A Fate Worse Than Death Read online

  “No,” said Jessie with unexpected fierceness. “You didn’t forget. It’s just the way it works down here. As long as you’re in Hell, you’ll never be able to get what you want. Hell is constant craving and constant disappointment. In Hell, you can never be satisfied, no matter how hard you try. There’s never any time for rest or peace. You’re forever rushing around, desperately searching for the one thing you think will bring fulfillment. But even if you find it, it’s never enough. It never fills that burning, gaping hole inside your soul. That’s what it’s like here in Hell.”

  As Jessie finished her diatribe, she pounded her fist on the table. The force of the blow sent the bowl flying into the air, raining thick brown sludge all over her.

  I grabbed what looked like an old piece of cloth that was lying on another chair and tried to wipe her down. Immediately, she screamed and reached out to grab the cloth from my hand.

  “Keep still, Angel,” I said. “I’m trying to clean you up.”

  “Stop it,” she cried, still clawing blindly for the cloth.

  I stepped back. “Take it easy. Even in Hell, I don’t think a face full of toxic slime is a good look.”

  “You don’t understand. I have to wear that.”

  “This?” I held up the cloth. Underneath the grunge that had been smeared all over it, it appeared to be some sort of body stocking. “Why do you have to wear this?”

  “I told you before I had a penance to serve.”

  “Wearing this is your punishment for sneaking into Heaven?”

  “It’s worse than that,” Jessie sighed. “I have to go out into the street looking like this. I have to do a mime performance.”

  “A mime performance here? Out on the streets of Hell?”

  Jessie nodded sadly.

  “Ouch,” I groaned. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment.” I shut my eyes, trying to hold back an image of Jessie in her filthy bodystocking, walking against the wind out on the busy streets of Hell. It wasn’t working. Suddenly, this room was starting to get awfully claustrophobic. I had to get out.

  “I’d love to stay and watch your performance,” I said, “but I’ve got to get going. There’s still plenty of work for me to do here.”

  “You’ll come back though, won’t you?” said Jessie, her eyes big and round beneath the layers of caked-on cereal. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Angel. This case is starting to get awfully complicated. And if what you’ve said is right, I’ve got to watch my back. But whatever happens, just remember I’ll be thinking about you.”

  “I’ll be thinking about you too, Jimmy.”

  I walked through the door, trying my best not to think about her. Of course, I banged my head on the way out.

  It was daytime in Hell, but there wasn’t a lot of sunshine creeping through the clouds. A light drizzle was falling as I made my way through the gloom of another side alley, back towards the main street.

  In the cold light of day, the main street of Hell didn’t scrub up so well. What had seemed bright and exciting at night now seemed faded and tired. The music that still thumped from the bars sounded atonal and jarring, while the neon signs glowed feebly, barely illuminating the dimness all around.

  There was less foot traffic than the previous night, but it was still pretty busy. I walked slowly through the crowd, quietly observing the faces that suddenly didn’t seem to be quite so becoming. There were the women whose lipstick and powder couldn’t disguise their thin mouths and dry, lined skin. There were the young stallions with their clinking jewellery, thrusting out their chests and shoulders but impressing no one but themselves. There were the old drunks in faded dinner jackets, dancing to the music of parties that had long since ended. In all of their eyes, I could see a look that I might once have taken for purpose and determination, but which now looked a lot more like futile desperation.

  I trudged along the street, stepping in every puddle along the way, until I arrived back at the Devil’s castle. Even that didn’t seem to be quite so imposing. It was neither as black nor as solidly threatening as I’d remembered it from the night before.

  I stood for a moment, examining the gruesome door buzzer. The business I had today was a little too private for me to be ringing the front doorbell. I looked around. On either side of the door, a series of open windows gaped darkly like a row of demons’ jaws hungry for food. It seemed that security here was more than a little lax, though I could understand why. Who could possibly be foolhardy enough to consider breaking into the Prince of Darkness’s stronghold? Only one person I could think of.

  I racked my brain trying to remember the position of the side door I’d seen Sid scurrying into the night before, then counted across the windows on the left side to see if I could match window with door. Once I’d made my selection, I hoisted myself up and through the window, and immediately discovered my calculations were hopelessly wrong.

  Instead, I found myself in what appeared to be a tearoom. There was a counter with a kettle, a toaster, and a griller. There was also another person in the room. Click went the kettle as that other person switched it on.

  Just in time, I dived behind the counter. I could see a pair of black-clothed legs, but couldn’t tell whom they belonged to. Luckily, as the kettle began to boil, the noise gave me the cover I needed, and I was able to quickly crawl to the other side of the room and out into the big, gothic hall.

  Sticking closely to the gargoyle-infested walls, I made my way to the next door and poked my head inside. This room looked a lot more promising. Atop a small desk, a series of manila folders were arranged, while banks of filing cabinets lined the far wall. And, even more promisingly, it was completely unoccupied. I crept inside. It was time to give the Devil’s accountant an audit.

