Psychic Readings the brass plate proclaimed apologetically. Lettering dull with age, edges streaked with mildew, there was an old forgotten air about the sign while still retaining a tempting hint of the unknown. The name Madam Pandora engraved in faded italics below was so weathered, without the printed plastic name slot beside the doorbell it would have been impossible to decipher. Belinda viewed her sign with satisfaction. It was the perfect final touch, just as she had envisioned. The engraver had been expensive but worth every penny. She had given equal care and consideration to the décor of the rented ground floor apartment. Should it be a darkly mysterious Victorian portal to the afterlife? Or brightly modern, suggesting near instant transportation to Sunlit Uplands? In the end she had opted for an intermediate design of middle-income security with a touch of dowdiness thrown in to indicate honesty and thrift. The Finders had been interviewed and selected, though Don with customary enthusiasm had already pre-emptied their first efforts, quartering the richer areas of the city to hand pick an initial list of prospective clients. The set up had taken longer than she had expected and cost more than anticipated, but at last they were ready. The game could begin.
Belinda and Don had worked the scam game together for the past five years, ever since they had tried to take each other one night at a medical convention in Florida. Belinda remembered it perfectly. After ensuring the marks had brought their wives along for the ride she had been luring the middle aged doctors to her bed with the aim of a little one shot blackmail. While Don had been playing the dashing young charity executive, desperately working against a crisis deadline to raise funds for sick African children. They had met in the hotel bar, seen though each other in moments, felt an instant mutual attraction and taken the night off for steamy sex with room service. By morning a bond of sorts had been formed and they had worked together ever since. Both had similar backgrounds, brought up in ghetto societies, joining the neighbourhood gangs at an early age for self-protection before later using their innate cunning to lift them out of the slums to broader, more rewarding horizons. Each was highly intelligent, streetwise and totally lacking in humanity. It was an ideal partnership and whatever vestige of feelings they possessed were directed to each other.
Over the years they had criss crossed the country, leaving a wake of broken hopes and ruined households from scams ranging from worthless health insurance policies to guaranteed protection against mortgage foreclosure. When things grew too hot in the insurance field they switched to fraudulent property and share transactions. Always selecting their marks with care, going to great lengths to check assets and liquidity before moving in for the kill. Devoid of scruple or conscience they wasted no time on consideration or sympathy for their victims. To them a mark was a mark and whether they had a family to look after, were sick or disabled was of no consequence. Satisfaction came through good planning, the kicks with the kill and guilt played no part in the proceedings.
Not that they went out of their way to hurt people other than financially. There had been many scams using the Internet or newspapers where the sums involved were often less than ten dollars. But they used them rarely for although nice little earners in their way they involved large numbers of people with attendant heavy workloads and lacked the excitement of larger well-planned operations. They had just concluded a long-term scam in the death announcement field, sending letters of condolence along with a small outstanding bill of never more than nine odd dollars to the bereaved widow or husband. The sum was so small it was rarely passed to executors and usually settled automatically by return. But to make the profits worthwhile meant posting a good hundred letters a day which even with the aide of computer printing and data filing still involved a great deal of work. It had been Don’s idea and so up to him to decide when to call it a day, but when he finally announced it was time to close down and move on Belinda had heaved a sigh of relief. For now it was her turn and she had come up with a beauty. The scam involved a high degree of acting but Belinda was a natural actress who might well have made a successful career on stage had she worked at it. But she had lacked the necessary grit and determination to stay the course and opted for the easier and more immediate rewards of crime. Even so, show business that had provided her name. Her pregnant mother had been briefly employed as a dresser to the minor lunch time soap star Belinda Bailey, and though show, actress and job had sunk without trace within six months, the fleeting involvement with celebrity had left its mark on her mother and subsequently on her.
