The Ghoul of Christmas Past
all that explosive …’‘Yes?’ Dickens prompted.
Blake licked his lips; this was their opportunity to cash in big time. ‘Well, this sort of thing needs permits.’ He let the statement hang in the air. ‘Usually.’
Blake’s partner, Edward, felt his colleague was making a mess of it, so jumped in himself. ‘We’re the ones taking all the risk here, Mr Dickens. If the authorities were to find out we didn’t have the correct permits in place …’
Like Blake he left the obvious part of his statement unspoken. They could both tell the man who hired them understood what they were saying.
Which he did. Mr Dickens sniffed and nodded. ‘How much?’
‘It’s not so much about the money,’ Blake tried to defend his honour and then had to stifle his squeal when Edward kicked his shin because it was all about the money and nothing else. They had spent the last two nights discussing how much they could squeeze this guy for.
‘How much?’ Mr Dickens repeated, impatience in his tone.
Edward swallowed hard. They had agreed on a figure of two thousand last night. Less than that wouldn’t be worth it, and more would probably not get paid.
‘Five thousand,’ Edward blurted, making Blake’s eyes bug out in shock.
The man facing then fixed them both with a look that might have turned them to stone in ancient Greece. ‘Fine. But I want it done by five o’clock. Not a minute later. Am I understood?’
‘Perfectly, yes, Mr Dickens,’ they both responded instantly, unable to believe their luck.
‘I’ll have to go to the bank. I’ll have your money for you before you finish.’
Blake and Edward hurried away, eager to get the job finished now. They would have it done before five o’clock if it killed them. This was the best Christmas bonus ever. They had no idea what the crazy guy had planned but they were in an old, abandoned theme park so whatever he planned to blow up wasn’t going to hurt anyone and could never be traced back to them.
Mr Dickens watched them go and sat back onto the corner of his desk. ‘Fools,’ he growled. ‘Greedy, grasping fools.’ He wasn’t going to the bank, of course, he had other tasks to perform. Jason Pendergrass, languishing in his makeshift dungeon in the basement needed to be joined by others yet. Edward and Blake, two former military engineers were necessary for the job, but were never going to survive to be paid. They were loose ends and soon to be taken care of by the ghoul. The ghoul, the man calling himself Mr Dickens smiled - what a lucky find he had been.
Mystery Men Bookshop. Saturday, December 24th 1331hrs
It was still crisp and cold outside, so upon exiting the museum, Michael zipped up his coat again. It was only a short walk to the pub where he found Mary sitting in one corner knitting. Two empty sherry glasses sat on the table beside a third one which was still full. Seeing her husband approach, she gave a smile and picked the sherry glass up.
When he got near, she held it up for him and as he reached for it, she pulled it back and drank it in one hit.
Michael knew he deserved it and raised his hands in surrender. ‘Do I take it you have had enough now and would like to go, or shall I get us two more so we can actually spend some time together? Honestly, I had no idea it was going to take that long in the museum.’
Mary could see that he was being genuine, so patted the chair next to her and didn’t kick it over when he went to sit in it, though the idea did occur to her. A barman brought them two more drinks and they spent half an hour chatting about the grandchildren and reminiscing about Christmases when Tempest and Rachael were young.
It was a welcome break for them both, but to Michael’s surprise, it was Mary who chose to move them on. ‘If you want to visit Frank’s bookshop, you’ll have to get going. That three-bird-roast really will defrost if we leave it much longer.’
Michael suspected it wasn’t in much danger of defrosting at all since it couldn’t be more than about two degrees centigrade outside, but he kept that to himself. Once again, they walked arm in arm along the ancient cobbles, this time toward North Gate and the castle where they would be returning in a few hours. The High Street was filled with people doing late Christmas shopping – panic shopping might be a better word for it, Michael thought. Of course, there were people just out enjoying the ambience and visiting the many bars and restaurants the area boasted.
As they walked, Mary dialled her son’s phone. It connected instantly.
‘Mum, what’s up?’ Tempest’s voice rang in her ear.
‘Hello, Tempest. Your father claims that you are not answering your phone. Clearly, he was mistaken, or phoning the wrong number perhaps. His brain is getting a little patchy.’
Michael, hearing his wife mention their son’s name, swung his head her way and heard what she said. His frown amused Mary.
Tempest replied, ‘No, I have a bunch of missed calls from him. I just haven’t had a chance to call him back. It’s kind of a busy day.’
‘Why, what are you doing?’ she wanted to know. Michael was leading her to the right, away from North Gate to place it behind them. The entrance to the bookshop was right in front of them, and Michael paused to let Mary’s conversation finish. He also made it obvious he wanted to talk to his son before she hung up.
She could hear Tempest sucking on his lip, a habit he’d formed as a child which generally meant he was going to lie about something. ‘Um, it’s a bit complicated to explain,’ he