Gideon's Lodgings

Sebastian Gloom
Part Six

Gloom and Jake arrived back at the museum just before midday. They found Alfred, Jake's father and Gloom's housekeeper, helping the charcoalman unload three new bags of charcoal into the alcove behind the steam wheelchair's storage bay, under the watchful gaze of Daisy Turner, the charcoalman's daughter. “Hi, Daisy!” said Jake happily. “How you doing?”
“Great, Jake!” replied the girl. “Hello, Mister Gloom.”
“Hello, Daisy,” replied Gloom, grateful to Jake for providing her name. “Glad to meet you.” He'd never met the girl before, he’d always been either in the building or out and about town during deliveries.
“Are you still coming with me to Davey's tomorrow?” asked Jake.
“Of course! Looking forward to it!” The girl skipped forward and put her arms around Jake's neck. “Maybe we can slip away from the others for a little while, just you and me...”
Jake blushed in a way that Gloom found quite charming and he smiled to himself as the girl kissed the boy on the cheek. She was even sootier than Jake and left a black smudge on the side of his face. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close, but the girl's father barked at him and he let her go hurriedly. “Get on the cart!” He ordered his daughter.
Daisy waved goodbye to Jake as she climbed aboard, and then the charcoalman climbed into the driver's seat and picked up the reins. He gave them a flick and the horses pulled the wagon out into the street and off to their next customer.
“Davey's dad is a sailor,” Jake explained as they parked the steam wheelchair in its alcove and the boy helped Gloom into his indoor wheelchair. “He just got back from the south seas and he always brings stuff back with him. Everyone goes there to see what he's got. The last time he had a collection of shrunken heads from Borneo and a voodoo priest's mask. He let me try it on!”
“Educational and entertaining,” said Gloom approvingly. “I wouldn't mind seeing his collection myself.”
“Maybe you can come too. I'm sure he’d like to meet you.”
“Some other time, maybe. I wouldn’t want to come between you and Daisy.” Jake grinned again and pushed the wheelchair into the building.
They found Benson to be still asleep, so they went to the bathrooms to get cleaned up and changed. Charcoal burns very cleanly, producing very little smoke, but they both still had soot on their skin and clothes, and Jake's hands were black from handling the charcoal. While Doreen, Jake's mother and the museum's cook, filled two bathtubs with hot water, therefore, Jake helped Gloom get undressed and then took off his own clothes. His scrawny body was white, in stark contrast with his sooty face and arms.
The boy helped Gloom into his bathtub, but he washed his hands in a washbasin before getting into his own bath, so that the soot wouldn’t leave his body dirtier than it been before. Gloom looked down at his withered legs and the limp, useless tube of his penis, then looked at Jake. His legs were toned and muscular, and his penis was twitching with the beginnings of an erection. He was evidently still thinking of Daisy. It occurred to Gloom that, even though the boy was only fourteen, he might already have lain with a girl, something that Gloom had never done, nor could ever do.
The old, familiar rage began to rise within him again. The unfairness that he couldn’t enjoy the pleasures that other men took for granted. Was it the malice of God that polio had struck him down at such a young age, or was it nothing more than dumb luck? Which would be worse? And his legs! He could go nowhere without his wheelchair, like an infant in his pram! It was humiliating and degrading! He hated the wheelchair, even his splendid steam wheelchair! It attracted admiring stares wherever he went, but they had no idea what it was like to be confined to it, to be so helpless and dependent! The rage grew and grew inside him and he allowed it to grow, having long since learned the trick of dealing with it. He made himself get angry, imagined himself taking terrible vengeance on the whole world, and suddenly the rage burst like a soap bubble, leaving him feeling empty and a little foolish.
I'm not so helpless, he told himself. I broke into Father Anthony's office with no help from anyone, and I've put dozens of crooks in prison. I'm not helpless, I'm a predator, and I prey on the very worst of humanity! The thought made him feel better, and he got to the task of washing himself.
Half an hour later Jake helped him out of the bath, helped him dry and dress himself, and then got dressed himself. Then, clean and wearing clean clothes, they were once again ready to face the world. “I won't be needing you again today, Jake,” Gloom told the boy. “You can go back to school. Tell me, how are you getting on there?”
