NINETEEN
Apparently, some fuckwit once wrote; It is always darkest just before the dawn. Well if that was the case then pretty damn soon there was going to be the brightest day the world had ever seen.
But that day was not today. For the second time in just a few short days, Larry McCulloch wanted to burst into tears. Just let it all out, either that or burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. Something, once upon a time he would have found it quite easy to do, what with all this talk of demons and devils. Of soul collectors after Larry's hide because he had double crossed the devil’s own. Laughable, were it not for the fact that those around him, all grownups no less believed every single surreal word of it.
Larry was back in the dubious sanctuary of his room, he sat on his bed as he scrolled through his phones address book in an increasingly vain attempt to find somebody, anybody he could call to get him out of this river of shit he was drowning in. He had tried half a dozen numbers already, old cronies of his he had relied on in the past, but of those only one had actually deigned to answer (damn call ID's)once they knew it was him on the other end. And that one, Henry Ritter had just screamed abuse down the phone at him and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was a dead man walking. Then even worse than that added, 'worse' than dead.
That word again. What in Christ’s name could be 'worse' than dead? If anything Larry was beginning to think that he might be better off out of it all together, just wrestle a gun off Lewis or the kid Jeff and blow his sorry brains out and let that be an end to it. Then if all this was true he could meet the devil head on and tell him to go fuck himself. Larry made his hand into the shape of a gun and cocked his thumb back and put his fingers in his mouth and 'pulled the trigger. Blam, that's all she wrote, thank you and good night. Not much of a legacy, blowing your brains out all over the cheap wallpaper but at least it would be quick and at least he would find out what, if anything was waiting for him on the other side.
“Bollocks to it,” Larry said out loud, suicide just wasn't in his nature, he was many things but he sure as shit wasn't a quitter. No, come what may he was going to see this through until the bitter end (and he had the feeling it would be just that, bitter.)
He tossed the phone on the bed, the only number he hadn't tried today was Tommy Whitaker's and he was too sober even to think about calling that nutter.
He turned hearing a tap on the door. “Go away,” he said, the last thing he needed right now was Lewis or the priest.
“Larry, it's me, Jeff.” The voice sounded miles away through the closed door. “I come bearing gifts,” he added.
Larry let out a weary sign and dragged himself up and over to the door, it was only now he realized the room was in near total darkness, he checked his watch, Christ 8:30 pm. He flicked on the light switch and leaned against the door but didn't move to open it.
“Define gifts,” he said to the wood.
“Well, gift to be precise, come Larry, open the door, eh, you've been up here for hours. Oh, and let's just say the gift is twelve years old.”
Now that got Larry attention. He opened the door a few inches and a bottle of whiskey appeared through the gap, so Larry opened it further and stepped back to let Jeff enter until he was standing in the doorway, his fresh faced features at odds with the bottle of whiskey he was flaunting.
“So, can I come in?” Jeff asked.
Larry took the bottle and gestured for Jeff to come in. “As long as you don't interfere with my drinking.” he said.
“Okay, deal,” Jeff laughed and came inside.
“And defiantly no preaching,” Larry added.
“That's Father Nichols’ territory not mine, I'm a mere minion. I just thought you looked like you could probably do with a drink after the day you've had.”
“Huh, no shit,” Larry said and uncorked the bottle, he scooped up his glass and poured himself a generous measure before putting the bottle on the bedside table.
“Just keep it to yourself though, Larry. Father Nichols is worried about your drinking as it is.” Jeff said.
“Looking after my liver as well as my soul, eh?” Larry said which raised a smile from the kid.
“Something like that.”
Larry raised the glass and took a sip, damn it was good stuff, no cheap super market own brands here. The kid must have spent thirty quid on it. Larry couldn't help but muse if he could claim it back on expenses with the Vatican. Larry took another sip and studied Jeff. “What's your story, Kid?” He asked.
Jeff frowned. “Story?”
“Yeah, I get Nichols and even Peroni, they're Vatican soldiers, if you believe in all this. They want to save my soul, and catch the bogey man in the process no doubt. I definitely get Lewis, he's a copper through and through and probably fell in with these religious types because he gets to carry a gun. But you.” He made a point of looking the young man up and down which made him squirm somewhat. “You don't seem like the religious type to me,“ he gestured to the bottle as evidence. “Besides what are you, eighteen?”
“I'm twenty four,” Jeff said with the weariness of someone who had been cursed with youthful looks all his adult life and the lack of credibility it inevitably brought. Larry raised an eyebrow just to goad him. “No, really,” Jeff protested.
“And you really believe in this heaven and hell shit the padre is spouting?”
“Yes Larry, yes I do.” Jeff answered with conviction.
“You've seen any evidence of it?” Larry asked and drained his glass which brought with it that familiar warm sensation you get from good whiskey and it felt damn fine.
The kid shook his head and his cheeks flushed slightly. “Not as such, no,” he said. “But I have faith in Father Nichols and his team back at the Vatican.”
This made Larry raise is eyebrows again.
