The Barbershop Seven (171 page)

'Viciously,' said the guy. 'The minute it bites me I can feel myself start to ebb away.'

'What happened to the snake?'

'I don't know,' he replied lightly. 'It vanished or something. Anyway, the chairlift gets to the end and there I am, running around like a lunatic looking for the antidote. I can feel myself dying. I'm stopping people, grabbing at them, asking for their help. Jings, I'm stopping small children in the street asking if they know what their mother keeps in the medicine cabinet.'

'In the street?' asked Barney. 'Thought you were at the top of a chairlift?'

'It was a dream,' he said casually, 'locations come and go.'

'Got you.'

'Did you die?' asked the old geezer at the back.

'Nah,' said the Jude Law.

'They say if you die in your dreams you really die in your bed,' chipped in Garrett Carmichael from behind.

'So what happened?' asked Barney.

Jude Law shrugged.

'I woke up with the missus sticking her elbows into my ribs. Said I'd been chuntering. Jings, if I'd had a million pounds for every time I could've elbowed her for chuntering,' and he shook his head, then paused, and then he shook his head again.

'Snake dreams are pretty serious,' said the old guy behind.

Ain't that the truth
, thought Igor in agreement.

'Just a rehash of the day's events,' muttered Jude.

'What happened to you yesterday?' said Garrett Carmichael.

'The snake symbolises fears and worries that you might not yet be aware you have,' said Barney. 'That's what they say.'

'It's phallic, isn't it?' ventured Carmichael. 'It represents dangerous sexual desires, something like that. Must be someone you want to sleep with who you shouldn't, eh?'

Jude grunted.

'Aye,' said the old codger from the back, 'and someone with a phallus at that. I've always wondered about the way you combed your moustache.'

'Ach, bugger off,' muttered Jude.

'But then,' offered Carmichael, who had happened to stumble upon one of her favourite subjects, 'the snake also signifies that there is someone in your life you don't trust. Who's that then?'

'My lawyer,' he said quickly, catching her eye in the mirror, and she laughed.

'Arf,' said Igor, looking at Barney.

Barney nodded.

'Igor reckons that the snake implies that you're going to attain an arch enemy, and only if you overcome the snake in your dream will you be able to overcome the enemy.'

'Jings, I'm ninety-one for pity's sake, I have trouble overcoming my two shredded wheat in the morning. And where am I going to get an enemy at this stage?'

'I reckon it's the race-against-time factor that's the more worrying for you,' said the other old guy.

'He might have a point,' said Carmichael. 'It means you're stressed and can't cope with the pressures of modern life.'

'Modern life? I spend my day sitting in a near comatose heap in front of the television! The only stress I have is whether I'm going to have enough cotton hankies to mop up my drool. That and all the other weird and disgusting gunk and fluid that emanates from your body by the time you get to this age.'

Barney hesitated as he steered the scissors around the left ear. It's just plain better not to be reminded of some things.

'Turned cold again,' he said mundanely.

'Aye,' said someone in agreement.

'You had a chance to look at those papers, Mr Thomson?' asked Carmichael.

Barney looked at the clock. Glanced at the waiting customer, back at the Jude Law, took a quick look out onto the near-deserted street along the sea front.

'Can I deduce from the prevaricative essence of your rejoinder that you have yet to scrutinize the portfolio?'

'If I can deduce from the question that you're assuming I haven't read them yet, aye, you're right.'

'And the other lawyers?' she asked. 'You've contacted them?'

Barney turned fully round, remembering to lift the scissors from the Jude Law as he did so, and said, 'I used to watch
Petrocelli
when I was younger. I'll be all right.'

She gazed at him thinking that here was another man who thought he knew better than a lawyer. And even though she knew he was not going to be caught out in any way on this, it would serve Barney Thomson right if he were to get shafted by some manner of means.

'Be it on your head,' she replied bluntly.

Barney smiled at the motherly tone, then turned back to the Jude.

'See you later,' he threw over his shoulder as an invitation for her to leave.