The Medium Scam was one of the more noted and documented frauds in the business. In the same way financial scams were best conducted in the vicinities of Wall Street or Park Avenue. The Klondike for bogus religions, sects, gurus and séances was the wealthy suburbs of Los Angeles. With birth pangs stretching back to the early twentieth century spiritualism had long been recognised as one of the top evergreen earners in the trade and Belinda had set her sights on running one for a quite a while. In the old days the primitive aids of hidden microphones, ectoplasm, along with assistants swathed in ghostly sheets were enough to separate the gullible from their money. Now things were not so simple. A detailed and meticulously researched data base on the subject’s background, financial holdings and family history was essential. But only after a double check to iron out any possible remaining errors was the completed file condensed on computer disk to run through an infra red converter on a fake wall mirror hung behind the mark. Belinda could then look over their shoulders and with the aid of specially coated infra red glasses and a transistorised mouse disguised as a ring on her little finger; scroll down a list of headings to click on whichever was relevant at any given moment.
Even though hand movement was minimal to ensure the subject’s attention was not distracted she insisted on giving psychometry readings as her method for contacting the Other Side. Caressing some object belonging to the mark, or better yet the deceased in her other hand to hold any wandering attention. The results on the marks were mind blowing as Belinda could conjure up long dead relatives and associates, not only describing them perfectly from old photographs reflected in the mirror but matching them to long forgotten events and even conversations filched from diaries and deliberately selected for their secret and personal natures. Don had done an excellent job on selecting reliable Finders from the staff of many exclusive nursing homes, expensive restaurants, and funeral parlours in the Los Angeles area. None of whom knew the real purpose behind their monthly payments, but Don insured the payments were generous enough to ensure that few of the unhappy rich or unstable bereaved escaped the net.
Belinda let herself into the apartment and went directly to the consulting room to check her appointments. There was plenty of time as she never held a consultation before six. People’s point of resistance was always at lower ebb by the end of the day. But she liked to read through the mark’s file and familiarise herself with their most vulnerable points before each session began. Her lips twitched with amusement at the name, Mrs Augean Darling. Where on earth did anyone come up with a name like Augean, for Christ’s sake! Shaking her head she flipped the file open then frowned. The pages were blank; the God damned printer must have run out of ink. There was no one to blame but herself as for obvious reasons they never employed help in the office. Even so as a focused and methodical person who prided herself on attention to detail she was surprised at the slip up. Probably something to do with all those indigestion attacks she had been suffering lately, which were enough to distract anyone. As if by an association of ideas she was hit by another wave of excruciating pain. Belinda flopped in the desk chair, rummaging frantically in her bag for the antacid tablets and emptied the remainder of the bottle directly in her mouth, crunching the tablets like potato crisps before taking a swig of water from the carafe on the desk to wash them down.
For a while she sat without moving, willing the pain to subside and wishing Don was around for help and support. But he was away in Aspen Colorado looking into a possible property scam to take them through the winter. Not that they needed the money, but for quite a while now the business had become a kind of financial treadmill which neither of them knew how to get off. The medium game alone had proved more profitable than their wildest dreams, with the Distressed and Brutalised Orphan Fund already richer by more than $450,000. Belinda could tell if she had a donating sucker in the first five minutes and immediately concentrated on any recently deceased youth or missing family member before casually mentioning the Distressed and Brutalised Orphan Fund towards the end of the session.
‘How kind, what a generous thought,’ she would dab dry eyes shielded behind the tinted glasses with a corner of her handkerchief, ‘the little ones will appreciate your generosity so. Please, there is no need to write the entire name, if you would just make out the cheque to DAB that will be just fine. We always try our best to simplify things.’
They had many accounts in many names, but it gave Belinda a special kick to watch total strangers writing cheques for ten and sometimes even twenty five thousand dollars to Don and Belinda. Sometimes she almost found herself liking them. If the mark proved uncooperative she would shorten the session to twenty minutes, accepting the £50 dollar fee before sending the offenders on their way with a few renewed unpleasant memories they had long since managed to forget. The pain was easing now, thank God, once she had finished with this Mrs Augean Darling she would go straight to the local pharmacy, see if they had something stronger. Then tomorrow she would bite the bullet and see a doctor, get the problem sorted once and for all. Much as she hated the idea of doctors no one could go on like this. Taking a real mirror from the desk drawer she pulled on a black haired wig with a severe bun at the back and changed her lipstick to a dark mauve. Then donning the tinted glasses to give her eyes time to adjust she settled back to wait. Most people assumed the art of disguise required endless pots of powders and greasepaint. Ideal for actors who wanted to draw attention to themselves, but the true art lay in being forgettable or remembered as someone else. And for that a change of hair, clothes, lipstick, glasses or contact lenses were all the props a skilled operator required. Dusk was falling and it was almost time. Belinda closed the curtains and switched on the table lamps, their pools of light gave the room a warm homey appearance while leaving the desk in shadow. The doorbell chimed softly. One last critical sweeping glance then satisfied everything was in place she went to answer it.