“No, really, I do. I may not have seen any of this first hand, but I've seen the Vatican archives. They're quite an eye opener. Then we join we get an intensive crash course.”
“So,” Larry asked. “How did they get you?”
“I was training to be a priest, it’s a calling I have felt ever since I can remember. When I was approached whilst at the seminary.” Jeff looked away for a moment, seemingly embarrassed. Then we added with genuine humility; “They said they saw something in me, something special. So I joined the team as it were. They apparently call us the God squad on the other side.”
“Huh,” Larry snorted. “Religious mumbo jumbo, all of it.” He motioned to Jeff's Pistol in the holster under his jacket. “That's what I believe in kid. I'd put my faith in that over Jesus H Christ any day.”
He was surprised that the comment seemed to hurt Jeff, and with it came even more surprise at himself that he instantly regretted it. The kid was an easy target, he'd spotted that the moment they had met. He was young (twenty four, really? The poor sap was doomed to be ID checked at night clubs until he was at least thirty, if he lived that long.) and impressionable, but now he saw, that even for all Larry's cynicism, the lad had a heart of gold. The whiskey proved that, he was making a genuine attempt to connect with him.
Regardless of what Larry believed, Jeff had sworn to protect him, and with his young life if need be. But not for profit, which Larry would have felt far more at home with. But with faith in what he was doing.
Larry swiped up the bottle and took a swig straight out of it, and it was Jeff's turn to raise an eyebrow. Christ Larry silently cursed, this situation was messed up. What was happening to him? He almost felt like apologizing to the kid. Now he knew he was at a low ebb.
He tried to shake of the feeling and just held up the bottle to toast Jeff. “Thanks for the drink anyway,” was all he could think to say.
“No big deal,” Jeff said with a shrug. “It's like I said, I just felt bad for you. You've been through a lot lately. I know you've got this hard man exterior, but it can't be easy for you.”
Larry's heart turned back to stone in an instant.
“I don't need your sympathy,” he said, his voice ice cold. Things were really fucked up if this know nothing brat was feeling sorry for him, good heart or not.
Again Jeff looked like Larry had just slapped him in the face. But this time Larry would be dammed if he would allow himself to feel sorry for him. If anything Larry was embarrassed at his own moment of weakness for feeling anything at all for this kid. Who he had to remember was just one in a long line of people to be used to get him out of this shit he was in. He was nothing more than a pawn, they all were.
“Christ!” He cursed out loud. Must be getting soft in my old age he thought. Larry didn't have to look directly at the kid to tell he had his mouth open ready to speak, but he cut him off before he could. “Like I said kid, thanks for he drink, but now fuck off will you? This whiskey won't drink its self and I've have enough of you... You, God squaders today to last me two fucking lifetimes.” Although his voice had a hard edge to it, Larry still couldn't bring himself to look at Jeff's reaction.
“Okay,” Jeff said softly, but he still lingered my the door. “We'll get you out of this Larry. You can count on us.”
Larry just stared at the bottle in his hand which he was desperately trying to stop shaking. But he had to bite his lip when Jeff added before leaving;
“We love you, Larry. Goodnight.”
Larry screwed his eyes tight shut and fought to keep control until finally he heard the door shut and he was alone again, and with that he collapsed on the bed. He had to bury his head deep into his pillow to muffle the sobs that came bursting out of him. He couldn't stop them now even if he wanted to so he just let them come.
TWENTY
After he had gathered Jeff, Lewis and Peroni together before meeting Larry for the first time. Father Nichols had made a point of telling them in no uncertain terms what horrors could await them if they stayed and helped him protect the old crook. Then he had asked them all one simple question.
Why?
At some point, he had said, you must all ask yourself the same question. Why am I here? Why am I willing to die for someone who has no faith, someone who quite clearly does not deserve our help, or care if we must make that ultimate sacrifice and die for him. I could give you many reasons, but in the end, the decision must be yours and yours alone. You must each take time over the coming hours and look to yourselves for the answer. And if you cannot find a reason, there is no shame in you leaving now. This assignment is strictly for willing volunteers only. No one who remains, least of all me will judge you harshly for this and you can go in the knowledge we don't hold you in any less regard than when this all started.
Jeff paused on the stairs and looked back up to Larry’s room, he had gone to see Larry in the hope of finding an answer to that question which was weighing so heavily on his young shoulders. To find some spark of humanity in the man that would make all this worthwhile. So that if he had to indeed make that ultimate sacrifice and stand between Larry McCulloch and the darkness knowing it would be his end, he would do so without hesitation, safe in the knowledge it was a worthwhile act.
But Larry just made it so damn hard. Jeff knew Lewis hated the man, but still had decided to stay, not for the guns and glory as Larry had said but because for all his wise cracks, Lewis believed in humanity no matter what it looked or sounded like above everything else, even a scoundrel like Larry McCulloch deserved to be saved. You don't have to like a man to pull him out of the way of an oncoming juggernaut, as Lewis had put it.
But Jeff needed to see more of the man Larry was, to see past that brash exterior to the real, vulnerable person underneath. Because he had to believe there was one. Larry was coming to the end of a very dark road, sure it was one he had paved himself with the misery of others and the old crook certainly was a prime candidate to sow what he had reaped.
