1. Gerald Pickett #2
“Sixty-nine Cockshoot Grove?” I force out.
He glances down at the page. “That’s right.”
“Big Spanking?”
“Aye. Big Spanking cum Bottomly—”
“Cum Bottomly?”
“Cum Bottomly, yes. On-the—”
“On-the-Wold, yeah.” I wait a moment, fighting the chortle that’s about to break over my tongue. “Big Spanking cum Bottomly-on-the-Wold, sir?”
Again he scans the page. “What?”
“You’re hiring me to go to an address called sixty-nine Cockshoot Grove, Big Spanking cum Bottomly-on-the-Wold, and hunt numerous angry ghosts there? Really?”
He offers me a slight shrug. “Well, do you want the job or not, lad?”
I study him, just as closely as I can in this dim and hazy place. His eyes don’t flinch, his thin mouth doesn’t break the slightest smile. All I get is a slightly incredulous twitch of the cheek, like I’m wasting his time.
It doesn’t feel like he’s in on this, whatever this is.
Even though he seems the type to have pulled off more than a few shady deals in his time, I can’t help but want to let him know someone’s taking advantage of him, so I carefully try, “Do you think, sir, that this man, Archer Gravely, is… perhaps… a little…”
“Oh, he’s very eccentric. But rich. And that’s all we care about.” He slides the paper back into the folder and pushes it over to me.
“Rich, too, is he?”
“Antiques dealer. That address says it all, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?”
“Cotswolds,” he says, like that’s the case closed.
“Ah. Right,” I fake. Then, because I still can’t help it, “And you’re sure he’s genuine?”
Gerald stubs out his half-smoked cigarette, then swipes his coat up from the back of his chair.
“For some people, seeing is believing, my boy.” His hand lands on my shoulder.
“This time tomorrow, I have a feeling you’ll be back in my office wanting to quit out of fear.
Once you see your first ghost, well… that’s not something you’ll ever forget. ”
“That’s not really what I’m getting at,” I attempt.
He applies a little pressure, moving me towards the door. “Just you make sure you’re there, nine a.m., and don’t worry about the rest of it. Head out to reception now, and Ted will get you sorted with the uniform.”
“All right.” I take a few resigned steps. “And Ted will arrange travel for me?”
“Travel?” he repeats, only twice as loud. “Didn’t you read the ad? You’ve got to get yourself there. It’s part of the deal.”
“But…” My heart’s sinking. The first job I’ve been offered in a year, and I just know this is a scam of some sort. It’s one thing to get paid for going on this fool’s errand, but to try to scrounge up that money myself just to turn around and come back to London, then probably get fired for it?
Maybe I should quit now, before any of this waiting catastrophe can unfold.
I pause, even as his hand lands on the doorknob. “Sir, I’m not sure—”
“Shhh!” he hisses. Quick as a sparrow, his fingers twitch the lock closed, and he moves towards the plastic horizontal blinds that look onto the waiting area.
Naturally, my gaze follows his.
Police.
I only catch the smallest flash of them before Gerald twists the blinds closed.
“Actually, on second thought…” he whispers, rummaging around in his trousers pocket. He pulls out a brown, battered wallet, all worn and ripped at the corners. It’s stuffed to overflowing, and a strip of unused gum falls out onto the floor in his haste.
I stoop to pick it up, but he ignores me when I offer it to him, instead taking out two crumpled fifty-pound notes.
He smacks them down into my palm, squeezing my fingers shut over them. With his hand on mine, as if we’re shaking on a deal, he leans in. “This oughta get you there. And if you want to start work right now, you can keep the change.”
Something in his voice sends alarm bells clanging, but even that’s drowned out by the conversation just on the other side of the glass, the police nearer now than they were before.
“I told you he’s not in there,” snaps the receptionist, Ted, pushing himself between us and the police. “And if this stolen artefact is so very precious, I should think you’d have brought a warrant to allow you to look for it.”
“We just want to ask some questions,” one of the officers replies.
“Then use the telephone!” Ted snarls.
“What do you say, lad?” Gerald’s low voice drops into the rising chaos like an anchor. “Will you take the job?”
He accompanies the question with a glance down at the cold, hard cash in my hand. Cash I can buy my mum dinner with tonight.
My heart beats proud enough to drown out the anxiety. “What do you need me to do?”
His grin is wide and his eyes are as bright as the afternoon sun. I suddenly feel like I’m in on something I probably shouldn’t be in on, but that I do actually kind of want to be in on.
Gerald spins away, swiping that small, round, black object I’d noticed earlier off the filing cabinet.
He shoves it into his pocket, then makes directly for the window.
“Go out that door,” he mumbles as he pushes it open, “and all you have to do is say you waited for me, I’m still not back, and you’re leaving. ”
“And where will you… oh.” He’s already halfway out the window, climbing onto the awning out front.
“Don’t worry,” he says, wafting his yellowy fingertips at me. “It’s to do with the, uh… the horses. The… the bookies. They… You know…”
I guess he gives up then, because he simply shuts the window and steps out of sight, leaving me in this dank, dark room, all alone and about to go lie to the police on behalf of what may be the shadiest man I’ve ever met.
But damn that money feels good.