You Don’t Know Me

You don't know me. No, of course not.

I'm a stranger. You pass by, not noticing.

I have always found funerals touching, especially when the coffin is so small it could only contain the remains of a child.

I want to say; "don't worry! Its alright. The person who caused your misery will not harm anyone else."

I am aware it would give you a sense of closure. But I dare not! For you would know. Soon, others. They would know, also.

Her killer is dead.

But for you, the damage is already done. Your family is like a proud ship, wrecked on the rocky promontory of someone's greed.

If only I could have stopped them before they killed her!

You probably feel guilt that you couldn't stop her from buying drugs from a stranger.

I feel guilty because I hadn't been able to stop the stranger selling them.

We are bound together by the ropes of a compelling emotion. We both failed her. There! I have said it! The truth, even when only acknowledged to the self is hard to swallow.

Logic tells me I am are wrong. We didn't fail your daughter. The one who failed  her was the scum who sold the poison that killed her, snuffing out her young, promising life.

Only 14, small for her age. Now nobody will ever know if she would have grown taller, blossomed into a beautiful young woman, fulfilling her early promise.

Why do only the beautiful young, with so much to look forward to, kill themselves with the filth pushers sell?

Why? Does death automatically beatify them in the minds of teachers, parents, friends?

Or are they more at risk from the pushers' siren songs? "Here, take this drug and you wont be isolated by your beauty and intelligence! Take it and you'll be like all your less-gifted friends, the ordinary people you so crave to be like?"

Ecstasy? What a misnomer! Is there ecstasy in becoming so dehydrated your body turns on itself and your heart stops?

No.

I have always hated drugs -I admit it, I drink, I used to smoke and I had an ambivalent attitude towards cannabis, but drugs that are so dangerous they can cause death with just one tablet?

I hate the people who sell instant death.

But what would you do if one of these people who deal in drugs that can kill innocent first time users came under your power?

Report them?

Do nothing?

Or would you take upon your shoulders the ultimate responsibility?

To kill?

Probably not.

But I chose to face the evil, wipe it off the earth and ensure it didn't have the chance to kill again.

I stopped it, before it killed again. Some unpleasant memory filters to the surface of my mind. Ah, yes! The infamous so-called "Zodiac" killer with his "stop me before I kill again" taunts.

The difference was that the killer I faced didn't care. Didn't want to be caught, didn't care if they killed again.

That  the killer showed no remorse, even gloated over the death made the whole situation jump at me and clutch my heart with a grip of ice.

I found the scrapbook. I was looking for something else, can't remember what. But I found the scrapbook.

It contained press reports of your daughter's death and the subsequent inquest.

It wasn't the cuttings that horrified me. It was the notes made on the grey pages of the scrapbook.

"Silly bitch! That'll teach her to buy ""E"" from me!!!"

"I'll bet the silly cow won't do that again!!!"

"Glad nobody knows it was me who sold the her the E. Mind you, I didn't know she was 14. She only looked 12. Still, she had the fifteen quid to buy, so she was old enough!!!"

Sick way past the depths of my soul, I searched through the wardrobe. I found the hidden stash of drugs and the records of deals that showed a person who was not only methodical but amoral to the point of evil.

I found a diary. God, I wish I hadn't found any of that stuff! The diary was a detailed record of sexual and moral depravity that made me feel physically ill.

I didn't decide to kill immediately. That decision grew, like catching a cold. When you catch cold there is first the scratchy throat, the tickle in the nose, the sneezing and then the fever.

I suppose my decision to kill was rather like the fever part of a cold. I suddenly knew what I had to do.

I am not going to dwell on how I killed, but there is a new grave in the old, closed part of the churchyard which contains the body of a killer. The murderer of your daughter.

By chance I can see their grave from here. So in a way there are two strangers at your daughter's funeral.

Both of them killers, only one alive.

Alive for now, that is.

Because although I knew what I had to do, I can't live with it.