But why? Jeff asked himself. He took a step back up before he realized it. Should he really try to get through to the man again? He paused before going higher. Perhaps the whiskey had been a bad idea, but even so Jeff was sure he had seen something... Well, for want of a better word 'human' behind Larry's eyes when they spoke, before he put the shutters down again. Just a hint maybe, but it was definitely there.
He was about make his way back upstairs when raised voices coming from downstairs halted him.
"Idiots!!" It was Peroni, she came storming out of the living room and into the kitchen. Jeff could hear Father Nichols who was still in the living room almost shouting at someone and judging by the one way conversation he was on the phone, no doubt to the Vatican again and it was clear from the tone and volume of his usually gentle voice it wasn't a conversation he was relishing or by the sounds of it, winning.
Jeff sat on the stairs, like a child hearing his parents fighting downstairs and listened.
"We can't wait a week, Cardinal, in a week we could all be dead." It took Jeff a moment to realize Father Nichols was speaking English, which meant he must be speaking to (although Nichols would never actually say the word) his Nemesis at the Vatican, Cardinal Vaughn. A man who had little time for the work of Nichols and his team based deep in the bowls of the old city. But much to Nichols' chagrin Vaughn was his immediate superior and as such Nichols had to deal with the man, and his cynicism on a regular basic. Politics, Lewis had lamented on more than one occasion. It's all politics, Jeff mate, better you and me keep out of the way and let the grownups battle it out.
Wait, did Nichols just say they could all be dead in a week!?"
"You are messing with people’s lives here, Cardinal," Nichols said. "Please, let me speak to his holiness..."
Jeff exhaled, impressed, he knew that Nichols was high up in the pecking order at the Vatican, albeit unofficially, but he didn't realize the man had the ear of the Pope himself.
"No, Vaughn, I know his holiness is back, he came back yesterday!" Nichols said sharply. Then added softer, "John, please... I know we don't see eye to eye on this, but you have to trust me. Get me that clearance or all of this will be for nothing, we have a great chance here, John, don't let it get buried under all this paperwork. If Randall finds Larry..." His voice trailed off.
Clearance. That meant only one thing, Nichols was trying to get Larry into the Vatican where no one, especially a collector like Randall could touch him, and that sounded good to Jeff.
"John... John? Damn it!" Nichols appeared in the doorway to the living room looking flustered and unless Jeff was mistaken, close to tears, he snapped the mobile phone shut in his hand and rested himself against the frame and let out a long breath. Cardinal Vaughn had obviously hung up. Which meant no clearance, So it looked like at least another week here before they could get to safety. God, Larry would love that. Nichols was defiantly close to tears, he rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands, he looked up as Peroni came out of the kitchen, her face still red with fury. She shrugged as if to say 'Well?' Nichols just weary shook his head in response and Peroni said something sharply in Italian which had to be an obscenity judging by the venom in her voice.
Of all the things Jeff had seen and heard over the last couple of days, this was perhaps the most disturbing. Two of the strongest people he had ever met so disillusioned, they almost looked defeated before the battle had even begun, hardly the best way to face such an unknown enemy. Jeff watched them both, so deflated after a moment they hugged and Nichols said something softly to Peiorni in Italian which Jeff did not understand.
"I know," Peroni replied in English, "But we cannot give in, Father."
"I suppose," Nichols said sounding less than sure, "But we don't have a choice, do we?"
"Like you said, we can always walk away," Peroni said.
"That's not an option I'm willing to take," Nichols said with a shake of the head.
It was only now Jeff realized he had been holding his breath, he suddenly felt like a trespasser in this most personal of moments between the two. Finally they both went back inside the living room and Jeff could breathe again.
It seemed to Jeff even their so called own side was against them in this. So Jeffrey, he asked himself. Why? And much to his surprise the answer came quickly. There were two very good reasons right there in that room, and another very sarcastic one freezing his balls off outside keeping watch. Good people, despite everything willing to press on no matter what the cost to help a lost soul like Larry McCulloch. Did he deserve their help? God no, and he certainly wouldn't thank them for it. But Jeff didn't care, this wasn't about McCulloch or the Vatican bureaucrats, or even in the end about the fight against evil. This was about the Men (and Woman) next to you. Father Nichols, Peroni and Lewis, they were why he was still here and why he would stay to the bitter end.
The revelation felt good and with it the weight lifted from his shoulders. Jeff got to his feet and rubbed the life back into his numb legs, it was time to relieve Lewis outside, a job he usually hated but not tonight. So what if they had to wait a few more days for those pencil pushers in the Vatican to clear their precious paperwork and get them out of here, he could happily hold on now that the path ahead wasn't so twisted.
And although he was thankful things were clearer in his head now, he still had one niggling regret. He had wasted thirty pounds on a bottle of whiskey for that ungrateful so-un-so upstairs. Oh, well he would just have to file that expense under idiot tax. Not a cheap lesson but one still worth learning.