“Great,” replied the boy. “Mister Summers says I'm one of his best pupils. He doesn't even mind all the classes I miss, because of all the things you teach me. He says looking after you is better for me than homework.”
“That's good,” said Gloom. ‘Your education is important, and I don't want to hurt it. Off you go then.” The boy nodded and hurried off along the corridor.
Benson was still asleep, so Gloom went to his office to research another of his cases, one on which he’d been working for more than a year. He’d hit a dead end while investigating the disappearance of Hilda Robinson, the wife of Captain Robinson of the Devonshire Regiment, an event that the Captain thought might be the result of a family curse. Gloom had had some experience with curses, but he was sceptical that this case had any kind of occult explanation. He had taken the case nonetheless, but with a total lack of success. His one remaining hope was that her personal diaries might hold a clue, and so he had sent a letter asking the Captain to send them to him.
The husband had hesitated for a long time before complying. He had read them himself and had assured Gloom that they held nothing that shed light on the case. Respect for her privacy made him extremely reluctant to allow them to be read by a stranger, but his last remaining hope was that the investigator would spot something that he had missed. A package containing the diaries had therefore arrived a few days ago, and Gloom opened it to find a dozen small books filled with neat handwriting. He opened the first diary, the one containing the most recent entries, and began to read.
He quickly became engrossed with the trivia of Mrs Robinsons life to such an extent that he was unaware of Benson's entry into the room, and the manservant had to clear his throat several times before Gloom was aware of him. “Ah! You're up!” He laid the diary aside with some regret and turned his mind back to their current case. “Are you ready for another foray against the forces of darkness?”
“Just lead the way,” the manservant replied with a smile.
“I'm afraid I'm going to have to send you alone again. I have some familiarity with the Cheetham Hill area and it's not an area that I can enter without attracting attention. Do you think you’re up to a little housebreaking on your own?”
“I'm pretty sure I can handle it. Just give me the man's address.”
Gloom did so. “It’s an apartment block, in the middle of the top floor. Each floor has ten apartments, so anyone who sees you will probably think you live in one of the other apartments. If he's an honest man, with nothing to do with our investigation, then he'll almost certainly be out. Either working or down the pub. The mother will probably have a job too, unless she has small children...”
Benson nodded. “I come from that kind of life, if you remember.”
Gloom smiled apologetically. “Yes, of course. If it is him, and if the police picked up his two partners, then he'll be alone, but if he knows they've been picked up he'll probably have run. Our only hope then will be that he left some kind of clue behind. Something we can use to keep following his trail. I suppose the police did pick them up?”
“I left an anonymous tip off that there were crooks there. No way of knowing whether they followed up on it. If they didn't there might be three of them there waiting for me.”
“Maybe you should take your friend MacNally with you.”
“He has a job, working security for the Burlington Trading Company. He can't afford to lose it, he has a wife and children to support. I'll be okay. I’ll observe from a distance. I won't go anywhere near the place until I know how many people are in there.”
“Just be careful. These are dangerous people.”
“I'm dangerous as well.”
Gloom nodded. He’d seen how true that was many times over the years. He bade him farewell, therefore, and Benson went off to get ready.

☆☆☆

Benson changed into some dirty working clothes before leaving the museum, so that he’d blend into the area he was going to. He waved down a cab and settled into the back seat while the driver slapped the horse’s reins and they clattered off down the road. The driver chatted amiably to him as they went, explaining exactly what the Prime Minister had to do to put the Empire to rights, and Benson grunted his agreement in all the right places while looking out the window. At one point he realised that the driver had asked him a question and was waiting for a reply. “Probably,” he said, hoping it would fit the question, whatever it had been. The puzzled look on the driver's face as he looked around at him told him that it hadn’t been.
He had the driver drop him off on Progress Road, partly to get away from him but mostly because he wanted to get an idea of the lay of the land while he walked the rest of the way. He went into the pub, bought a beer and went outside to drink it while he examined the apartment block in which a man called Gideon lived. A man who may or may not have been the man they were looking for. He examined the narrow road going past the building and the even narrower pavement in front of it. He examined the iron frame stairs going up the sides of the buildings, the walkways along the front of the building going past grimy doors and windows and all the people, mainly children, walking, running and playing in all these areas. When he’d finished his beer he got up and walked around the building, finding a gloomy, rubbish strewn alley around the back separating it from the apartment block in the next street and with two sheer walls of moss covered brick that went up and up to a narrow crack of daylight far above. Dozens of washing lines crossed the gap, each line shared, he presumed, by two families in opposite apartments who would take turns to use it, reeling the washing in like a flag up a flag pole.
