle to go there with me, we’ll find out together.”
“I have the bottle,” I said. “I’m not scared. I’m brave.”
“That’s good,” said Dave. “But you are telling me the truth, aren’t you? There’s no going back. When we do what I plan that we’re going to do, there will be no going back. It’s a total commitment.”
I sipped at my pint. “What exactly are you saying?” I asked.
“I’m saying that this is the big one. For you and for me. If we don’t do this, if we don’t do the Big One, do it and get away, it will be all up for us. They’ll get us, Gary. They’ll catch me and drag me back to boring Strangeways. And they’ll get you too. It’s only a matter of time before they get you. You’ve killed thirty-three people. No, it’s thirty-four now, isn’t it? Counting Sandra’s body-donor.”
“It’s thirty-five, actually.”
“Thirty-five?”
“There was this smelly old tramp yesterday as I was walking to work. He asked me for money. He was so ugly. God, I’ve always hated ugly people.”
“Then I’m glad I’m so damnedly handsome.”
“You’re not all that handsome.”
“But I’m not ugly.”
“No,” I said, “you’re not ugly, Dave.”
“Well, thank the Lord for that. So it’s thirty-five and by the end of this evening it will probably be thirty-six.”
“It will definitely be thirty-six.”
“So it’s time to be away. Do the Big One and away to Rio. We’ll shack up with Ronnie Biggs.”