Death, the Devil, and the Goldfish (4 page)

An hour later, after he had grown tired of shouting at the lamppost, and the mailbox proved unresponsive, Death decided that he'd had quite enough.

He'd talked the whole thing over with God just a month ago, but the talk had done no good. God was infallible and omnipotent (not to be confused with the word
impotent
, which is a common disorder found in older men), and therefore knew when, where, and how everything in the entire world was going to happen, throughout the existence of all time. When Death tried to plead his case, God, knowing how this whole thing was to end, simply sat there with a whimsical smile on His face. Death asked what he should do and God just patted him on the head and told him that it probably wasn’t worth worrying about. Then He wandered off whistling happily to Himself.

That actually succeeded in calming Death down for a while, but lately things had just been getting worse and everything all sort of culminated when he realized that he was somewhat of a glorified doorman and that he was standing on a lonely street in the middle of Ireland shouting at a lamppost. But the thing that really bit into him, the one thing about his job that had been burning up inside of him, was that when he guided people up or down, not once, not even once in a thousand years, had anyone said so much as a thank you.

And so, after a lot of alcohol, provoking by the local townsfolk, and a long conversation with a suspicious-looking cat, Death, The Angel of Death, The Grim Reaper, The Guide to the Afterlife himself, decided that he'd had enough. And right there on the spot, he quit.

Detective Nigel Amadeus Reinhardt felt nervous. Everyone got nervous. Women got nervous when there were spiders around. Men got nervous when there were women around. This little predicament covered neither of those situations, yet Nigel continued to be nervous. With good reason. Nigel currently found himself hanging upside down over the edge of a seven-story building, and the only thing preventing the well-known effects of gravity was a large man named Big Ernie.

Big Ernie was named Big Ernie for one simple and obvious reason. He was big. Not big, as in
I wouldn't want to sit next to that overly large man on a long plane journey because his girth would eventually crush me
big, more like
I wouldn't want to sit next to that overly large man on a long plane ride as he looks like he could remove my head with his bare hands
kind of big. That was not his only asset; he also happened to be a tremendous flute player and volunteered at the old folk's home on the weekends. Not something he particularly enjoyed doing, but his Mum, Big Priscilla, said he had to do it to build character. Aside from the flute playing and assisting the old people to get to the bathroom, Big Ernie also worked for a loan shark. Something he kept from his mother, as he knew she had a fear of sharks. The loan shark's name was Norman but everyone called him Itch.

Itch was half the size of Big Ernie but twice as loud. Local opinion held that Itch sounded very much like one of those small, fluffy white dogs, the kind seen in heavily guarded, gated communities where rich people brag about golf scores and their new Persian rug.

Big Ernie liked working for Itch for two reasons; firstly, Itch paid him very well, and secondly, Itch often let Big Ernie hold people upside down off the edge of tall buildings. Sometimes he hung them upside down over short buildings; it generally depended on the location they happened to be in. He enjoyed this very much and was quite happy to dangle Detective Reinhardt in this position for as long a time period as required.

Despite the awkward situation and the general nervousness associated with the current situation, Nigel took everything rather well. Outwardly, he appeared almost calm. That gift got Nigel through school, college, and then university virtually unscathed. No matter what the situation, no matter how traumatic, he could simply stuff his hands in his pockets, nod confidently and knowingly, and ask people if they'd like a cup of tea. That usually caused people to believe that he knew something that they didn't, and so they left him alone.

A bird flew past the suspended Nigel and thought it a bit peculiar for people to be hanging off buildings, especially so close to lunchtime. That same bird was later shot up the bottom by a deranged old lady who had recently been deceased.

The ability to remain calm during a crisis proved to be a remarkable survival tactic that also got him through the Police Academy Criminal Psychology Program. And this same skill landed him a good position at the local police station in northern London. That, and an extremely high IQ. This skill, however, had nothing to do with the unfortunate predicament in which he now found himself. Anyone who ever had a vague acquaintance with Nigel would say that despite all of his good qualities, there were two areas in his life where he showed immense weakness: gambling and girls; the latter bordered on a psychological problem and the former was a worldwide crisis that no one would ever solve. Nigel had only ever loved one girl. As bad luck would have it, that same girl broke his heart and left him emotionally buggered up.

A telepathic message suddenly originated from somewhere in London. The message flew from its origin in search of someone specific to connect with. The message had a bit of trouble finding its intended recipient because, at that precise moment, that particular person was hanging upside down off a building. The phrase
beware the elf
suddenly ran through Nigel's head as the message found its destination. He thought that to be quite strange. Itch was fairly short, but by no means an elf. Nigel dismissed the thought and blamed it on the altitude and all the blood in his body rushing quickly to his head.

