The Barbershop Seven (250 page)

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T
he cyclical nature of things being as they are, Barney sat down once more beside Monk as she lay in a hospital bed. She had massive bruising to the neck, a bandage over her nose, and bruising around the eyes. He had no injuries, just another dead body on his hands. Monk had gone straight to hospital, nothing too serious. Barney had been taken into custody, having owned up to the murder of Sweetlips. He had expected to spend rather a long time there, but a strangely rational senior detective had listened without judgement to Barney's story, and then released him on the grounds that he did not intend fleeing the country.

'You look awful,' said Barney.

Monk smiled through the bruises and the bandage.

'How come you're here?' she asked, voice sounding a little strange, what with her nose being bandaged and an odd shape at that.

'No idea,' said Barney. 'Told some detective my story, he listened, then he let me go. I'm not allowed to leave the country, apparently. So I'm afraid we'll have to cancel that trip to the Seychelles.'

Monk smiled.

'That was the weirdest evening I've ever had in my life,' she said.

'I suppose,' said Barney. 'It's certainly in my top ten.'

Monk started to laugh and then quickly stopped herself, as the movement was so uncomfortable.

Another silence. All along Monk, despite herself, had not failed to see Sweetlips as some sort of love rival. But there's nothing to make your girlfriend more secure about a potential love rival, than stabbing the potential love rival in the back. That'll do it every time.

'So, now that you're back in Scotland, are you staying?' she asked.

'Thought I might,' said Barney. 'Can't leave the country.'

She nodded, winced at the pain the movement caused her.

'Are you looking for company?' she asked.

Her eyes were bright in amongst the discolouration of her face.

'You sure you want to stay up here?' asked Barney. 'It rains a lot.'

'I've heard that. I can cope with it for a few days. Maybe a week or two. See how we get on, eh?'

'Aye,' said Barney. 'Course there are people who come here for a week or two and end up staying forever. You've got to be careful of that.'

Monk's hand appeared from under the covers, much as it had when she had been visited by God the previous night. Barney stretched forward and took hold of her fingers, a touch that was electric for them both, then the two of them settled back and looked into each other's eyes.

***

A
n hour later, Monk having drifted off to sleep, Barney tore himself away from her side and walked down the corridor to the coffee machine. He stopped suddenly as he was walking into the small waiting area.

There were two people there, sitting a few seats apart, both drinking coffee, waiting for him.

'Very touching,' said Taylor Bergerac. 'Time to pack your bags.'

Barney felt that cold grip on his spine, the old familiar feeling, the sensation of fear which he had lost years previously, but which had been re-introduced to him by Harlequin Sweetlips in all her various guises.

'Hold onto your hat,' said God. 'As my good mate Bob wrote, you ain't goin' nowhere.'

Bergerac slurped noisily at the coffee, winced, cursed under her breath.

'Damn, that coffee's still hot. Keeps burning my lips.'

'Well, there's some sort of irony,' said God.

'Bite me,' snapped Bergerac.

Barney shook his head, then walked forwards slowly and sat down opposite the two of them. He leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands, ran his fingers through his hair.

What had he been thinking? That a happy life with Monk on his small Scottish island awaited him? How foolish and premature.

Slowly he lifted his head, looked from Bergerac to God.

'God?' he asked tentatively.

God nodded, aware that it was a pretty big concept for people to grasp.

'Why are you here?'

'I have a vested interest,' replied God. Bergerac snorted, then took another careful sip of coffee as God gave her an angry look.

'You mean, beyond the fact that you have an interest in all people?'

'Piece of crap,' interrupted Bergerac. 'This guy is mine, all mine, and under the Tripoli Convention there's nothing you can do about it. Nothing. So cut the crap and let's get this thing over with. Barney Thomson is mine, I'm calling him in, and. ... ' and she hesitated, then looked from God to Barney, 'you are dead, my friend.'

Barney wanted to be phlegmatic about this, he wanted to summon every reserve of indifference he could muster, he wanted to ooze cool, he wanted to be James Bond. But suddenly he was scared and he found that he had no strength to fight it.