After twenty minutes or so he was as familiar with the area as if he’d lived there all his life. There was no point in delaying any longer, therefore, and he made for the stairs that climbed up the side of Gideon’s apartment block. Each step clanged noisily under his feet, and other people using the stairs stared at him suspiciously as he passed. Benson kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes on his feet. Enclosed in his own little world, unknowing and uncaring of the wider world around him. He gave the impression of a man whose entire world consisted of labouring in a factory, drinking most of his money away when the whistle blew and going home only to eat and sleep, perhaps having sex with his wife if he felt like it and clouting the kids if they annoyed him. He knew that not all the working classes were like that, but enough of them were that his disguise worked and the people he passed paid no further attention to him.
At the top of the stairs he walked along the iron walkway, and when he came to number 836 he paused beside its window to light a cigarette. Children screamed and laughed as they chased each other up and down the walkway, and a few doors further along a woman with a shawl around her shoulders was busy scrubbing the front door step with a scrubbing brush that she occasionally dipped into a bowl of water. Benson couldn't see that her step was any dirtier or cleaner than any of the others, though.
As he took a deep drag on his cigarette he turned a little to bring the window into his line of sight, without making it too obvious that he was looking that way. It was dark inside, so that most of the room inside was hidden by the reflection of the sky, but he could see enough to see that the room was empty, unless there was a man standing against the wall right beside the window, which in fact there was. One of Gideon’s henchmen had seen him looking in, and he dashed quietly into a back room where the others were waiting. They jumped to their feet as he entered. “It’s him! He hissed. “The inspector who tied us up!”
“You sure?”
“Of course I'm sure!”
“Right!” said the other, pulling a pistol from his belt and checking to make sure it was loaded. “Good! This is where he gets his.”
“How many of them?” asked Gideon.
“Just the one, I think. Looks like he came alone.”
“He must be lonely then. Let's go give him some company.”
Outside, Benson got ready to burst in through the door. He took one last look around first, to make sure there were no concerned neighbours who might come to Gideon's aid, and he froze as he saw three men just arriving at the top of the stairs, turning to come in his direction. Father Anthony, dressed in a normal working man's clothes, and two others dressed similarly. Benson cursed and walked casually away from them until he reached the door to the next apartment. Without hesitating, acting as if he lived there, he opened the door and went in.
There was a young woman breast feeding a baby. Benson ran over to her and clapped a hand over her mouth before she could scream. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he assured the terrified woman. “I just need to hide here for a moment. I'm not going to hurt you. Do you understand?” She nodded. “I'm going to take my hand away now. Please don’t make any sound. Nod your head if you understand.” She nodded and he slowly removed his hand, ready to replace it if she tried to scream again.
She grabbed her blouse, one arm over her breasts, and put it on while Benson returned to the door to peer cautiously out. The three church men had paused outside the door to Gideon's apartment and Father Anthony was whispering something to the others. He saw them nodding, and then pull back a little to draw pistols from their pockets as the priest turned to face the door. He kicked it open with a blow of his boot and the three men ran in, to be met with gunfire from inside. One of the church men fell, a spray of blood erupting from his back as the bullet passed straight through, but the others got in and immediately took cover, firing back at the occupants.
The violence confused the manservant. He'd thought the priest had just come to collect the bottle. Perhaps there was come kind of disagreement over the price. By the sound of it, the battle was more or less evenly matched and the combatants were giving it everything they had on both sides. He heard a gunshot and a cry of pain, the sound of a body falling, then more gunshots. Behind him, the woman grabbed her baby and fled into a back room.
The gunfire stopped, but the sounds of violence continued, the fighting now being hand to hand, Benson presumed. The priest and his surviving companion probably didn't want to kill Gideon before he could tell them where the bottle was, but that would put them at a disadvantage against an opponent who had shown no reluctance to kill. There was the sound of one last scuffle and then silence fell. Benson listened carefully, cursing the sounds of playing children coming from further along the walkway, then closed the door and went to the wall separating the apartment he was in from Gideon's apartment.