‘Madam Pandora?’ The woman smiled, she had beautiful teeth, but then she was beautiful everywhere, with a presence of the great about her. Like an international film star or model, totally at ease and in command of herself. She was also young which was unusual as most marks tended to be in their fifties and sixties, yet despite her air of maturity this woman seemed in her early twenties. A momentary sense of unease swept through Belinda, then the woman held out hand dripping with diamonds and the feeling evaporated.
‘Mrs Darling?’ The question was automatic, ‘please, do come in.’ Belinda led the way to the consulting room, indicating the comfortable armchair across the desk. ‘You must have made your appointment through my personal secretary or I would have remembered your name. Who could forget a beautiful name like Augean,’ she smiled, ‘it’s so unusual. Does it have family connections? She cocked her head in pretended interest.
‘Not really, though I believe it’s been around where I work for a while and originally had something to do with the Boss,’ Mrs Darling gave a depreciating smile.
‘Really? How interesting,’ Belinda smiled back, moving smoothly to the business in hand. ‘But the main reason I asked is providing you have no objection, I would prefer to call you Augean throughout the séance. Earthly manners and etiquette have no place in the spirit world where all is love and understanding. So the sooner we dispense with the unnecessary clutter and barriers of our physical world the sooner progress can be made.’
‘Fine, sounds reasonable to me,” the woman nodded, ‘ Augean it is then, I have no objection.’
‘I’m so glad, I had a premonition you would understand,’ Belinda beamed; a good dollop of mumbo jumbo never went amiss. ‘Now Augean, at this moment I always ask communicants to give me some item to hold, something perhaps that was important to a dear one since passed on, or failing that some deeply cherished article of your own. I don’t know whether my secretary explained this procedure to you, but like many other mediums I find what we call psychometry the best conduit to the spirit world. The physical touch of a cherished or mutually admired object often quickens the connection between passed over loved ones and those left behind. Anything will do, providing it is close and important to you and ideally still retains the vibrations of the dear departed one. Not that the last part is essential’ Belinda neatly covered both options holding out her left hand expectantly while secretly activating the ring mouse with the other.
Augean reached behind her neck, undid the clasp of a thin silver chain and placed a small gold cross studded with seed pearls in the waiting hand. ‘I hope this will suffice, it holds rich and poignant memories that fill your requirements.’
Belinda took the necklace; it was pleasantly warm from the mark’s neck and felt strangely soothing. ‘I feel a faint presence beginning to materialise,’ she intoned at once. ‘Yes, yes, he is coming though more clearly now. A young man I think, perhaps even a young boy.’ There were always plenty of both in everyone’s background which made it a dead cert for a starter. She clicked the mouse to open the background heading for more details, but nothing happened, the mirror remained crystal clear. Belinda rapped the ring sharply on the desk, if push came to shove she could always improvise, go back to the old fashioned knock routine, once for yes twice for no, but it didn’t go down too well nowadays. But still nothing happened; the mouse was dead as a dodo. Shit! That was all she needed, first the printer and now the damned computer was on the blink. Bloody typical, it would happen when Don was away. He was the only one who understood what made the cranky thing tick. The hell with it, there was nothing for it, without some sort of backup even knocking was out. She would have to close down and take a couple of days off until he got back. But Belinda was a true professional; almost without thinking she went into the feeling dizzy prior to fainting routine which would bring the session to a close without losing the mark. Usually sympathetic concern brought them back at a later date.
