Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,60

None of it mattered anyway -- whether he had a worthwhile mortal existence, whether he was a scoundrel or whether he had never lived at all -- the only thing that mattered was his current existence, a life devoted to the department and an endless track of data.

He was paid well for his services. His salary earned him more money than Michael and Chip combined, and allowed him to buy a comfortably sized detached house in a quietish suburb on the edge of town. It was still Brittleside so it was still rife with squalor and, a mere stone’s throw from Naff’s front door, over the neatly trimmed hedges of his pedantic neighbour and beyond the potholed road boarded by rows of overgrown weeds and broken glass, was one of the worst estates in the town. But Naff liked Brittleside, he had been there a long time and, although he couldn’t recall it being anything other than a dumping ground for the worst portraits of human existence, something about the town endeared him.

Michael always felt like he was dirtying Naff’s house whenever he entered. He always took his shoes off at the front door despite being told not to, yet he still trod on the fluffy cream carpets with great care, worried that the cheapness of his unwashed socks would somehow transfer a film of dirt onto the floor.

He always refused to sit on the soft, upholstered three-piece sofa lest he transfer the dirt from his clothes. He chose instead to sit, precariously, on the edge of a wooden chair brought in from the kitchen.

Chip, on the other hand, bounded into the house like he owned it. He never took his shoes off, barely acknowledged the trail of mud he so often left behind, and threw himself onto the sofa like an athlete attacking the high jump.

Naff did tell Chip to remove his shoes, but he rarely listened. This time, as Michael carefully placed his coat over the edge of the hardback chair and sat -- with a careful and awkward consideration -- Naff didn’t mind the trail of mud left behind by the impish tooth fairy soiling his expensive sofa. The homeowner stood in the middle of the living room, next to a marble-style fireplace.

“We need to lure him here,” he suggested with a thoughtful finger on the tip of his chin. “We write a letter, give him my address, ask for something we know he’ll feel obliged to deliver,” he tapped his chin as he spoke, his eyes wondering ponderously away from the faces in front of him, “we wait for him and then--” he lifted his hands and widened his eyes. “Bam! Gotcha.”

“We jump him and kick the shit out of him,” Chip said with an agreeable nod. “What? No,” Naff said, disapprovingly. “We talk to him, see if we can--”

“Talk to him and then kick the shit out of him?”

Naff shook his head solemnly. He turned to Michael who returned his bemused expression with a simple shrug.

“No fighting,” Naff insisted. “We let him come to us and we keep things civil.”

Chip looked disheartened, but he quickly perked up.

“So we hide in the dark, wait for him too approach and then jump out?” Chip exclaimed excitedly.

“I guess…”

Chip buzzed with childish glee, his little body practically trembling under the veil of his own pent-up excitement. His mind seemed elsewhere as he spoke: “And then we say something cool, something like, ‘the only presents you’re getting are--’, no wait. Oh, oh, I got it, ‘They’ll be no chimneys where you’re going’.”

“What? No, I don’t think--”

Chip held up an apologetic hand. “You’re right,” he said softly. “It’s terrible. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something better.”

Naff stared with open mouthed disbelief at his friend, lost for words and detoured from his own train of thought. Chip turned his own thoughtful eyes to the carpet, his mouth speaking silent thoughts as he tried to come up with a better punch line.

“What do we do when we have him?” Michael wondered as he shifted uncomfortably on the seat. “We can’t just ask him to nicely follow us back to hell can we?”

Naff tapped his forefinger against his lip thoughtfully. “I can take his powers away first, that would help.”

“No shit.”

“But I can only do that if he willingly gives them to me.”

“Ah,” Michael said with a sarcastic nod. “No problem there then.”

“Without his powers he’s harmless, we can overpower him.”

Michael nodded again, “Good luck with that.”

“But first,” Naff drifted into the kitchen. His