Goodnight, John-boy Chapter 23
He’d assemble with the other knights and, when he identified Keen from his voice, draw Cooper’s gun, and kill him.
Welcome to Book Two of my dark comedy thriller series, Read Em And Weep.
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If you’re new to the Read Em And Weep series, start with Book One: Serial Killer.
THE FABER-KNOX HALL was an ugly, red brick, turn-of-the-century building, adjoining the dismal grey, prison-like church of St Mary’s. There was a Parish noticeboard outside the hall, displaying the days for Bingo Eyes Down, Bible Study, Slimmers Night, Virgin Soldiers, Scouts and Cubs, Guides and Brownies.
And, sure enough, there it was: Knights of Saint Pancras. Feast of Mary Magdalene. July 22nd. So Keen would be there.
Dave had done a quick recce the night before. On the other side of the church was his primary school with the Presbytery, and beyond that, the Convent of the Sisters of Sorrow. He had sketched a map of the church and the hall, including the alleyways behind them, ready for him to make his escape afterwards. On his layout of the Faber-Knox Hall he wrote: ‘Here Be Knights’.
According to the church noticeboard, there was now a new parish priest at St Mary’s. Dave was relieved. He was glad the Canon would not be present at the gathering of the Knights of St Pancras.
Having studied the documents he had taken from Keen’s apartment, he knew the front door to the hall would be locked on the night. The knights would enter through the church. There was an anteroom inside the hall, which acted as the regalia dressing room. But he would arrive at the last minute, already wearing his Torquemada mask and robes. He knew the password, the rituals, and all their other traditions, like the trick dagger, filled with fake blood, that they used at initiation ceremonies to intimidate new members.
He’d assemble with the other knights and, when he identified Keen from his voice, draw Cooper’s gun, and kill him.
And so it was, on the 22nd of June, the day of the Feast of Mary Magdalene, Dave coolly walked through the silent church and into the dressing room of the adjoining Faber-Knox hall.
The doorkeeper, similarly robed, blocked his path. ‘Give the password, stranger.’
‘Knights of St Pancras shall rule’.
‘Pass, friend.’ The doorkeeper stepped aside for Dave to pass through the anteroom and into the knights’ den itself.
Inside, the Faber-Knox Hall was a typically featureless hall, serving many community functions: barn dance club; meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous; jumble sales; Irish nights; quiz evenings, and coffee morning fundraisers.
But tonight it was the Lodge Room of the Knights of St Pancras. The stark strip-lights were turned off and only candlelight illuminated the robed knights dutifully standing in a semi-circle within. The dark, eerie room could have been anywhere. It could have been a cave, a crypt, or a dungeon, especially with the eerie music now playing. Its mundane reality, as the place for weekly beetle drives and Christmas dinner for the homeless, was lost in its all-enveloping, menacing blackness.
Dave remembered how Ernie told him he had walked past a man-eating lion because he was wearing a charm of invisibility.
‘But you must never turn your head, Davey, or you’ll break the spell, and then the lion will eat you!’
Ernie’s words gave him courage, and he walked towards his fellow knights with complete confidence to join their sinister circle.
A hooded knight was playing weird processional music on an electronic keyboard. The music seemed familiar. It was a haunting, sad lament. Solemn drums were beating. There was the sinister clicking of castanets. Wailing trumpets. A bell was ringing. And a distant, eerie chorus rose to a crescendo and filled the hall.
Yes, it was definitely familiar. But where had he heard it before?
The knights, who had formed a circle, swayed slowly in time to the music. Naturally, Dave swayed too.
And then he had it. He had heard it before at the cinema. It was Spaghetti Western music.
It was remarkably similar to the amazing finale music from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. That final shoot-out between Tuco, Angel Eyes and Blondie.
He remembered the colour supplement article about the knights. It said Faber-Knox was inspired by Semana Santa, the Processions of the Brotherhoods, enacted in Spanish cities during Holy Week.
The penitents, dressed in their sinister, colourful, hooded robes, swayed in time to slow music as they carried heavy floats of Christ and the Virgin Mary in procession through the streets.
The article suggested the composer, Ennio Morricone, may have been influenced by the music of Semana Santa, especially as the Spaghetti Westerns were filmed in the same part of Spain.
