The Barbershop Seven (176 page)

There's nothing scarier than a woman on the edge.

She was met with silence.

––––––––

E
phesian pulled gently on the copy of
Virginibus Puerisque
and watched as the large hidden door in the library wall slid inwards. He gestured for Ping Phat to go ahead of him. Ping Phat reciprocated the gesture. Ephesian accepted the innate lack of trust which was bound to exist between them, flicked the switch for the dim lights down the steep stairwell and walked in ahead of Phat. Once inside, he closed the door and the two men began to walk downwards in silence.

Ephesian felt backed into a corner. Problems seemed everywhere and all-consuming, and in this particular problem he had quickly accepted his fate. Ping Phat was pushing for as much involvement in proceedings as he could get; Ephesian had still to speak to his son about replacing Lawton in the Brotherhood, something which he had been reluctant to do in any case. So Ping Phat was about to be admitted to the Brotherhood, with none of the usual checks, with no consultation between Ephesian and his senior lieutenant.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, where the cellar opened out to the large room with the thirteen-seated table at its heart. Now Ping Phat walked ahead of Ephesian, his eyes open in awe. He turned and smiled at Ephesian, although the man was staring at the chair at the head of the table, wondering if they would ever have the opportunity to fill it.

Finding himself ignored, Phat turned back to the table, pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. His hands ran up and down the old wood, feeling the grooves and marks which had accumulated over the years.

'So this is the very table at which Christ took the Last Supper,' he said.

Ephesian looked at the back of his head.

'You misunderstand,' he said.

Phat turned sharply. Ephesian quickly lowered his gaze.

'Joseph fled Israel with Christ's family. He took with him the chalice from which Jesus had taken wine at the supper. He was in no position to take any of the furniture.'

'I see. And you have lost the Grail?'

Ephesian did not respond. They had already spent half an hour talking about the lost Grail.

'And this table?' said Phat, accepting that his cheap Grail jibe had been ignored.

'It was made in the mid-nineteenth century and was initially placed in the cathedral. When this chamber was constructed a few years later, the table was disassembled and brought down here.'

'Ah,' said Ping Phat. 'Not the table of Christ, but auspicious nevertheless.'

Ephesian did not reply. He didn't want to be down here with Ping Phat, he didn't want to be making small talk. He wanted to know that Jacobs was carrying out his tasks and if he had retrieved the Grail from Roosevelt. Instead he was stuck holding the hand of the visitor, like some five pound-an-hour tour guide.

'So,' said Phat, 'there is the business of my initiation into the Brotherhood, no?'

Ephesian stared at the ground, and then he walked to the back of the room, opened the drawer at the top of the small cabinet, and took out the long thin piece of maroon cloth, three candles, a bowl of rose petals and the large ceremonial dagger.

***

'S
o, you,' said Carmichael, pointing to Jacobs, 'you first. Is it true you want to kill me? And don't bullshit, because I've had enough of that in the last half hour.'

Jacobs stared at her for a few seconds, then glanced at Barney. The situation was insane and here he was, push coming to shove, and he was proving to be as small-town inept as everyone else.

'The Society has a meeting of the utmost importance tonight,' he replied, going off on a politician's tangent, addressing a question he had not been asked. 'There are certain items which we need to collect for the ceremony to take place.'

Carmichael put her hand on her hip.

'Like my blood,' she said.

Jacobs did not reply. Igor scowled, although he made sure to replace the scowl with a look of dog-like affection when he stared at Carmichael. But although she too was secretly in love with Igor, she was in no mood for dog-like looks of affection from anyone, even from a little guy with a roguish hump.

'How much do you need exactly?' she asked, looking witheringly at Jacobs.

This one caught him off guard a little.

'What?' he said.

'You need all six pints or just a cup? Do you freaks up there want to bathe in it or are you just after a quick drink?'

Jacobs had been thrown firmly on the back foot. Felt a bit like a criminal who'd just been asked by the police what kind of vehicle he'd like them to provide for his escape.

'What?' he repeated.

Barney stared at Jacobs and asked, 'Why Garrett?'