Coincidentally, the reason for Nigel suddenly reaching new heights was due to his gambling problem, a problem that he successfully managed to hide from his co-workers on the force and his superiors due to the fact that he'd be fired on the spot, professionally humiliated, and discharged in disgrace from his position if the truth were ever revealed. True, he would be a great loss to the department; true, he'd miss the job; and looking back, he should probably just have forgotten about gambling altogether, but he couldn't. It was too much fun, it gave him a rush, and he was, plainly and simply, addicted. Dealing with psychopaths and general loonies day in and day out simply wasn't enough to occupy his mind. Tracking down serial killers was almost a mundane task to Nigel. But pulling down that handle and watching the fruit spin, that was truly an awesome life-fulfilling experience. Hitting just one more time to see how close he could actually get to twenty-one without busting, that was a pure thrill. Watching the ball go around and around at the roulette table, mind-blowing.

Another bird flew by, and the thought briefly entered its mind that London may not be the best place for it to be living. Too many strange folk. This same bird was later crushed by a man sitting on a desk. But for now, it began to make plans to move to a warmer climate where people didn't hang off buildings quite as much. Maybe Greece, or it had been told that Venice was nice at this time of year.

Itch paced back and forth along the edge of the building. Itch was short and chubby but had a mean streak that stretched for a mile. Some days, two miles.

"So," Itch said, "how does it feel to be hanging upside down off the edge of a building, detective?"

"Quite refreshing, thank you for asking," replied Nigel. "I've been a bit on the sluggish side these past few days and these last couple of minutes have been a real eye-opener. Really, thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Nigel grinned and attempted to continue remaining calm by placing his hands in his suit pockets, something that looked more awkward than calm. A gentle breeze caused Nigel to sway ever so slightly.

Big Ernie decided he should put his two cents in.

"You're behind on your payments, my friend!" he said. Big Ernie wasn't all that smart, so Itch compiled a list of menacing one-liners that he could blurt out at the customers anytime he felt the need.

Nigel tried to adjust himself a little and straightened his tie.

"Yes, I realize that, and I promise I'll have the money to you by Sunday at the latest."

"Is that the best you can come up with?" said Itch. "You owe me a total of fifty thousand pounds! If you don't have the money right now, how do you expect to get it before Sunday?"

"It'd be in your best interest to pay us," said Big Ernie.

"Yes, I realize that, Big Ernie, thanks for reminding me. The way I see things, you have two options. The first would be to have Ernie here—"

"Big Ernie," corrected Big Ernie.

"Yes, sorry, Big Ernie, absolutely. Like I was saying, the first would be to have Big Ernie here let go of me and see whether or not I can figure out how to defy gravity in under three seconds."

The wind picked up a little more, causing Nigel to sway and Big Ernie to switch arms.

"The second option, and the one I highly recommend, is that you don't drop me off this rather tall building, and you let me live at least until Sunday so that you can get the money that you are owed."

Itch stopped pacing. "And how exactly do you plan to obtain this money, as I have it on good authority that you are completely broke and don't have a penny to your name?"

Nigel brushed a speck of non-existent dust off the lapel of his jacket and looked up at Itch.

"That's hardly your concern, is it? You see, all that matters to you is that you have the money, all fifty thousand pounds, in your hands by Sunday. If, for example, I didn't happen to have your money by Sunday, you would then be free to fling me off any building you like. Now, if I were an Australian flying squirrel, getting flung off a building of any sort would be quite all right as I could just glide my furry little body to safety, correct?"

The question caught Itch off guard, and he felt that he was beginning to lose control of the conversation, so he answered quickly, just to make sure he was still involved. "Yes, I suppose that would be correct."

Nigel continued with what most people would refer to as reckless abandon. "That's right. But, as we both know, I'm not an Australian flying squirrel, nor am I small or fuzzy. If flung off a building, I'd probably just end up dying. In which case you wouldn't get your money, and I would never again be able to make a large gamble that I couldn't afford, which in turn would cause me to borrow money off you that I would then have to pay back with interest, right?"

Nigel could sense Itch's brain fighting with itself in complete confusion. Inflicting confusion was another of Nigel's gifts, and one he was quite proud of, although it really served no meaningful purpose aside from providing cheap entertainment and, if in the right situation, convincing a loan shark not to throw Nigel off a building.

"Hang on a sec," said Itch, "what was that bit about the squirrel again?"

"Okay, you've got me. How about this? We just agree that I pay you all the money back on Sunday?"

Itch thought about the proposal for a second, and then decided that he must have won the conversation after all. "The whole amount by Sunday or hanging off the edge of buildings will be the least of your problems."