'The Tripoli Convention?' he said, looking up at God.

God was shaking His head, staring at the floor.

'One of the old deals we worked out millennia ago. If one of us does a deal with the living which affects their eternal soul, the other can't interfere. That's how it goes.'

'And,' said Bergerac, 'if a further deal is unwittingly done by the other party, that deal is null and void as precedence is always given to the original deal, unless both signatories are willing to overlook the primary agreement. And I'm not. Look, I've invested a lot in this guy. I toyed with him, I plunged him into endless situations with murderers, I've had fun. I particularly liked all those dead monks.'

'Bastard,' muttered God.

'Not to mention bringing him back from the dead, of my own accord, I might add, after he'd fallen off that cliff. The dude is mine.'

God leaned back, let out a long sigh.

'Crap,' He muttered. 'I'm going to have to get my people to take a look at that Convention again.'

'Yeah,' said Bergerac, 'and then my people are going to bite your people on the ass. Don't even go there, pal.'

Bergerac stood up, took another sip from the endless cup of caffeine.

'Come on, dude, I've wasted enough time on this.'

She held her hand out towards Barney. Barney Thomson raised his head, looked into the eyes of Taylor Bergerac, eyes that burned a deep and dark spiteful red.

Third time unlucky. Confused and scared, no real idea of where he had gone wrong in life, Barney Thomson was about to die.

He looked at God, feeling helpless. 'I don't understand,' said Barney. 'What deal do I have with you?'

'Well, as part of the convention, I'm not really supposed to tell you, but seeing as you're about to get stiffed ... You died a coupla days ago.'

'No I didn't,' said Barney quickly.

Bergerac snorted again.

'Yes, you did,' said God. 'In the car crash. Not realising that you had a deal going on with Scrooge over there, I did a deal with your girlfriend, your life for her eternal soul. Under the general quid pro quo of the deal, you'd get to spend eternity with her too. Except, you can't, and my deal is null and void, because you already had one.'

Barney looked up at God. Barney's normally impassive face was laden with sadness for once. Barney Thomson finally had something to regret after years of self-delusion and years on the run from life. There was no cosy little barber's shop that could save him from this. There would be no more old men sitting in front of him chatting casually about women and the world banking crisis and whether Nietszche was gay.

'Fuck,' he said to God, and God nodded and shrugged His shoulders.

'That's what you get when you shake hands with the Devil,' He said.

Barney finally lifted his elbows from his knees and straightened his back. Some time and at some point you had to face the consequences, and whoever said those consequences weren't going to last for all eternity?

Taylor Bergerac was standing over him, a wicked smile on her face.

'Come in Number Seven,' she said rather prosaically, 'your time's up.'

She held out her hand again, her face somehow managing to radiate warmth, rather than the horrific malevolence of what lay beneath.

Barney looked into the red eyes and felt empty inside, all hope lost, the confused choirs of angels that had sung through his life now chanting a mournful lament for his imminent demise. The game was up, his number had been called. He lifted his hand.

'Hang on a second,' barked God, standing up and pushing Bergerac in the shoulder, away from Barney's outstretched hand. It seemed a curiously thuggish physical act from an omnipotent being.

'For Christ's sake,' said Bergerac, her eyes flashing a violent red once more. 'What now? Can't I just do my job in peace?'

God studied Bergerac's face closely. Barney looked up at the two of them, no real clue as to what was going on.

'What?' said Bergerac, trying to stand up to God's glare. But there was no denying, sometimes she just plain found God intimidating. And on this occasion, she realised that God was on to her.

God turned to Barney, although every now and again He cast a disdainful look back at Bergerac.

'Here's how it works. You, some guy, whoever, let's call him the customer, does a deal with me or this idiot. We shake on it. That's the deal. The customer shakes hands with the Devil, or he accepts the Hand of God, that's him cast in stone. So, the next day the customer wakes up and doesn't remember a thing. He'll get in life what it was he wanted, and then when the time comes, either me or Captain Connivance here will pitch up and reintroduce him to the original deal he made.'

Barney was watching God, letting the sound of His voice wash over him. He could just sit there all day.

