Raven and Skull Page 17

  Shivering as he stared into the restaurant from the cold outside, Geoff could not recall one moment in his life when he had felt so lonely and miserable. He was watching affluent diners enjoying their spoils at the end of the working day. His own world involved scrabbling in the darkness of his pokey flat, counting out money for thugs, and constantly fretting that someone knew his thoughts or was readying themselves to steal his belongings.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ he wondered.

  It was a question he could no longer answer. If there had been a way to withdraw from the theft without causing himself financial hardship or more suffering, he would have clutched it with both trembling and aching hands. Tearing himself away from the bitterly enviable scene of the restaurant’s front window, Geoff walked to the side of the building and stepped through the open door that led to the kitchens.

  Bright lights were reflected from the shiny white wall tiles and stainless steel kitchenware. A torrent of rich and overlapping scents filled his nostrils. He caught wafts of acidic spices, tempting garlic and pan-fried heat. The clatter of pans, the chatter of voices and the sizzle of cooking were all deafeningly loud. But there was one raised bellow that was louder than all the other sounds.

  It rattled from the walls and Geoff recognised Don’s voice instantly.

  ‘What the fuck do you call this?’ Don demanded. ‘You are a worthless piece of dog shit and I ought to kick you in the bollocks from now until judgement day.’

  Geoff could see Don towering over a quivering underling. Don was wearing his kitchen whites. Geoff reluctantly conceded that the man looked impressive in the uniform but he quickly followed that thought with the personal reassurance that he still loathed and detested Don.

  ‘I’m sorry, chef,’ the underling muttered.

  ‘You will be fucking sorry,’ Don thundered. He pushed the plate close to the underling’s face. ‘Tell me what this is. Tell me what this piece of shit is supposed to be.’

  From his position near the door Geoff could see the interaction clearly. He thought the item on the plate looked like a nice piece of steak. He quickly conceded that he wasn’t an expert. Any steak that was warm and looked sufficiently brown on the outside was one that he would consider a nice piece of steak. But it was obvious that Don was not happy with the quality of this steak and he seemed to believe the kitchen hand incurring his wrath was solely responsible for his disappointment.

  ‘Why don’t you just take a shit on a plate and send that out to my customers?’ Don demanded. ‘Is this the sort of filth you’ve been trained to cook? What sort of worthless fucking cretin are you?’

  The kitchen hand tried stammering responses but Don was clearly in no mood to hear answers. He tossed the steak and the plate into a corner of the kitchen. The plate clattered noisily: broken on impact. The steak adhered to one of the white-tiled walls and sat there like the world’s largest slug. Don pushed his face threateningly close to the kitchen hand’s. He grabbed the throat of the underling’s shirt and pulled the poor man closer.

  ‘The cost of that broken plate is coming out of your wages.’

  ‘Yes, chef.’

  ‘You’re going to clean up that piece of shit–’

  ‘Yes chef.’

  ‘And you’re going to do the job you’ve been told to do.’

  The kitchen hand nodded and trembled as he tried to make his contrition sincere. Geoff watched the whole scene; quietly wishing the kitchen hand would rebel.

  ‘Do it properly this time,’ Don continued. ‘And never let me catch your worthless arse working to such a low standard ever again. Have you got that through your thick fucking skull?’ He rapped his knuckles on the kitchen hand’s forehead with three sharp taps.

  Geoff flinched in sympathy, as though he had received the light assault. He fervently wished the kitchen hand would simply snap, grab a convenient knife, and then start to butcher Don with the frenzy of a human chopping machine.

  It was impossible for Geoff to be unmoved by the injustice of the situation. Geoff told himself that, if he had worked for any employer who treated him with such contempt and disdain, he would have told the man to stick his job up his arse. Being honest with himself, he supposed he might not have said something so confrontational to someone with Don’s ferocious temper. But he would certainly have left the kitchen and never returned to face a future humiliation of such severity.