  I began leafing through the contents of the folders on the table, and as I examined each document, things began to fall into place. I had discovered the Devil’s line of business at last. The scope of his enterprise ranged across building maintenance, plumbing, electrical, even clothing repair and alterations—basically all of the manual work required for the upkeep of Heaven. So much for the Devil being such a big-shot. There was no vast business empire, and no hidden maze of graft and corruption. The Prince of Darkness was really nothing more than the Prince of Subcontractors.

  There was still one particular operation I needed to uncover. Frantically, I scanned through the documents, working through the painting, flooring, double-glazing, and roof-insulation divisions. Finally, I found what I was looking for—the information about garbage collection.

  I tore through various ledgers, profit and loss statements, and other financial statistics related to garbage collection, looking for the one piece of information I was particularly interested in. Bully had told me the garbage business had recently been taken over. Who were the new owners? Who had come in and pushed their employees to the point of going on strike? At last, here was the contract of sale. I was about to take a look when . . .

  . . . The door flew open. I turned to see two pairs of eyes glaring at me. One was the most evil set of peepers that had ever looked my way. The other belonged to the Devil.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the Devil demanded, sending the temperature in the room plummeting by at least fifteen degrees.

  The Devil’s accountant let out a high-pitched squeal, rushed over to the desk, and grabbed the folder. “He’s looking at the garbage collection,” he said in a soft, high-pitched voice that couldn’t have been more at odds with his ghastly visage.

  “I might have guessed,” the Devil growled. “You’ve been sent here by God to snoop into my private business affairs.”

  “That’s not the case at all—,” I began.

  There was no way the Devil was going to let me finish. “That’s just typical,” he blustered. “He is a jealous God. Just because I’m so much more successful in business than He is.”

  I figured I should at least try one more time. “If yo
u’d only let me explain—”

  Still, the Devil had no interest in listening. “I’m going off to my Tai Chi class now, Mr Clarenden. When I get back, I expect you will have removed yourself from Hell. I hope for your sake that will be the case.” Then he turned and left the office.

  “I think you’d better listen to him,” said Sid in his sweet-sounding voice. I tried to catch one last glance at that garbage contract, but the little creep was too quick for me, shutting the folder and hiding it deep inside the nearest filing cabinet.

  There wasn’t a lot more I could do at this stage. Even without the Devil’s threats, I knew it was time to leave Hell. There was nothing left to find here. I had a feeling that all the remaining answers lay back up in Heaven. And besides, I didn’t think I could handle too many more of the little surprises Hell had to offer.

  Leaving Sid to his beloved manila folders, I left the castle and hurried back through the garbage-strewn, vomit-ridden streets of Hell. As I walked, I agonised over whether I should pay one last visit to Jessie. Eventually, I decided against it. Tearful good-byes were not my scene. Anyway, what was I supposed to say to her? Hey Angel, I hope you have the mime of your life?

  The sun, or whatever passed for the source of light down here, was just beginning to set when I finally found the right alley. As I left the main street, I couldn’t help noticing three musicians standing on the corner. They were playing as if their life depended upon it, but none of the passersby seemed to care. The little hat that lay at their feet was bulging full of nothing. This sight more than anything made me realise how glad I was to be leaving Hell. Jessie was right. It was a cruel place.

  Climbing up the ladder back into Heaven was about as fun as arm wrestling a grizzly bear while wearing a blindfold, but somehow I forced myself onwards and upwards. As I got closer to the top, I couldn’t help feeling energised by the healing air of Heaven. However, I also couldn’t help noticing something else that was more than a little unnerving.

  My hands, clutching tightly to the rungs above, were beginning to collect dirt and grime. Given the pristine nature of Heaven, it was clear where this grit must have come from. Apparently I wasn’t the only person who had used this passage in recent days. Someone else had been climbing up the ladder from Hell into Heaven.

  At last, I dragged myself out of the hole and collapsed panting on the floor of the small room at the top. After allowing myself some vitally needed recovery time, I pushed away the grate and climbed out. I was back in Heaven.

  At least I assumed I was in Heaven. The street I was standing in was filthy.

  CHAPTER 14

  I WALKED AWAY FROM THE GRATE and inspected my surroundings. It was definitely Heaven. I recognised the two houses on either side of me. But the whole streetscape couldn’t have looked more different. There was rubbish everywhere. It was piled up all over the street and swirling around in the air. The garbage collection strike was clearly beginning to have an impact.

  The rubbish wasn’t the only thing that was different about Heaven. There was also a change in the people around me—a quickness to their step and a worried look on their faces. The tranquility that had previously been the hallmark of this place was disappearing as quickly as the green lawns were disappearing beneath mounds of trash.

  I walked back down the street, dodging the pieces of flying garbage, the rubbish piles that were as deep as quicksand, and the hordes of seemingly lost schoolchildren. I didn’t like this new Heaven. The chaos and confusion on the street made me feel like I’d never left Hell. I had to find out more about whoever had taken over the garbage collection and thrown things into such disarray. And my feet were leading me in one direction only.

  It was early evening and probably not long before closing time when I arrived at The Loaf and the Fishes, but the little bar was full of anxious patrons. At least one of them was happy to see me.