Whether it was true or not, Dave found himself looking round the circle of knights for the evil eyes of a Lee Van Cleef, visible through the eye-slits of his hood.
Or an Eli Wallach.
Or a Clint Eastwood.
No, he was Blondie.
The revolver was right there in his pocket, reassuringly heavy. As soon as Keen identified himself, he was going to draw. But he had to be cool, and wait for the right moment, like Clint Eastwood.
The music swelled to a new peak as four knights, also swaying from side to side, brought forth a bier with the gold skull statue of Mary Magdalene from Keen’s apartment, and placed it on a candle-lit altar inside the circle of knights.
Then a fifth figure entered the hall. Dave assumed, as the knights stopped swaying, and turned in deference to him, that it had to be the Grand Master.
The Grand Master addressed his knights as the music now faded into the background. ‘My brothers, we are here today to celebrate the Feast of Mary Magdalene. The Whore and the Holy One. She who they call Life and we call Death.’
Dave recognised his voice. It was Keen, all right. He had obviously obtained a new Nazareno robe and capirote. He wouldn’t imagine the man who had stolen his costume would be present at the Feast. Only an idiot would do something so stupid. And that’s what Dave was banking on.
‘Traditionally, brothers,’ continued the Grand Master, ‘we would have a painted whore play Mary Magdalene. To disport herself and show us her unclean beauty. But tonight needs to be a more … private occasion.’
Dave wondered why there was the change of plan, why no floorshow? It didn’t matter. He clutched the gun. Keen was still going to die.
‘So our knight chaplain will address the Magdalene.’
A brother stepped forward and addressed the gold statue.
‘God’s sentence hangs over all your sex and his punishment weighs down upon you.’ He pointed an accusing finger at the skull inside the statue. ‘You are the devil’s gateway; you are she who first violated the forbidden tree of knowledge and broke the law of God.’
Dave’s stomach lurched as he recognised the Canon’s voice.
‘Because of you, Our Saviour had to die,’ said the Canon sorrowfully. ‘Because of you, the Son of God was crucified.’
He turned to the congregation. ‘Because of her!’
The knights angrily murmured their agreement: ‘Because of her!’ ‘Because of women!’ ‘Slut!’ ‘Whore!’
The Canon turned back to the skull and continued his one-sided conversation with it. ‘It was you who coaxed your way around man whom the devil had not the force to attack and made him weak. “Woman … you are the gate to hell.” Not my words, but the words of Tertullian, the father of Christianity.’
He spoke to the brothers again. ‘But … let us also remember, the words of St Augustine. “If you do away with harlots, the world will be convulsed with lust.” So … what are we to do? Hmm? St Augustine had the answer. He said: “Give me chastity, O Lord … but not yet.” ’
The knights nodded their agreement.
‘And forgive ourselves,’ said the knight chaplain, ‘the disobedience of our bodies that, despite our best intentions, are aroused by temptresses. Of our own members, over which we have such little control.’
Once again, the hooded assembly nodded their heartfelt agreement.
Then the Grand Master stepped forward again and Dave started to draw the gun from his robes …
‘Thank you, knight chaplain.’
The Grand Master addressed his knights. ‘Brothers, take these words to heart, and bear them with you in all your activities of life.
‘And now … there is a most serious matter to be dealt with. There is one amongst us who is an intruder, who has come here tonight to learn our secrets.’
The brothers looked around at each other through their eye slits. Dave, too, looked at the knights on either side of him.
‘Such a one will surely incur the curse of God.’
The knights nodded their heads and Dave nodded with them. Then he realised they were all looking in his direction. He felt a slight clench in his bowels as the Spaghetti Western music began again.
He couldn’t pull his gun now; he’d lost the element of surprise and the brothers were closing in on him. If he started to draw, they’d seize hold of him.
‘His name,’ continued the Grand Master, ‘will become a byword and a reproach among all honourable men. He deserves the reception that the devil himself received from God: to be cast into eternal torture.’
He pointed in Dave’s direction. ‘You. Step forward.’
Dave reluctantly stepped out of the circle as the Spaghetti Western music grew louder once more.
Too late, he realised the whole thing was a trap. Keen had anticipated his burglar might have the temerity to masquerade as a knight.