'Tell me about your deal,' said God, looking at Barney. 'He must've reminded you about it by now.'

'We don't have time for th—'

God silenced Bergerac with the palm of His extended hand.

'You know, I killed my boss in —,' began Barney.

'I know that part,' said God, although there was no tone to His voice. 'I'm looking for the actual pact with the Devil.'

Barney shook his head and stared at the carpet. Bergerac muttered and turned her back.

'Apparently some guy pitched up and I signed a piece of paper, and ... '

'I knew it!' shouted God. 'You sneaky sonofabitch!'

'Ah, fuck you, you self-righteous bastard,' said Bergerac.

'What?' said Barney. Suddenly he just wanted this to be over. He wanted to be going where he was going, or he wanted to get a cup of coffee and go back to the room and sit with Monk.

'Well, of course I'm self-righteous, you heathen, I'm God!'

'What?' shouted Barney. 'Would you just tell me what's going on?'

He looked at God, and then at Bergerac. Bergerac had turned, her face flaming bitter red, the eyes scarlet and glaring.

'You've been duped,' said God. 'The memory of the deal with Satan, she implanted that in your head. No one signs anything in this business. We still deal in handshakes in our game. If you'd shaken her hand just then ... ' and he ran His finger across His neck. 'Man, I nearly missed it, the oldest trick in the book.'

'So why didn't you implant a dream where I shook your hand?' said Barney, looking at the flaming face of doom.

Bergerac pouted, shook her head, looked embarrassed.

'It's not ethical,' she muttered. 'You're allowed to try to dupe, but you have to stay within the rules. Crap.'

'So, all that stuff about you controlling my life and bringing me back from the dead?' asked Barney, standing up. Annoyed suddenly, and not just from the safety of having God standing next to him.

'Hell, I made all that shit up,' said Bergerac. 'You're just some sad loser who kept having weird shit happen to him. I kinda latched on to you because it was fun.'

Barney closed his eyes. His head dropped. Just as his life had started to make some sort of sense. A strange and inexplicable perverted sense, but it had seemed to have order.

He opened his eyes. Bergerac was gone. He turned, a thought that he would suddenly be alone, but God was still standing next to him.

The two men stared at each other for a few moments. Finally God shrugged.

'Don't listen to her,' said God, 'she's full of crap.'

Barney smiled ruefully, looked over his shoulder, expecting her to be back, to be behind him, to be everywhere.

'What now?' he asked, turning back to God.

'You get the cup of coffee you came along here for, you take it back to the room, and you sit with Monk until she wakes up.'

'That's it?'

'In the morning you get back to Millport, by tomorrow afternoon you can be cutting hair and Monk can be sitting on a bench looking across the sea to the mountains on Arran.'

Barney felt his breath catch in his throat. Just the thought of that normality. The island, the sea air, the cry of the gulls, the sound of the waves, the mountains across the water.

Barney Thomson looked down. God was holding His hand out towards him. Barney looked curiously into His eyes.

'What's the deal?' he asked.

'There's no deal,' said God smiling. 'I just wanted to shake your hand.'

Barney smiled and took the Hand of God. God patted him on the shoulder, lowered His hand and mock saluted.

'I'm on my way, Bud. Take care of yourself, and look after Monk. She deserves it.'

Barney nodded. God turned and began to walk away and then suddenly He wasn't there anymore. Barney stared at the space where He'd been, still feeling the warmth of His presence. Under other circumstances he might have been expecting the imminent return of Taylor Bergerac, but he knew she wouldn't be back.

He glanced over his shoulder, then walked slowly to the coffee machine and began to read through the fifteen different available options to see if he could find a plain, ordinary coffee in amongst the lattes and the cappuccinos and the machiatos.

***

T
here were two reasons why Barney had been released so quickly from custody by the police. One was the intervention of a higher power, as Barney might have supposed. The other was that Barney had confessed to the murder of a person whose body was not found by the police.

Barney and Monk had left the small hut and had called in the local police. They had then waited by the side of the road nearby, Monk bruised and bloodied, lying in Barney's arms.