The room was a kitchen. Benson grabbed a porcelain mug, put it against the wall and put his ear against it. You were supposed to be able to hear what was going on in the next room by doing that, but the wall was brick and very thick and strong. Benson could hear nothing. Cursing, he returned to the door, opened it a crack and looked out.
He’d expected to see a man from whichever side had won the battle keeping watch, in case the sounds of gunfire had attracted attention, but the door to Gideon's house was unguarded. The dead churchman had gone, though, a smear of blood testifying how it had been dragged inside, out of sight. Perhaps there was only one man left alive, or one man from each side. Either way, Benson decided it was safe to get a little closer, to see if he could hear what was going on. He left the apartment, therefore and, drawing his own pistol, he crept cautiously towards Gideon's front door.
There were still children running up and down along the walkway, so he held the gun against his body where they wouldn't see it. The door had been closed, and he gently and carefully turned the knob and pushed it open a crack, then put his ear close to the gap. “Did you really think you would be granted Clerical License?” he heard. “A pathetic wretch like you?”
“I was good enough when you wanted a house broken into.”
“Where's the bottle? Tell me, or I'll send you to Hell right here and now.”
“I haven't got it here.”
“Of course you haven't got it here! Not even you’re stupid enough to keep it in your own house! So where is it?”
“I still want my money!”
“If you’re lucky I might let you keep your life, if you’re true to your word from now on.”
There was a moment's pause before Gideon spoke again. “All right, a mate of mine's holding it for me. Stanley Holding, in number 226, this street. I'll have to come with you, though. He won't give it to anyone else.”
“I think I'll be able to persuade him to hand it over, but we're going to one of our places first, where a couple of men can make you comfortable and keep an eye on you. If this Mister Holding doesn't have the bottle, we can have a nice long conversation on the subject.”
Benson ducked back, pocketed the pistol and lit a cigarette. He had his back to Gideon's front door and was looking out over the street below, contentedly puffing away, when the two men emerged. He felt their eyes on the back of his head but ignored them and, assuming he was an occupant of a neighbouring apartment who knew nothing of what was going on, they turned and headed away from him, towards the stairs.
Benson turned so that he could see them from the corner of his eye, and when they were out of sight he followed after them. He knew there was no way he could follow them all the way to the church's holding house, Father Anthony would be on the lookout for a tail all the way. He also couldn't use his pistol. The thick walls of the apartment might have prevented the sound of gunshots from being heard very far away, but now that they were out in the open a gunshot would bring unwanted attention from hundreds of yards away. That meant he couldn't get Gideon away from Father Anthony. He toyed with the idea of going to Stanley Holding’s apartment and seeing if the man really did have the bottle, but he had a very strong suspicion that Gideon had been lying about that, and he could tell that the priest was sceptical as well. Once they had him in their holding house, they would sweat the truth out of him.
That left only one option open to him. To do what he’d originally come to do. Search Gideon's apartment to see if he could find a clue to the bottle’s location. He hurried back, therefore, opened the door and slipped inside.
There were four corpses lying on the floor. That meant he had to be quick. There was a chance that the gunshots had been heard despite the thickness of the walls and that the police had been called. If he was found with four dead bodies he’d have a hard time explaining himself. He went quickly around the apartment, therefore, looking in every drawer and cupboard, and found nothing he wouldn’t have expected to find there. He rifled through the cutlery in the kitchen, through the socks and underwear in the bedroom and through all the little china ornaments on the shelves that had, he presumed, belonged to the apartment’s previous occupant. Then he went back to the bedroom, pulled the drawers all the way out of the cupboard and turned them upside down. He found nothing there either.
There was a crack in the wall between the kitchen and the bedroom and he knelt down to examine it more closely. There was something glinting inside. He went back to the kitchen drawer, took a table knife and inserted it into the crack, using it to lever the object out. It was a small brass key with a piece of paper wrapped around it. The paper had a six digit number written on it. He stared at it in relief and excitement. He had no idea what the key fitted, but he knew it had to be what he was looking for. He tucked it carefully into a pocket, therefore, and left, hoping that Gloom would be able to make something of it.


[email protected]
tharia.simdif.com