'I'm doing the talking, Bucko,' said Carmichael, who was flowing and enjoying the power that a full-on fucked-off woman has over men. Barney held up his hands in a backing off gesture. 'So, aye,' she said, turning to Jacobs, 'why me?'

Jacobs gritted his teeth. He'd been sucked into the mess. Without saying a word it was already acknowledged that he was here with the intent to kill her. And, despite the knife in his pocket, he wasn't sure how he was going to do that, surrounded by three other men, at least two of whom would try to stop him.

'The blood needs to come from a woman, to represent the Sacred Feminine.'

'You've been reading too much pulp fiction,' interrupted Carmichael, rolling her eyes.

'She needs to be a mother,' continued Jacobs unabashed. 'She needs to be someone who is versed in the way of the society.'

'You know that Ian told me,' she said as a statement of fact.

Jacobs looked into the weary eyes of a widow whose heart died every time she thought of her husband in the hospital.

'We ordered him to,' he said coldly.

The sadness went. She shook her head, smiled ruefully.

'You knew he was dying, you took advantage of him, and you thought it wouldn't matter if his wife also died some day.'

'Exactly.'

'Did you tell him why you wanted me to know?' she asked, the thought troubling her as soon as she'd asked the question. Had her husband knowingly set her up?

'We told him we'd decided to take on female members and that you'd be taking his place. He thought he was doing you a favour.'

She laughed bitterly, pulled a seat away from the kitchen table and sat down. Stared at the table top for a few seconds then looked up at him. Waved her hand dismissively.

'And if the kids are orphaned, who cares?' she said. Could feel her emotions swinging wildly all over the place. Igor wanted to reach out and hold her hand.

'Yes,' said Jacobs, 'if you want to be brutal about it. There's a higher purpose here.'

'And what would that be?' she asked sharply.

Jacobs began to drum his fingers on the table. He needed a plan, he needed to get out of this situation, he needed to get away from Barney and Igor.

'Come up to the house with me and we can speak to Mr Ephesian,' he said.

'No!' said Barney.

'Arf!'

'And who's going to look after the kids?' she replied. 'Tonight, and for the next fifteen years after you've slit my throat?'

'We can talk,' said Jacobs, wittering on. 'Maybe we can make some kind of arrangement.'

'Arrangement? That would be where you only killed me a bit? Or maybe you'd just hack off a limb? Would that give you enough blood?'

'Mr Ephesian can be very accommodating,' said Jacobs.

'Whoop-de-doo.'

'Get out,' said Barney quietly.

Jacobs looked brusquely round at him.

'I'm discussing matters with Mrs Carmichael,' he said.

'You're discussing how you're going to kill her. This is insane. Get the fuck out of her house.'

'Arf!'

'It's all right, Barney,' said Carmichael, holding up her hand. And she looked round at Igor and gave him the kind of look which made his heart dissolve into mush, and she mouthed
It's all right
silently to him.

'So,' she said, turning back to Jacobs, her wildly fluctuating mood having settled into some sort of resignation, borne of the unreality of the whole thing. Just could not take seriously that they were sitting in her kitchen matter-of-factly discussing her murder. 'Why do you have to actually kill me?'

Jacobs drummed his fingers some more, a rhythmless beat as he was a rhythmless man.

'People give blood donations, don't they?' she said. 'You don't die the second you hand over your pint to the blood transfusion service. At least, I didn't the last time I went.'

Jacobs drummed on. Not yet considering what she was saying, barely listening, trying to work out how he was going to be able to do this without killing everyone in the room.

'You are, surely,' she continued, 'a Christian society. It doesn't sound very Christian to have to sacrifice someone. Is it actually laid down by the hand of God somewhere that you need to kill the person? If you just ask nicely, you can have some of my blood for your stupid ceremony. I don't care. Take it.'

Barney looked at her as if she was insane, as did Igor, who this time did reach out and take her hand.

'It's cool,' she said to them.

The words finally sank in for Jacobs. He stared at her, everything not yet really computing. Trying to decide if this was just another diversionary tactic and if he should even be allowing himself to consider the idea.