I challenged my little sister with my discovery. All she said was; "She deserved it, bruv! Yeah, I sold her the gear that killed her! What are you going to do? Hand me over to the filth?!

"What would that do the loving memory of our dear mum and dad? When they lay dying in hospital, you promised them you'd look after me. Well, look after me, you git!"

Her use of the term "filth" for the police showed me that she was no longer my little sister.

Until that moment I had intended to hand her over to the police. Her bringing our parents up was, I suppose, the "fever" point, when I decided to kill.

I stand here, close enough to see your daughter's funeral, but far enough away to avoid detection.

I will kill myself, by taking all of the drugs my sister had stashed away in her room like some kind of Satanic squirrel. Then I can apologise to my parents for my failing them. And I can apologise to your daughter, too.

The Cat’s Nativity

 It was Spring. While the days were getting warmer, it was still cold at nights when you could see the stars, bright and twinkly in the sky. When I was a kitten I used to try and catch them. But now I am an adult cat I know I would have to jump very high to catch them, perhaps even twenty times my length- far too high for a cat!

I am not usually allowed in the part of the house where my people lived. Though I am sometimes allowed in, but I can see no reason why sometimes I am allowed in, but other times not. It is hard to work out what human people do. With cat people, it is easy.

My special human friend lives there with her parents. Usually we play together, sometimes we both cuddle up and sleep in front of the oven in the back room.

She is usually kind. Sometimes she oversteps the mark, but a thump with a paw or -occasionally- a slap with one claw across the back of her hand is enough to re-establish the limits. Well, you have to keep kittens in their place (even human ones) or very soon you would not know where you are!

The lady -the mistress- is kind enough to me and gets me food and water. Still, as she says, it is my job to kill any mice and rats that dare to enter her territory.

The master is different. Although he swears about me, he is really secretly very fond of me, making a fuss of me when he thinks nobody is watching. Although he tells the mistress off for feeding me too much, he secretly feeds me much more tasty morsels than she EVER does!

The master always talks to me, as he paces up and down in the back room. But recently he began to become more and more angry. I don’t mind this, but I do have to be very wary of his legs and feet and try to keep out of his way, whilst doing my best to look attentive.

I’ts a disgrace, cat! He shouted. How can we be expected to house all the hundreds of people who will be coming back to Bethlehem, just so they can be counted? The people know they exist, we know they exist, so what is the problem?

Dont tell me! -Its because a stupid Roman thought up the idea. Mind you, cat, that’s all the Romans know about anything. Building straight roads through things, not round them like good, God fearing people, worshipping false idols and counting people for tax reasons, as if they were wine sponges to be squeezed!

I sat watching him. I know my part.

He suddenly bent down and ruffled my fur and gave me a piece of meat. I purred as I eat it, just to show how much I appreciate his acts of kindness. In a way, I suppose I like him best of all my humans.

I was normally indifferent to the strangers who come. -I remember when I was a kitten I did not like them, but quickly I realised that humans kick you or tread on your tail usually because as their heads and eyes are in such a funny position they can't see anything in front of them properly! I Laughed when I worked this out. It seems such a sad deformity for them to be burdened with. So I do not laugh when they can see me. That would have been cruel.

Also, I realised that there was a link between the people staying and how much food would be bought. The strangers came with money that the mistress used to go to the market and exchange for food in the market.

I used to follow her there every morning when I was a kitten, but I soon found that not everyone liked cats, so I decided to stay at home and wait for her, instead.

I began not to like the place so much as more and more people began to come and stay. There was so many of them that they even slept in the back room where mistress prepared the food -and that had NEVER happened before!

To stay out of harms way I began spending more and more of my time in the stable across the back of the yard with the sheep, goats and cattle. -Mind you, the masters cousin and uncle had just taken the sheep up into the hills as they do every Spring.

I was in the house late one evening -just waiting for an opportunity to retreat to the stable in a huff!- when someone -it was a man from some place in the North -wherever THAT is!- said; "This is strange -its light outside, yet there’s no moon tonight. Must be an omen of some kind. Should we get a Rabbi, do you think?"