  And yet, as those indignant thoughts rushed through his mind, Geoff remembered he had been in many menial jobs where an overbearing employer had humiliated him with the same ferocity that Don had just inflicted on the kitchen hand. Geoff also remembered that, when he had been suffering the brunt of an employer’s wrath, he had simply accepted the belittling experience. True, he had muttered threats and grandiose claims of retribution to fellow colleagues after the event. But he knew that he had always accepted the unjust humiliation with little more than a meek and pathetic protest and the wheedling excuse that it hadn’t been his fault.

  The kitchen hand mumbled another apology.

  Geoff felt a wave of contempt swell up in his stomach. He tried not to be disgusted. He knew the fear of failure and unemployment were enough to leave anyone at the mercy of brutal, egotistical employers. But it was impossible not to share Don’s low opinion of a man who could be so easily cowed into acquiescence.

  As the kitchen hand bent to pick up the shards of discarded plate from the corner of the kitchen, Geoff realised this was why he wanted the money that would come from selling the skull that currently sat on Charlie Raven’s desk. He wasn’t planning the robbery because he was greedy or driven by the aimless goal of simply acquiring wealth. He only wanted to have the necessary resources that would allow him independence.

  He had floated through enough menial jobs like the kitchen hand’s to suffer the unjust wrath of dozens of belligerent bullies. At the moment there was no one in the Raven and Skull hierarchy who abused their authority in such a way. But Geoff knew that it would only take one ill-advised promotion for the drudgery of his life to be transformed into a living hell.

  If he managed to acquire the skull, and trade it for the outstanding fifty thousand, Geoff knew he would have the financial security that would mean he never had to worry again about the mood swings of an overbearing employer. Grinning for the first time in days, Geoff realised that was why he needed to steal the skull.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ Don snarled.

  ‘I’ve brought you your money.’ Geoff raised the sports’ bag in the air, as though this proved the truth of what he was saying.

  ‘And you think I want it in the kitchen?’

  ‘You threatened to cut off my bollocks if I didn’t get it to you by nine o’clock this evening,’ Geoff reminded him. ‘I figured I would bring the money to you regardless of where you were, even if you were on the plop, just so long as it kept my balls where they’re supposed to be.’

  ‘You think you’re quite the funny man, don’t you?’

  Geoff opened his mouth to answer. He was thinking of making a remark about Don’s Gordon Ramsay impression. Common sense, and the glint of murderous encouragement that sparkled in Don’s eyes, told Geoff to close his mouth without saying a word.

  ‘Bring it with you,’ Don grunted. He gestured for Geoff to follow him through a door that led out of the kitchen and away from the main body of the restaurant. ‘Hurry it up,’ Don snapped. ‘I haven’t got all fucking night.’

  Despising himself for doing as he was told, Geoff obediently hurried to follow Don. The room they walked into was decorated in a more homely fashion than the sterile, anodyne kitchen. The walls were covered in flock wallpaper that Geoff guessed was a leftover from the restaurant’s last overhaul. The predominant colour was an austere black, glamorised by suggestions of silver. Aside from a desk, an old PC and a comfy chair, Geoff noticed a huge cast-iron safe squatting in one corner of the room.

  Nicola lounged in one of the comfy chairs. She was naked save for a tiny thon
g that barely covered her sex. The smouldering joint in her fingers told Geoff she was stoned before he even caught a glimpse of the vacant expression in her eyes. He wrenched his gaze away from her before Don thought he was staring at the perfect, tempting mounds of Nicola’s bare breasts.

  ‘Hi Geoff,’ Nicola giggled.

  ‘Nicola.’

  ‘Cover yourself up, you fucking slut,’ Don snarled. He threw a piece of cloth in Nicola’s direction.

  Nicola dropped her joint into an ashtray and fumbled to cover her breasts with the cloth Don had thrown at her. Geoff was dismayed to see that everyone in The House of Usher responded to Don’s demands.

  ‘Don’t just cover your titties,’ Don barked. ‘Cover up your minge too. I don’t want you flashing your twat to this tosspot.’

  ‘I’m wearing knickers,’ Nicola argued.

  ‘Those aren’t fucking knickers,’ Don sneered. ‘I’ve fucked you once tonight without needing to take those off.’

