Pastor Elk

By David Gardiner

This story may be reproduced in whole or in part for any non-commercial purpose provided that authorship is acknowledged and credited. The copyright remains the property of the author

Over his white robe Pastor Elk wore a huge gold-embroidered scarlet chasuble enclosing his voluminous body and extending all the way to his wrists and his ankles, the material falling in generous folds from his arms to lend him the appearance of an enormous and very animated pantomime bat. Periodically flicking his long sandy-blond hair out of his eyes, he extended his arms and lunged from one side of the stage to the other, swooping low in theatrical gestures to underline the searing sincerity of his message, while the red material billowed and flowed in his slipstream, as though at any moment he might actually become airborne.

Muskie slouched at the side of the stage in his immaculately clean but slightly frayed white polyester-cotton altar boys’ robe, stroking the neck of his faithful guitar with an unconscious eroticism. He had heard it all before, could spot the tiniest variation in the nuances of Elk’s delivery, and tried not to appear bored, like the two girls with the tambourines, whose hourly rate Pastor Elk had been forced to increase in order to insure the proper ecstatic demeanour.

“The Good Lord didn’t put you here for no reason,” Elk bellowed in the sonorous mid-Atlantic bass tones that he had perfected with the aid of an elderly Bush cassette-recorder during the last few months of his imprisonment at Wormwood Scrubs (a project which had had the useful side-effect of earning him solitary confinement). “No Sir he did not! The Lord had a reason for putting you here, and deep down in your heart every one of you knows what that reason was!” The girls with the tambourines rattled them once to punctuate what he was saying. “It wasn’t to make a whole lot of money and then die a lonely, hated old recluse and have the government take it all in taxes. No Sir, that was not it!” Rattle of tambourines. “It wasn’t to work forty years for some mean spirited money grabbing corporation and then go off with an alarm clock to live in sheltered accommodation in Bournemouth!” Rattle of tambourines. “It wasn’t to marry some waster and breed a lot of ungrateful children that you never see except to pick up their presents at Christmas” Rattle of tambourines. “No M’aam, that’s not it either. It’s none of those things. So why did the Good Lord put you here? You want to know why he did that?” He dropped his voice dramatically and stood still, trying to look straight into the eyes of every person seated in the hall. “Well, I’ll tell you why.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The Good Lord put you here for one reason and one reason only. The Good Lord put you here to be happy yourself and to make other people happy as well.” The sentiment was received in hushed silence. Elk noticed for the first time a grammatical error and corrected it before he went on. “Actually I think that’s two reasons but never mind. Now answer me truthfully, have you ever met anyone, or heard tell of anyone on this planet, who doesn’t want to be happy? Of course you haven’t! And that’s because happiness is what we were made for by the Good Lord!” Extended rattle of tambourines. Pastor Elk jumped into the air and spread his scarlet chasuble like a parachute, his near twenty-stone bulk ensuring that his return to earth was nevertheless rapid. “Hallelujah brothers and sisters! Be happy in the name of the Lord!”

This was Muskie’s cue to strike up the next number, which he did with a show of vigour and enthusiasm. It was Sidney Carter’s “Lord of the Dance”. Elk went into a routine that resembled a crazed elephant attempting to gain its freedom by jumping over the fence of an invisible stockade. It consisted of a few strides in a random direction followed by an energetic hop and graceful billowing landing, scarlet and gold chasuble configured as an air-brake, stage boards creaking and visibly sagging as they received their design-limit point load. The tambourines went into overdrive and the congregation clapped out the rhythm with their hands and stamped it with their toes on the wooden floorboards. The “communicants”, those members of the congregation who had previously received Elk’s communion wine with its secret added ingredient, danced on to the stage and began to cavort in ways that put Elk’s flying elephant impression in the shade.

The chords of Muskie’s guitar were almost lost in the hubbub, but nevertheless when he suddenly stopped playing in the middle of a phrase it was only moments before first Pastor Elk and then everyone in the hall stopped gyrating and making noises and turned towards him to see what it was that had seized his attention.

From the door at the back of the hall a radiantly beautiful dark-haired young woman in a clinging white dress had entered and now stood alone and magnificent, smiling sweetly in the general direction of the stage. More than one member of the congregation wondered if they were seeing an apparition of the Virgin Mary, although she did not wear the regulation blue headgear, and there was something in her aura that made it difficult to think of her as a virgin.

The gathering quickly became completely silent. Pastor Elk broke the spell, speaking quietly and seriously but with a sparkle of delight in his voice that he could not conceal.

“Welcome to this happy gathering of the faithful, my child,” he greeted her warmly, “won’t you please come up and join us in our celebration of life, love, peace and happiness?”

“I would,” she said quietly but in a voice that somehow managed to fill the hall, “but I am a sinner. I need to confess all the bad things that I have done first.”

“Do you? Well, yes, of course, why not. If it will make you feel better.”

“Hey, that’s enough!” a woman shouted from the congregation.