"If he can fit in here," said a young man with a gruff voice. "Anyway, what would you do, hide beneath his beard?!" Everyone laughed, but I could tell they were all a bit nervous, which made me worried, too.

As the laughing died down, there was a thumping on the door.

"No! We cant fit anyone else in. -Cant they read the notice you put on the door?"

The master said; "Maybe not. Not all can read. Ill deal with it. Shouldn’t take me too long." I followed him to the door. -After all, I am a cat and it is in our nature to need to know what is happening. Besides, I like to greet and inspect our guests!

As he stood before the door I could see that he was working himself up to turn the latecomer away. As he opened the door the words seemed to die in his throat as we were met by a pitiful sight.

On the doorstep was a man who looked so tired that he lent on his staff, nearly ready to drop. He looked like a well-to-do craftsman, but he was covered with the dirt of many days journey.

But he was not really what caught our attention, for he was not alone. With him, a little way back in the road, was a young girl on a very,very tired donkey. As I looked at the woman I could see that she looked as worn out as the man and was very heavily in kitten.

"Please," the man sounded tired beyond endurance. "I know you are full, but my wife is pregnant and we have come from Nazareth for the Roman Census."

The master looked upset, for all his gruff ways he is a very kindly man.

"I'm sorry, but there really is no room at the inn. -Why not try Zacs place further down on the market street?"

"We did. He sent us to you."

The girl gave a little gasp. "Joseph. -Please. Just take me to the edge of town. I think I must be very near to my time. You’ll have to build me a little tent with your cloak at the side of the road."

"You will do no such thing!" Shouted the master. "I am sure we can find a corner or..." Suddenly he stopped. "What am I thinking of? We have as much room as you could want and more, besides! -Come with me!"

He went outside and if I hadn’t nimbly jumped to one side, he would have kicked me as he hurried round to the side gate which led to the yard.

He pointed to the stable; "When I first started the inn, that was it. Guests and us upstairs, animals downstairs. We built the new place six years ago."

"Its not too bad. -The upper floors are too dangerous for anyone but Cat, here- otherwise you could have gone upstairs and used that. But there’s plenty of room downstairs, so long as you don’t mind sharing with the animals. -Still, the lads collected the sheep a week or two back to take them up to the hills, so there’s more room than there would have been.

"Get your belongings sorted out and whilst you do that, I'll go and get the wife to bring you some blankets and some food. -I thought she was mad when she and some lad she’d hired to help her turned up with so much food from the market this morning. Told me she had a feeling that she should. Maybe she was right."

The man and the woman looked at each other and a smile passed between them as if they were sharing some secret joke.

As he strode across the yard the master said; "Normally we can't see a thing at night when the moon isn't out, without a lantern, but there’s a big star or something up there, right above us. I suppose King Herrod's wise men will be trying to work out what it means. -Much good it will do them. Hes not a patch on his Father, the old king, that one!"

He left the couple in the stables and as he returned to the house I waited and watched the couple as they settled in.

There was something strange about the woman. -Strange but sort of beautiful. It was odd, but she was almost as beautiful as a cat.

Her husband and my mistress helped put her down on a bed of straw my master had hurriedly put together. He apologised for how rough it was, but she said it felt as if she was in a palace. She smiled at him and he went bright red, and coughed.

Not long after that, she gave birth. Now, I have seen my mistress drop a litter of human kittens –well, I say litter, but she only ever has one at a time!- and normally there is a lot of shouting and yelling, but the woman was very quiet and almost peaceful.

But when her kitten was born, he looked at me! I know he did. And he smiled at me. I stared at him and I felt all weak in my legs, like I had never felt before. But it was a good, warm feeling. Like when your mother cuddles you and kicks you all over. That kind of feeling.

They wrapped him up –I expect it was because all human children lose their fur, somehow- and laid him in a little box thing, called a manger. He seemed a lot more quiet than most human kittens, I thought.