She shook her head, rose from her chair, glanced and then smiled at Igor, who muttered something that sounded like
arf
, before bowing to his brushwork. Garrett Carmichael then left the premises and the status quo of the bastion of manhood was once again regained.

'The night before,' said Jude Law, 'I dreamt I was going to a new school. What's that all about?'

'Unresolved childhood anxieties,' said Barney and the other customer in unison.

Arf
, thought Igor in agreement.

***

T
he car slowed as it pulled into the driveway. Jacobs and Ephesian glanced at each other as they saw the Renault Scenic parked to the left of the house. Ephesian twitched.

'D'you recognise it?' he asked, as Jacobs brought the car up behind the Renault.

'No,' he said. 'I don't.' Then he quickly got out and walked round to open the door for Ephesian.

Ephesian hesitated and then stepped out into the chill of the afternoon. He took a moment to taste the sea air, something which he always did. A few deep breaths, fingers tensing and relaxing. Jacobs waited impatiently, recognising his need for routine, but thinking that this was one time when it would be wise to forego it. Forgetting, in a time of crisis, that for a man such as Ephesian, the more stressful things became, the more necessary routine became.

'Ping Phat?' said Ephesian eventually.

'Quite possibly,' replied Jacobs. 'Nice that he feels so at home that he let himself in.'

'What are we going to do?'

Jacobs stared at his boss. There was no point in trying to second-guess Phat because neither of them had any insight into how his mind worked. They knew his routine, they knew the people who worked for him, they knew some of his goals, at least. But in their long association, Ping Phat had continually surprised them, beginning with his involvement with the Brotherhood in the first place.

'We go in, we talk to him, we see what he wants and if he has anything to demand of us. Try to establish if he has the Grail. We had our little moment of epiphany back there but it doesn't mean we were right. My initial premise might still be accurate. Roosevelt could be the man.'

Ephesian breathed heavily through his nose.

'Perhaps Roosevelt and Phat are working together,' he said in a low cold voice.

'Perhaps,' said Jacobs. 'Perhaps it is not even Ping Phat who awaits inside. We should stop making assumptions, go in, find out everything we can in as short a time as possible and then retreat somewhere to establish our strategy.'

'Yes,' said Ephesian.

And with determination mustered as much as possible, they marched into the house.

––––––––

T
hey walked into the office to be greeted by the five faces pregnant with expectation, waiting for a nice cup of tea. Neither Jacobs nor Ephesian had ever met Ping Phat before, but here they were walking in on a Chinese sea; there was no doubt whose company had descended upon them, and in the midst of the five, there was no doubt which one of them had the presence, the charisma and the authority. The short stocky figure in the middle, his back turned to the door as they entered, looking down on the cold grey sea far below.

Ping Phat turned and stared at the two men. As he presumed that he had already met Jacobs, he had no idea who the man standing next to Ephesian might be. Ephesian himself, however, was instantly recognisable. Ping Phat knew far more about Ephesian than Ephesian realised.

'Mr Ephesian,' he said, 'delighted I am.'

And he strode forward, hand outstretched.

'Ping,' said Ephesian without the requisite level of enthusiasm, as usual his voice betraying every negative feeling that coursed through his body. Ping Phat laughed.

'This is Simon Jacobs, my man,' said Ephesian, nodding minimally in his direction, hoping that this introduction might lead Ping Phat to introduce the other four characters who he'd brought with him. Stopped himself saying what he considered to be the more appropriate
So you let yourselves in then?

Ping Phat regarded Jacobs with curiosity, ignoring for a couple of seconds the outstretched hand. Eventually he accepted it and smiled inquisitively.

'I believed Mr Jacobs I had already met,' he said. 'An individual most helpful.'

'We have not met before, sir,' said Jacobs, shaking his head and doing the Jeeves thing. Although by now, after a couple of days of full-on stress, Jacobs had more of the Jeeves-by-way-of-Hannibal-Lecter look about him.

'Know that do I,' said Ping Phat, who was sticking to his Yoda-by-way-of-Yoda-with-a-dash-of-Yoda routine.

Ephesian stared at Ping Phat's nose wishing that something would just make sense. His head twitched, he began to feel the pressure build inside his skull. Deep breath, then another, determined not to betray the agonies to anyone else.