“You got to let the lady unburden herself,” a man’s voice returned.

“Quite right,” another male voice chipped in, “you carry on, sweetheart. You get it off your chest. Ain’t that right, Pastor Elk?”

“I’m all for a bit of unburdening,” Elk confirmed.

“Hallelujah Baby!” the man’s voice agreed enthusiastically.

Muskie could no longer contain his emotions. All eyes followed him as he leaned his guitar against the side of the stage and walked slowly up the central aisle towards his Angel, eyes fixed on hers like a man in a trance, hands raised in a gesture of greeting and welcome reminiscent of a medieval saint in a stained-glass window. As he reached her, without saying a word, he opened his arms and embraced her. He held her gently but with the determination of one who has found what he always wanted and is never going to let go of it again. “You’ve come home,” he whispered into her ear, “I knew you would some day.”

oo0oo

Muskie had not let go of Angel since the end of the service. He held her right hand in both of his and toyed with her fingers as he gazed into her eyes. For the last fifteen minutes he had been begging her for reassurances that she was back to stay with an ardour that someone who hadn’t known him so well might have found quite alarming.

Pastor Elk, after an initial warm hug, had led the two of them to his trailer at the rear of the hall and settled down to the pleasant task of counting the night’s takings. He had decided to have a second collection, to fund the pastoral work that would be necessary to turn this delightful prodigal daughter away from the ways of Satan on to the path of righteousness. It had raised more than twice as much as the first one. He was already thinking of ways that the performance could be repeated, and even enhanced, at their next venue.

“Hey, you two lovebirds,” he said cheerily as he closed the top of the last little plastic bag of one-pound coins, “put each other down and tell me what you’ve been up to, Angel. How’s the singing career getting along? How come you’re not appearing on some big TV show or something?

Angel looked sad. “I got robbed,” she said meekly. “I was a fool. I signed some papers without reading them and my agent disappeared with everything. Business account, private account… everything.”

Muskie looked devastated. “That sleazy pimp-type guy with the goatee beard? What was his name?”

“Ambrose. You’ve met him, Muskie. He waited until my career was going down slightly - I mean, nobody stays at the top for ever - and before I had time to spend any of it, he pounced. Over two million pounds. All gone. The police say my chances of getting any of it back are pretty remote. So… to be honest…” her voice dropped to an apologetic whisper, “there’s nothing left. I can’t even pay my hotel bill where I’m staying. I’ve got nowhere to go. Can you help me, Muskie?” she whispered, squeezing his hand.

“What are you talking about?” he reproached her. “You’re at home now. Why would you need anywhere else to go?”

She kissed him fleetingly on the lips. “Thanks Muskie. I feel awful, only coming to you when I have nowhere else to go. I never appreciated you. Or the Elk. It’s only when you have nothing left that you remember who your real friends are.”

Elk came over and put his arm around her shoulder. “You think we don’t know what it’s like to take a fall? Believe me, we know.”

She reached across and offered him the same fleeting kiss. “I’ve really missed you two,” she whispered.

“What was it like, Angel?” Muskie asked quietly, “To be right at the top?”

She thought for a moment before answering. “You know all the things people say? That it’s lonely… shallow… that everyone you meet is insincere and greedy and trying to put one over on you… Well, it’s all true. I was never happy when I was successful. I couldn’t even enjoy the money I was making because there was never any time. Always another interview, or a rehearsal, or some business meeting I had to go to… My whole life was tied up, every minute was planned-out in a big black diary. I was never in the same town for more than a couple of nights. I rented three apartments but I didn’t live anywhere. I was screwing the technicians and the stage-hands in my dressing-room and picking up men in night clubs for a bit of human contact. There was nobody who really cared about me, Muskie. Not even one.”

The two of them instinctively hugged her a little tighter. “When I came back to look for you,” she told Muskie with a hint of a tear in the corner of her eye, “I looked in all the old places where you used to play. The Underground stations, the market squares, the railway arches… But you weren’t there any more. I thought I’d left it too late, Muskie…” The tears were beginning to flow. Elk relinquished his embrace and she relaxed into Muskie’s arms.

Elk shrugged. “I guess I was never the main man,” he said to himself , not expecting her to hear. For a reply she reached out a hand and pulled him a little nearer.

As Muskie and Angel kissed, Elk suddenly thought of something. “Angel, there’s an acquaintance of mine who might be able to help you.”

“A friend of yours?” She looked up hopefully.

“In a way. I’ve never met him but we’ve had a business relationship for a long time. He’s in the wholesale pharmaceuticals business, among other things. He supplies the suppliers. I don’t know whether he would be willing to see us but I could ask.”

“Why should he help me?” Angel looked puzzled.

“Well, let’s just say he has a keen sense of justice. People go to him for help when there’s nothing the law can do. When they have nowhere else to go. Sometimes he asks a little favour in return.” Elk headed for the trailer door. “I need to make a phone call from a public call-box. I guess you two can keep each other entertained while I’m gone?”

oo0oo

When Elk arrived back he knocked twice on the trailer door before he came in. The other two were nowhere in sight. Hearing giggling from the bedroom he shouted through from the sitting-room.