All the while, through the night there was that funny bright light in the sky. It did not make much difference to me (I can get by in the day or night with my sharp eyes) but it upset and intrigued the humans.

The man sorted out the Roman Census for him and his wife. Though there was a bit of confusion as the child had been born here in Bethlehem and not where they came from. But that was sorted out.

Soon, everyone had gone back to their homes, everyone except our regular guests, a travelling salesman and our family in the stables. Master and mistress begged them to come in –their names were Joseph and Mary- but they said they were very comfortable where they were and did not wish to move again so soon!

Mistress was worried she would look like a bad landlady, but I told her it would be alright, as I would look after them and keep an eye on them. The lads with the sheep came down to see the baby, they even bought a lamb with them. They said it could not have lived outside, but it wasn’t that cold out there. I think the boy with them just wanted to introduce his favourite lamb to the special human kitten!

It was one of these occasions when I was watching over them that I saw three very important looking humans on camels. In case you have never seen a camel they are like horses, but not quite. They were dressed in fine robes and they gave presents to the baby, but the mother and the father seemed anxious.

Then, as quickly as they came, the family went away again. Some important person came looking for them, a messenger from the King, but my humans were only able to say they had gone to Egypt and had not said if they would be back...

***
I am an old cat now, my whiskers are drooping a bit, my fur is going grey, my bones ache sometimes and me and master do not do very much now, but sit by the fire and we both purr, but I still miss that woman and her human kitten, the one they called Jesus.

Long Time Dead

 It had been a long time. Too long? Not long enough? Perhaps not even time would tell.

 

Even though the box had been buried for the best part of twenty years, it’s contents looked the same. If you prepare something well enough it will stay perfect almost indefinitely, or so I’m told. The inside still smelt of the proofing oil I’d used.

At my leisure, back in the security of my large executive home, I examined the contents of the box. -If only my pretentious neighbours could see me now!

There was the knife Blades had used on so many people that I couldn’t remember all of them & I doubt he had either. The wickedly sharpened knuckle dusters Spikes had always worn when there’d been trouble -& there’d been plenty of that, God knew.

The Alice band Sarah wore in her long auburn hair, my bowie knife -it hadn’t killed as many as Blades’ but it had done enough, in it’s time.

Perhaps it’s time had come again? We’d see.

Wrapped in oiled cloth was my own “weapon of choice” -an odd looking, seemingly innocuous yet deadly 7.65mm Vietnamese assassin’s pistol. It was a rarity, being the only handgun in the world with a built-in silencer. I’d traded it with an American, who’d got it when he was in the US Special Forces, taken from a dead Viet Cong. There was also a sealed box of ammunition. Probably still OK. If not, I’d re-load it with fresh powder.

I hadn’t killed anyone in almost two decades. After almost everyone but Doc, Mazz, The Duke & I had died, I thought I’d left that  lifestyle behind me.

Is it part of the human condition that the flimsiest lies we tell are those we tell ourselves?

Sometimes I was almost able to convince myself it had not been me, that I was plagued by false memories, or memories belonging to another person.

Sometimes, but not quite always. I still dreamt of the old days, like the rush I felt as I did the ton thirty past the bemused occupants of a panda car.

Sporadically I had waking flashbacks. Not even alcohol helped. Though I’d tried it often enough.

I’d suddenly see the face of someone at the moment of their death. Someone I’d killed. Still, it had been kill or be killed & I’d rather it be me thinking about how I’d killed them, rather than the other way round.

In my bedroom’s built-in wardrobe, there was a simple “secret” compartment I’d made with a few battens & a wooden board.

Hidden inside it were my Colours.

I looked at myself in the wall mounted full length mirror after I had put them on. Silly, but as soon as I saw myself, I felt the power surge through me.

I’d been David Porter, management consultant to ailing British industries for too many years.

Now, the real me had returned. This was who I was. What I was. What I would always be. My name? No longer David Porter. Now I was The Bard -again. Perhaps I would dig out some of the poems I had written back then and re-read them.