The woman stepped forward to Ping Phat's right and nodded deferentially at Ephesian.

'I believe that Mr Phat's confusion comes from our earlier meeting some ten minutes ago with your butler, who allowed us to enter the house and is currently brewing a pot of tea for our consumption. He led us to believe that he was Mr Jacobs.'

'I'm the butler,' said Jacobs. 'I'm Jacobs.'

He stared between Ephesian and Phat, didn't even glance at the woman, then muttered, 'Shit,' and headed quickly to the door. Stopped in the doorway and turned back.

'What did he look like?' he asked, directing the question at Ping Phat.

Ping Phat raised an eyebrow at the tone, unused to anyone talking to him in that way.

'He had black hair, quite a dark complexion,' said the woman. 'Mediterranean perhaps.'

Jacobs glanced quickly at Ephesian, who almost returned the look, but his eyes had now dropped to the floor. He desperately needed to retreat from the room and from these people.

'Fuck,' said Jacobs, fully aware of who it was who had been in the house, and he ran out to start the search, slamming the door behind him. As if it was all Ping Phat's fault.

Ephesian turned and stared at the door. He was going to have to get out. He needed to lie down or fall down or drop down. Anything.

'Abrupt Mr Jacobs is,' said Ping Phat, the right level of admonition in his voice. Had expected more from Ephesian and his staff.

Ephesian did not answer.

'Is there a problem about which Mr Phat should be told?' asked the woman.

Ephesian twitched again, this time his whole body seeming to spasm.

Head down and he was on his way out. There were some words of apology on the tip of his tongue but they never fully formed. Some strange sound escaped from his lips, and it may even have been a variation on the syllable
arf
, and then he opened the door and quickly walked into the hall and turned up the stairs, leaving the Phat collective to themselves.

Ping Phat looked at his watch, then at each of his team in turn, and then finally his gaze fell on the drinks cabinet.

'Well,' he said, 'fuck this. If they're not going to bring us tea, we may as well help ourselves to some of the single malt he has there. Sam,' he said to one of the bodyguards, 'find the kitchen and bring us some ice.'

'Yes, sir,' said the bodyguard and off he went.

Jacobs had already visited the kitchen, as he had done every room on the ground floor in less than a minute, before thumping upstairs marginally behind Ephesian. The more thorough search would come after he had established on the first quick viewing that Luigi Linguini was nowhere to be seen.

However, when in time he had taken the more methodical approach and gone through every hidden corner in every room, there would still be no sign of the Italian who had dared to impersonate one of the Brotherhood. Luigi Linguini had left the building.

––––––––

T
he old fella beneath Barney's scissors was not at all responsive, but it was nearly the end of the day and Barney felt like talking. Half way through an elaborate
Red Hot Chilli Pepper
and flowing nicely, Barney was in the groove. Igor was sweeping up behind. There were no other customers waiting. A curious day was drawing to a close, although Barney had no idea of the drama and downright excitement which had still to happen.

'And here's another one,' he continued, some way into a monological dissertation on bad song lyrics. '
Ray, a drop of golden sun
. A
drop
of golden sun?' All right, so Barney wasn't exactly being this century, but it was his shop and he could talk about what he wanted. 'A ray of sunshine can hardly be described as a drop. A drop? Seriously, a drop's a tiny thing. A rain-
drop
. Tiny. A ray isn't a drop. Why didn't they use beam or streak or shaft or stream? They're all good words, and they're all one syllable 'n' all.
Ray, a beam of golden sun!
What's wrong with that? They could've used any of those words. What were they thinking?'

Barney looked at the customer in the mirror, his face going along with the
what were they thinking
line. The customer, an old fella with grey hair and a look of sagacity in his eyes, stared at Barney for a while, then slowly reached inside the cape and produced a card, which he held up for Barney to take from him. Barney smiled and took it as offered, wondering what profession this guy was going to have which would excuse him from conversation. The card, however, offered no profession, only philosophy.

He who knows does not speak.

He who speaks does not know.