  Geoff’s stomach rolled with a fresh wave of disgust.

  ‘Just get yourself dressed,’ Don sounded as though the matter was no longer of any interest to him. ‘Get yourself dressed and stop taunting this worthless sack of shit with the sight of your titties and your pussy.’

  He turned his back on Nicola, and only Geoff got to see the woman flip him off. Don fell to one knee and began to fumble with the combination lock on the safe. He started to turn the dial, then glanced over his shoulder and glared angrily at Geoff.

  ‘Stop fucking watching me,’ he grunted. ‘I don’t want you knowing the combination to my safe.’

  Rather than argue the point, Geoff simply turned away. He could see Nicola was smirking, as though she enjoyed watching Don’s childish displays of authority. Her eyes shone with wicked malice as she teased the tip of one finger against her exposed nipple and then shivered as though thrilled by the sensation. Licking her lips in an overly suggestive fashion, she snaked one hand down her bare stomach, towards the top of her thong. Geoff watched her fingers slide over a red and black tattoo on her hip. It showed a dagger penetrating a heart with the words beneath it saying Don ‘n’ Nicola.

  Geoff was unable to tear away his gaze from her.

  Nicola shifted in her seat, spreading her thighs wide apart. She ran her middle finger over the centre of her thinly sheathed sex. She arched her neck back silently, then teased the edge of the thong to one side. The perfect pout of her pussy lips was revealed to Geoff.

  ‘Give me the money,’ Don demanded. He was staring into the safe. He had a hand stretched out behind him and he snapped his fingers with theatrical impatience. ‘Now. Hurry it up.’

  Nicola allowed her thong to slide back over her sex. She pulled on the top that Don had thrown to her. All the time she kept smiling slyly in Geoff’s direction.

  Geoff passed Don the bag he had been carrying.

  ‘This bag smells like arse,’ Don muttered.

  Geoff wanted to ask if Don was a connoisseur of that particular fragrance. Staring at Nicola, mesmerised by the bold invitation in her eyes, he stayed silent.

  ‘Are you sure there’s ten grand here?’ Don demanded.

  ‘Count it if you like,’ Geoff said. It was a struggle to stop himself from stuttering. He had a raging erection and it was nearly impossible to pull his concentration away from Nicola.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Don said, graciously. ‘Although, if this safe is down by a single penny, I’ll be coming after you for that amount.’

  Geoff found his hand had curled into a fist. He could imagine driving the fist into Don’s handsome face. From this position, it would be easier to kick the man from behind, force his head to smash violently against the cast-iron safe, and then keep kicking at him until the man was no longer able to retaliate. But the image of driving his fist into Don’s face was the most tempting one that filled his thoughts.

  Of course, the repercussions of such stupidity were obvious. He knew that any violent action towards Don would be akin to suicide. Yet still, the idea was sorely tempting.

  Nicola winked at him. Her painted lips formed the shape of a kiss and she silently blew it in his direction.

  ‘CHEF!’

  The cry came as the door burst open.

  Geoff flinched as though he had been caught doing something wrong.

  He recognised the kitchen hand who had been the victim of Don’s wrath as the man hurried into the room.

  ‘There’s trouble front of house, chef,’ the kitchen hand gasped. ‘You’d best come quick.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Don grunted. ‘What is it?’ He was moving as he spoke. Pushing past Geoff. Bursting through the doors and following in the wake of the kitchen hand.

  ‘There’s a customer choking,’ the kitchen hand explained.

  And then the sounds of their conversation were gone as the door closed behind them.

  Geoff found himself alone in the restaurant’s office with a near-naked Nicola and an open safe. It was, he thought, a dictionary definition of the word temptation. He stared at the open safe for a moment, sure that he was seeing something important but not quite sure how his brain ought to process the information.

  ‘Isn’t that bizarre,’ Nicola murmured.

  When Geoff glanced up he saw that Nicola was following the line of his gaze and studying the open safe.

  ‘He’s forever leaving the safe open and unguarded when he gets distracted. You wouldn’t think anyone could be so stupid, would you?’