Was I ready for action? No. -Not really. But sometimes you have to come, ready or not.

I called The Duke first. I recognised his well-modulated tones as soon as he answered the phone.

“It’s me. The Bard. Something’s happened. We’re on.”

“I see... Will you contact Doc & Mazz? Or should I?”

“It’s my place to do it, so I’ll do it.”

“As you wish. Where shall we meet?”

“Is the usual place still  there?”

“The wha..? Ah! Yes, I get your drift. It’s still there, still looks the same, though I haven't been in for years.”

“OK, that’s settled. 2pm Tuesday, unless I get back to you with a change of plan.”

I rang off. It had been good to hear him again. Sort of.

Two days later, Doc, Mazz, The Duke & myself were meeting at a place that held many memories for us, most good, some bad.

The Duke was almost right. It looked the same outside, but the inside had been gutted. Twenty years ago it had been a large Victorian pub.

Now? Mazz looked around the garish interior, eyeing it disapprovingly. “Ben would never have allowed this to happen.”

The Doc nodded. “Right. But I’d guess he’d have retired a long time ago.”

He looked at me: “Why are we here?”

“Yeah, that’s you, Doc. Always straight to the point.”

I breathed deeply before continuing. “It’s Barry Longmans. He’s back.”

They looked stunned at such a cruel twist of fate.

The Duke spoke for them all. “That bastard? Back here? How? When?”

“I don’t know. I saw him by chance. He was trying to weasel his way into getting a contract with of one of my business clients. I made sure he didn’t see me.”

Mazz spoke, the anger adding a hard edge to his voice: “He must know what’ll happen to him. Why’s he come back now after nearly twenty years?”

“When I heard him speak, I noticed he had an Australian accent. He must have skipped to Australia. -Perhaps Australia got too hot for him?”

I looked at them all for a second before I continued; “This place will be too hot for him too, soon enough.”

Doc nodded, took a long swig from his pint before speaking. “We’ll have to have a plan. It’s been a long time, but it’ll have to be as tight a plan as we ever devised. I don’t want to go to jail. It would really disappoint my patients!”

“I agree, Doc. It would! Don’t worry -I’ve already mapped out a plan. He will be meeting the MD of my client next Friday at 3pm. He’ll have about thirty minutes with him, before the MD tells him that he isn’t interested -& I’ll see to that! We’ll hit Longmans when he’s on his way back to the motel he’s staying in.”

The Duke nodded. “Everyone of us wants to kill him, but you have two rights to having the kill. Seniority &...” He suddenly stopped, unable to continue. I found his sudden lack of the appropriate words touching, because I knew what he had found impossible to say.

My thoughts went back to Sarah & that catastrophic period in my life -God? Had it really been two decades ago?

I cleared my throat before I was able to continue. “Thanks, Duke. You’re right, of course. I want to do it. Besides, it’s a duty thing with me, too.”

Mazz finished his pint & voiced what both of the others were thinking; “You say you have the plan mapped out?”

“Yes. I worked it out over the past couple of days. We follow him from the factory, wait until we hit a quite piece of road, just down from Paines Lane would probably be the best spot, box him & cover him. -We’ll each be armed, of course. Bring whatever weapons you feel comfortable with. -But within reason! I don’t want a cock-up like when Blades decided to try & take out that other lot with a bloody rocket launcher back in ’77!”

They all laughed, remembering Blades & his habit of employing madcap, complicated schemes for simple jobs.

Thinking about Blades & what Longmans had caused to happen to him would have supplied a reason for us to harden our resolve, had we needed one...

Pulling my mind back to the present I continued to describe the plan in low tones. “When we have Longmans trapped, with handguns covering him, Doc sticks a hypo in him to put him out, we take his car & leave it on the Alderman Chambers Estate. Knowing the kids there, it’ll probably be stolen before we manage to get back into our cars! -But  remember to  wear disposable gloves!”

The Duke added; “What happens to Longmans?”

“We have him in a van which I’ll buy for the occasion.”