  “Jimmy Clarenden, step this way,” cried the voice of Alby Stark above the bewildered murmurings of the crowd.

  I pushed through and eventually made my way over to the grinning journalist.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said. “I believe you have something for me.”

  “Only if you have something for me.”

  “Just everything you needed to know, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” I looked around. There were far too many people crammed up against the bar. “I think we should take this outside. These things would be better said in private.”

  We squeezed back towards the door. Outside the bar, Alby led me down a little side lane, away from the madness of the street.

  “Okay,” I said. “What have you got to tell me?”

  “I’ve got answers to all your questions. I’ve poked my nose into places it shouldn’t be seen in, and I’ve dug down to the bottom of the deepest holes in Heaven, but I’ve found the answers.”

  “If I wanted dramatics I would have gone to the theatre. Just tell me what you know.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Now the first thing you wanted to know is who is responsible for collecting the garbage in Heaven. It’s actually collected by teams from . . . down below!”

  Alby paused, clearly expecting some sort of reaction to his revelation. When I didn’t respond, he went on anyway. “They come up every night and clean up the whole place. Though I have to say,” he added as he kicked away a couple of pages of newspaper that had wrapped around his feet, “that with the job they’re doing at the moment, I think I deserve my money back.”

  “I’ll decide what you deserve,” I said. “This isn’t news to me. Have you got anything else?”

  “Oh?” For a moment, Alby was taken aback, but it didn’t stop him for long. “Actually I do. Something huge. All of the teams are organised by one central agency that is involved with not only garbage collection but also all operations for the maintenance of Heaven, including sewage, electricity generation, and window cleaning. This agency is one hundred percent owned and operated by . . . the Devil!”

  “All old news.”

  This time, the look of dismay on Alby’s face couldn’t be hidden. “You’re lying,” he cried. “You can’t possibly have known all this.”

  “I know about this and plenty more. Now, have you got anything fresh for me or are you just wasting my time?” I began to walk back along the alley.

  “No, wait,” Alby called. “Perhaps you’d like to know who signed the contract from Heaven’s side?”

  I stopped and turned around. “There’s a contract?”

  “There most certainly is. Iron-clad. No exemptions.”

  “Then perhaps I would like to know.”

  “So I do have some useful information after all.” Alby was speaking as slowly as he could, clearly enjoying the power his secret knowledge gave him. “The signatory for Heaven is in fact none other than . . . ”

  “Yes.”

  “ . . . none other than . . . ”

  “If you don’t tell me now, I’ll fill you so full of soda water you’ll explode.”

  “ . . . none other than God’s own son.”

  “Jesus?” I said.

  “No, the other one. What’s his name, Percival?”

  I froze in my tracks. If Alby had been holding a feather, he could have knocked me down with it. Inside my head, I could hear the click as another piece of the puzzle slid into place. The Devil had signed an iron-clad contract to provide a garbage collection service to Heaven. If anyone else wanted to take over that service, they would have been faced with a considerable problem. But if the signatory to that contract on Heaven’s behalf should suddenly disappear, maybe convincing the Devil to break that contract and sell the garbage collection business wouldn’t be quite so difficult. Could this be the real explanation for Phil’s disappearance?

  Immersed in thought, I started towards the street. An enraged voice quickly pulled me short.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Clarenden? I gave you what you wanted. Now g
ive me what you promised me.”

  I turned and walked back towards him. His eyes acquired a greedy glow as he watched me reach into my pocket and remove the bottle. As I handed it over, he attacked it like a hungry squirrel trying to prise open a particularly stubborn nut, and then he slammed it to his lips. After a moment, he lowered it again. The sullen gaze had returned to his face.

  “This is your idea of a joke, I suppose,” he growled, holding up the bottle. In the fading light I could just make out that it was empty. My drinking session with Bully Malone had been far more thorough than I’d realised.

  “That’s too bad, Alby,” I said. “But if you’ll remember, I didn’t actually promise you anything. I placed a label in a note. That was all.”

  “You’re a rat, Clarenden,” he snarled. “You’re a filthy rodent.”

  I chose not to throw a retort back, partly because I wasn’t sure I could argue with his assessment of my character, but mainly because my instinct told me a more practical course of action would be to duck. I ducked. Almost instantaneously, the empty bottle sailed past the spot where my head had been and shattered on the ground behind me.

  Taking this as a clear sign that my business with Alby had reached an endpoint, I didn’t stick around. I was finally onto something, but there was still so much to uncover. I had to know who had taken over the garbage collection from the Devil, and there was only one person I could think of to ask. One person who I suspected had the answers to all of my questions inside his head. The only problem was he also had the answers to every other question inside his head as well.

  * * *

  As I rapped on the doors of God’s palace, I couldn’t help noticing that even the previously pure white of the palace walls now looked stained and dirty.

  Gabriel opened the doors and ushered me in. He greeted me with words that were both highly unexpected and also profoundly worrying.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come back, Mr Clarenden.”

  “That would probably make you the first,” I said. “I figure it’s not for any good reason.”