‘Come along, Belinda, pull yourself together and stop all this nonsense! It’s not as though it will make any difference, things are long past that stage.’ Augean voice was kind but firm.
‘Christ, the cops! Alarm bells rang in Belinda’s head. But how? Who had squealed? Her mind changed gear, racing for an explanation. Then the answer blazed through her brain like a comet smacking her in the face like a wet fish. It had to be Don! Why that greedy conniving bastard, he must have planned the whole thing, made the appointment for the cops with plans to scoop the pot and do a runner while she was locked away. There was no other way the cop could know her name, apart from Don no one did. She had always made a point of never ever using it. Just wait till she got her hands round that crummy squealing bastard’s neck, she would teach him how to bloody squeal.’
‘No, dear, don’t blame Don; he had nothing to do with it. Nor did anyone else. Your time that ran out that’s all. Look down there on the floor by your chair if you don’t believe me. Your heart was the problem I’m afraid, dear, not indigestion.’
Taking care to keep one eye on the cop, Belinda shot a quick glance at the floor and her mind reeled with shock. Another one of her was lying there doubled up on the carpet, mouth half open like a stranded fish with an unhealthy bluish tinge to her face.
‘I’m sorry, dear; it’s always apt to come as a bit of a shock when you’re not expecting it.’ Mrs Darling’s voice was filled with sympathy.
‘Are you telling me what I think you’re trying to tell me, or am I having a nightmare?’ Belinda’s voice had a distinct wobble, but deep down she knew.
‘I’m afraid so, dear, you have just joined those departed ones you were so eloquent about a few moments earlier.’ Mrs Darling seemed to be having some difficulty controlling a smile.
Belinda took a deep breath, she had her faults but cowardice wasn’t one of them. ‘OK, I get it. Now what? Do I go straight to Hell, or do I have my day in court first, Mrs Darling?’ She drawled the name out in one last sarcastic show of defiance.
‘Of course you will have your day in court,’ Mrs Darling ignored the sarcasm, her voice filled with compassion. ‘ though I fear it won’t be easy. There will be no lawyers, no jury, and you will be the only judge after you witness every detail of your life, the reasons for each action you made, and the effect those actions had on the lives of others. And you will view it all dispassionately, without the protective shield of emotional explanation. Then when you decide the trial is over, it is you alone who will make the judgement.’
‘Well, even if I get to look at things my way I guess I’ll still have to do time. How long do you think I’ll give myself?’ Belinda was a practical girl.
‘Things don’t quite work that way here; everything takes as long as it takes. There are no time restrictions, how long it takes is up to you. But I’ll be here when you get back and if you ever feel the need of a friend in the meantime you only have to call.’ She smiled, ‘I’ll be there in a flash, I promise.’
‘I might just hold you to that,” Belinda muttered under her breath then aloud added. ‘Before I go would you mind telling me just where you came up with that crazy name? I have a weird feeling it has something to do with all this. Am I right or am I right? Does it some special significance over here?’
Mrs Darling laughed, ‘well yes, it does stand for something quite significant over here; it’s a job title you might say. I was in a rush when you suddenly decided to join us and needed a name in a hurry, so I made up an anagram of the first thing that came into my head. When you find a free moment you might try solving it, if nothing else it might help you understand things.’
Anagram? Was the women nuts? She would get through her sentence OK without wasting time on solving some dumb anagram. Belinda shook her head, pity Don wasn’t around though; she could have done with some friendly support right now. Still, she had always been a dab hand at crosswords and anagrams came like second nature. Curiosity won and she quickly ran Augean Darling through her head before turning to Augean in bemused amazement.
‘Guardian Angel for God’s Sake?’ She shook her head in denial. ‘Considering where I’m going it seems to me you could do with a lengthy refresher course, Augean.’ With a bitter smile Belinda turned to the door which had appeared from nowhere beside her. Well it wouldn’t be the first time she had faced the unknown on her own. To hell with it, she’d show them. Taking a deep breath she reached for the handle.
‘Er not that one I’m afraid, dear,’ Mrs Darling called sympathetically, ‘ that is not now, not until you come back. Right now you need the other door…on your left.’