The Duke frowned and said; "If something goes wrong, say the road is busy, what then?"

"I have a fallback plan. I'd just have to break into his motel room and shoot him. -It's a risky plan, but I can't afford to let him get away again. So it's a risk I'd have to take."

The Duke nodded and added: "As there's no statute of limitations on murder, the police will still be looking for him. -Is he using a false name?"

"Yes. -He introduced himself to the company as David Wilson, an industrial sales consultant from Sydney. -Probably armed himself with a fake passport, too. So when he disappears, it's unlikely anyone will make much of a fuss. Just someone else who skips out of a motel, leaving some dirty clothes and a few belongings."

“Will we use our bikes?”

“No, Mazz. I thought about that & much as I’d like to get the hogs out for this job, I think it’ll be best if I buy two cars & the van, instead. I’m having a word with Sammy’s son, Paul, tomorrow. He’s running the used car lot now & he’ll sort us out. He'll help sanitise them, too. ”

“How are you going to finish Longmans?”

“You all know the rules. Because of what that bastard did, I want him to know for sure what is going to happen to him & who is doing it. He broke the code & we are going to make sure he pays! & that he knows he’s paying!”

Friday went like clockwork. When Longmans came round, he didn’t seem especially frightened. He had a look of resignation on his face.

“Hello, Longmans. Remember us?”

“How could I forget you? What’s this all about?”

“Don’t be bloody stupid, Longmans! You may have forgotten your English accent, but you can’t have forgotten what you did!”

“Why don’t you use my proper tag? It was never surnames before. You should call me...”

Before he could even begin what I knew he was going to say, I smashed him hard across his mouth, drawing blood.

“Don’t use that name! You were stripped of it & it was erased from the record book! It’s never to be used again! As far as we are concerned, that person doesn’t exist!”

“Still in charge, eh?” He hadn’t changed. Still able to sneer, even with a shattered mouth.

“Yes, still in charge.”

“You are going to kill me.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“You broke the rules. You tried to organise a take-over. You know what happened to Sarah, my Lady. What you did was wrong. Against everything we stand for & you knew it! If you had wanted to be the President, you should have challenged me properly, according to the rules!

“Sarah got in your way, so you beat her so badly, that she... If you hadn’t done what you did, none of this would have happened. What’s worse, before you sneaked off you fomented an internal war that left 15 good people dead.”

I could tell he was thinking up a reply. I had wanted him to explain why he’d done it. But Suddenly, before he had the chance to speak I became bored with talking to him & disgusted by his presence.

Swiftly, I lifted the odd-looking assassin’s pistol, snicked the safety off & shot him through the head.

It was a clean, relatively silent shot. There was almost no blood & he was dead before he slumped against his ropes. I’d wanted him dead, but I’ve never believed in torturing those I killed. Not even  him.

The others were really good. They picked up the body, loaded it into the van, giving me time to sit & think about Sarah, of fifteen of my people Longmans had caused to die including my Lieutenants Blades & Spikes & the passing of two decades of my life.

We took his body to one of our secret places & dumped it. He’d never be found. & if he was, it probably wouldn’t be until all of us were a long time dead. & when you are dead, you are a long time dead.

Two days later, as I had done without fail every Sunday for nearly twenty years, I visited Sarah in the private nursing facility which had been her home for most of that time. I spoke with her, or more accurately I spoke to her, as I always did.

She lay still in her bed. Although she had put on a little weight whilst she’d slept two decades away, & her hair had greyed a bit, essentially she was still my Sarah, the President’s Lady, the person who’d ridden behind me on my hog & shared my passion for speed & a dangerous but exciting way of life.

I’d long ago given up hope of her recovery, but that Sunday? When I told her I’d finally killed Barry Longmans, she smiled faintly & her eyes had flickered. I’m sure they did...

Perhaps there was hope, after all? It didn’t matter. I’d still visit her every Sunday. Why? Those are the rules. My rules. & no President ever abandons his Lady.

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