The Grand Master addressed his knights. ‘Should he be spared, brothers? Or should he suffer The Penalty? The white ball, brothers? Or … the black ball?’
The Canon went round the circle with a chalice and the knights dropped balls into it.
‘What exactly is The Penalty?’ asked Dave.
The Grand Master picked up a ceremonial dagger from the altar.
‘The ancient penalty of having your throat cut for being a spy, an intruder and revealing the secrets of the Brotherhood.’
The Canon showed Keen the chalice. It was filled with black balls.
‘I’ve been blackballed,’ thought Dave.
‘So mote it be,’ said the Grand Master holding the dagger. It could still be a fake dagger, of course, Dave thought desperately.
‘Wait. Let me explain.’
‘Be quiet and accept your sentence,’ said the Canon.
‘At least give me the right of reply,’ Dave pleaded.
‘When Jesus was hanging on the cross, he had no right of reply. Neither do you,’ said the Canon.
‘It’s a fake, right? You stab it in me and joke blood comes out. Right?’ The Grand Master advanced on him with the dagger.
‘It’s just for show right? To scare me?’ said Dave. ‘Then you’ll let me go home? Well, let me tell you, it’s worked. I’m scared. Okay?’
‘Take his mask off,’ ordered the Grand Master.
‘Why?’ asked Dave.
‘So I can slit your throat.’
‘You – you don’t really mean that,’ said Dave as two knights closed in on him.
The Grand Master raised the dagger. ‘You must pay for your blasphemy.’
Then he backed away in alarm as he saw Dave was pointing a gun in his face and was about to squeeze the trigger.
‘No!’ yelled the Canon, hurling himself on Dave. They rolled together on the ground, the ex-cavalryman smashing his fist into Dave’s masked face. He began tearing at the mask to rip it off.
‘You’ve stuck two fingers up at the Church and I’m going to break them,’ he snarled. ‘Followed by every bone in your body.’
Then the gun went off, and the Canon staggered back, shot through the heart. His shocked eyes were visible briefly through the slits of his hood before he keeled over. The music had stopped. There was silence in the room. A knight checked the Canon’s pulse and slowly looked up at the others. ‘He’s dead. The Canon’s dead.’
Keen wrenched the gun out of Dave’s hand and two of the knights grasped hold of him.
‘Who sent you? Who wanted me dead?’ asked Keen pointing the gun at Dave.
‘No one. It was just me,’ he admitted weakly.
Keen angrily ripped his capirote off and stared coldly into Dave’s eyes. ‘I am your judge, jury and executioner, and you are dead.’
He turned to the others. ‘Get his hood off. I want to see his face.’
‘Let’s see who this idiot savant is,’ said a knight.
As they started to yank Dave’s hood off, Keen stepped closer, and warned him, ‘Get Carter has nothing on me, son, and what I’m going to do to you.’
Then he stepped back in alarm as he gazed into the slavering, twisted, bloody fangs and bristle-haired face of a werewolf.
Shopping for a suitable mask in Time Machine, Dave had been torn between the Timberwolf, the Yeti and the Wolfman. They were all Don Post classics – rubber whole-head latex masks, but he settled for the furriest: the Bloody Werewolf. He had needed the fur to give him the courage to go through with his assassination mission.
‘It’s a fucking werewolf!’ exclaimed a shocked Keen. The two horrified knights involuntarily let go of him.
Dave emitted a spontaneous and hideous howl, which he had absolutely no control over, and came from somewhere very deep within him. His primal scream reverberated all around the Faber-Knox Hall.
It shocked and confused the predators, and by the time they’d realised what was going on, Dave was out through the back window of the building, dropping down into the alleyway, and legging it, ripping off his robe and discarding it as he ran. But he held on to his Don Post classic. Knowing he had got away with it, and they had no idea who he was, lightened his steps. To them, he was a man with no name. Knowing the Canon was dead, and he’d shot him, didn’t make him feel guilty or bad. On the contrary, it lifted his spirits. Because he knew just what the Canon was: a predator.
There were no trumpets, castanets, insistent drums, or wailing chorus; no triumphant Spaghetti Western music playing, as he headed off into the sunset. And yet there was. Inside his head. Courtesy of his mother.
Goodnight, John-boy is the second book in the Read Em And Weep series and you can buy it digitally or as a paperback.