He and Ephesian had thought all along that she would have to die. Just asking for her blood had never even crossed their minds. But was it actually laid down anywhere in the old teachings, the documents first written down by the Knights Templar over nine hundred years previously, that there had to be a sacrifice?

'Garrett,' protested Barney, 'really, shouldn't we just get this comedian out the house? Why are you even entertaining this guy? Call the police.'

'Arf!'

'And say what?' she said. 'There's a secret society who wants my blood? Are you kidding me? And the police around here means Gainsborough, and I suspect he's probably one of the flippin' brothers.' She looked at Jacobs, who said nothing.

'Call the police on the mainland,' urged Barney.

'Same question,' she said. 'What do I say to them?'

Barney did not reply.

'So how much blood do you need?' asked Carmichael again.

'Half a cup, maybe,' said Jacobs, a little non-plussed.

'Cool,' she replied. 'I'll get a bottle and a knife. Any of you practiced in medicine in case I faint?'

Barney and Igor looked shocked.

'I'm kidding,' she said. 'I'm not going to faint. I'll make a cut in my hand and see how we're getting on, all right?'

'This is stupid,' said Barney. 'You owe them nothing.'

She thought about it; who she owed and to whom her life belonged.

'I owe Ian, and he'd want me to do this. And if it gets you lot out of my house, then we're the better for that. And when you're gone, I'm going to go upstairs and sit and watch the children sleeping, because I'm never angry with them when they're like that. And tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after that, I'm going to try to keep that feeling of not being angry.'

They exchanged a glance. Barney appreciated the thought, even though he would never truly appreciate the wonderful hell that it is to have children.

'And you,' she said, turning to Jacobs, 'do we have a deal? I presume for all your brooding malevolence, you don't actually want to have to kill anyone. I'll give you credit for that, even if you don't deserve it. I give you the blood and you can toddle off back to your master up the hill.'

Jacobs wondered if he'd been backed into a position which he didn't want to be in, but all the while she'd been talking, he'd been calculating the odds, deciding what Ephesian would say, deciding what effect it would have on the ceremony. All along there had never been any acknowledgement that there required to be any sacrifice as part of the rite. The death had purely been as a means to get the blood.

'Very well,' he said cautiously.

'Lovely,' she said, with lyrical sarcasm. She stood up. 'Right,' she said, 'you can have your blood and leave. James, you can just leave. Barney, thank you, I appreciate your help, and I'm sure you'll want to stay until Mr Jacobs has his pound of flesh, but once he leaves, so can you.'

Barney nodded guardedly.

'Igor,' she said, turning round, and then she hesitated. 'I'm still going to go up and sit and watch the children, but you can stay if you like. I'd like you to stay. You can be the guard against old bloodsucker here coming back.'

'Arf!' said Igor.

'Lovely,' she said again, and then she walked to the cupboard to get a beaker into which to drain some blood.

It's a funny old life.

––––––––

T
he door closed behind them and Barney Thomson and Simon Jacobs walked quickly away from Garrett Carmichael's house. Jacobs had his cup of blood; Randolph had already been summarily dispatched; Carmichael was spending quality time with her children, now that they were fast asleep; Igor was guarding the tea and biscuits; and Barney Thomson wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do for the rest of the evening, although he was beginning to feel a bit peckish. However, he wasn't entirely convinced that he ought to leave Jacobs to his own devices. Which, strangely, was exactly how Jacobs was feeling about Barney Thomson, and explained why he was about to make what seemed on the surface to be a strange proposition.

'Would you join our fellowship, Mr Thomson?' he asked out of the blue, just as Barney was taking a look out to sea and enjoying the chill breeze.

Barney raised an eyebrow and studied Jacobs' face for any sign of sarcasm or some sort of twisted humour.

'Now why would you ask me that?' he asked.

'I'm a logical man, Mr Thomson. You may have been my adversary up until this point, but you are clearly a man of some quality. A vacancy has arisen and I feel you are the appropriate man to fill it. After tonight there will be no requirement for the secrecy of the past.'

'Jonah Harrison?' asked Barney.