  Geoff said nothing. He didn’t think anyone could be so stupid. He realised that, with the right distraction, everyone would be so stupid.

  A smile split his lips.

  He walked over to the safe, kicked it closed, and secured the lock.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ It sounded as though Nicola’s high was wearing off. She looked petulant and scornful. ‘It’s not like I would have taken anything from Don’s safe,’ she said, indignantly. ‘Did you lock it because you suddenly don’t trust me?’

  Geoff shook his head. ‘There’s nothing sudden about it,’ he admitted. ‘If I’m being honest, Nicola, I’ve never trusted you.’

  36

  They fell on him as he was walking out of The House of Usher. There were two of them and they were large and swift. They stepped out of shadows and bore down on him with obvious determination.

  Geoff’s first thought was a rush of gratitude.

  The enormous amount of money he had been carrying earlier was now locked securely inside Don’s safe. Those notes that had weighed him down so heavily on his journey to The House of Usher could not be taken from him.

  Then, as large hands grabbed at his armpits, and his feet lost contact with the floor, he thought, ‘not again.’

  Darkness shrouded him.

  He got the impression that someone had thrown a cape over his face or tugged a bag over his head. There was a scuffle of footsteps. A familiar fragrance of incense. And then the sound of a rusty vehicle door being opened.

  He was taken out of the night’s cool air and bundled into somewhere warm and unfamiliar. His back was pushed hard against something he guessed was the interior side panel of a van. The wall was solid against his spine but he could feel that it wasn’t wholly robust. When he started trying to stand up his legs were pulled from underneath him so his backside hit the floor with a solid thump.

  Geoff groaned.

  He was about to say something, raise his voice in complaint or make his distress known in some way, when the bag was pulled from his face and a super-bright torch was shone into his eyes.

  He tried to raise a hand to cover his eyes. His arms were pulled down and held firmly at his sides. The hands holding his wrists were strong and unrelenting.

  ‘Is this the one?’

  Geoff squinted against the light. The torch beam was so powerful and strong that it hurt. Behind the light he could make out only silhouettes and faltering shadows. His mouth was dry and his pulse had accelerated. The comical notion of relief was no lon
ger in his thoughts.

  ‘You’ve been charged with retrieving the sacred relic for our church.’

  He’d been grabbed by the client, Geoff guessed. Was there no one in this whole sorry mess who didn’t feel a need to hold him against his will or threaten him with physical violence?

  ‘Where is it?’ The voice was thickened by a foreign accent. The words sounded as though they were being deliberately articulated. ‘Where is it? You must tell us right now.’

  ‘I haven’t got it yet.’

  ‘Our mystics tell us that you touched it today.’

  Mystics? Now there were mystics involved? How much bullshit did these people believe?

  ‘I was close to it today, but I couldn’t get hold of it. I couldn’t take it.’

  ‘He’s wasting our time.’ This was another voice. From the way the torchlight faltered with the words, Geoff guessed the person speaking was holding the torch. These words were spoken in an uncaring rush, as though the speaker didn’t care if his articulation was accurate or otherwise. ‘He’s wasting our time. I say we should sacrifice him.’

  Sacrifice? Geoff pressed his back hard against the unrelenting wall of the van. He pressed his heels firmly against the cold metal floor and, although his wrists were still being held, he prepared to pull himself free. He stopped because he thought he heard something in the voice that sounded like a bluff. Would they really pay him fifty grand one day and then threaten to sacrifice him the following day? That didn’t seem likely.

  ‘I’ve said I’ll get it, and I will,’ Geoff snapped, irritably. ‘You’ll have it within the next couple of weeks. You’ll have it sooner if I get lucky.’

  ‘Lucky? You think that this matter relies on a little bit of luck?’

  ‘No,’ Geoff lied. He pulled his hands free and shaded his eyes. ‘I think this matter relies on skilful planning and a good deal of luck.’

  ‘The fates have said that you will be able to do this.’

  ‘If the fates have said I’ll do this, then why are you snatching me off the street and threatening to sacrifice me?’