“Hi kids. Guess what? Mr. Baldino’s people say we can see him. He’ll let us know when it’s convenient. It’s a good start.”

“This is a nice bed,” Angel said softly from beneath the bedclothes next door. “Big. Why don’t you join us?”

Elk didn’t need to be asked twice. He started to undress, beginning with his large and gaudy wristwatch, followed by his shoes, and then his shirt. He had got as far as his underpants when there was a loud knock on the trailer door.

“Who in Heaven’s name…?”

He opened the door. Standing outside, back-lighted by the crimson summer sunset, two tall dark-suited men eyed him coldly. Behind them two long black limousines were parked like a miniature funeral cortege, with their engines running and the silhouettes of dark-suited figures in the driving seats.

“Mr. Baldino would like to see you,” one of them announced, “along with your two friends.”

“What, you mean now?”

“Mr. Baldino doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” the other pointed out with a calmness that was positively menacing.

“Change of plan, kids!” Elk called out urgently, “Clothes back on I’m afraid! We’ve got to go see someone.”

There was a muffled moan of pleasure from next door followed by a high-pitched “Oh God Muskie, don’t stop!” from Angel.

“Two young people sharing a tender moment.” Elk explained.

“We’ll wait in the car,” one of the men said disapprovingly, “but make it quick.”

“Oh, no, make it slow!” Angel protested.

oo0oo

There was little conversation during the half-hour journey to the huge isolated Baldino mansion on the fringes of rural Kent. Muskie, Angel and Elk sat together on the enormous rear seat, Angel in the middle holding each of their hands, glancing occasionally towards one or the other for reassurance. Both the men in the front had large bulges under the left flaps of their jackets that didn’t look like mobile phones.

The gates opened slowly and soundlessly to admit the cortege to a long tree lined driveway illuminated by a series of imitation gas lamps on low wrought iron posts. In the shadows between the lamps they caught occasional glimpses of dark suited standing figures looking back at them as they passed. They did not look like grounds men.

At the giant Greco-Roman entrance portico the two cars came to a very gentle stop and their driver politely opened the rear door and motioned towards the house. “I know,” Elk chipped in before the man could say anything, “mustn’t keep Mr. Baldino waiting.”

They were led by a tall elegant butler through the dazzling portrait lined vestibule and down an oak panelled corridor to a large inner door. Their two escorts followed at a polite three paces behind. At the door the butler left them. “I’m going to have to frisk you,” one of the men announced almost apologetically. “The lady is okay. I don’t think she could get a weapon anywhere inside that dress.”

“Thank you,” Angel replied out of habit. Whenever anybody mentioned what she was wearing or her appearance it was almost invariably intended as a compliment.

After a quick but thorough New-York-cop style frisking that satisfied the escort he knocked gently on the door and a quiet low voice invited them to enter.

Mr. Baldino was seated behind an unnaturally tidy oak desk about the size of a football field. He was a slightly overweight and very distinguished looking middle-aged man of Mediterranean appearance in an immaculate light grey suit whose elegance spoke of obscenely expensive hand tailoring. Two younger men of equally serious demeanour sat at either side of the desk, facing the door, and two more were positioned at either side of the entrance door facing Baldino. All of their clothing seemed to suffer from that same untidy bulge on the left side of the jacket. Although only Baldino’s top half was visible across the gargantuan desk, his regal presence dominated the scene like Nero attending an event at the Coliseum. He raised his right hand about an inch and chairs instantly appeared behind each of his three guests.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” he said in a quiet cultured voice with just the smallest hint of an Italian accent. He raised his hand again and one of the two men at the back of the room made his way to the cocktail cabinet and started to take out bottles and glasses. “Will you join me in a glass of wine? It’s produced in the south east of Sicily by friends of this family. It’s very good.”

“That would be an honour, Mr. Baldino,” said Elk nervously. Baldino waited until they had all been served, barely moving any part of his body but fixing Angel with an intent, slightly curious gaze. He raised his glass in a wordless toast, which was the signal for everyone to take a sip.

“It really is very good,” Elk offered sheepishly. It was so quiet that the slow laboured ticking of the grandfather clock behind Baldino seemed to fill the room.

“Now,” said Baldino, voice barely raised above a whisper, “what can I do for you and your charming friend?” It was fairly clear that Muskie wasn’t the charming friend that Baldino was referring to.

Elk became a little flustered. “This lady… she’s Clare Hanson, the singer… used to be pretty famous…”

“I know who she is,” Baldino assured him. “My two sons are enormous fans of yours, Miss Hanson. I also have a great regard for your talents.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Baldino!” Her anxiety vanished without trace. “I’d love to give you some autographed albums… and pictures… the next time we meet.”

He nodded politely. “My family would appreciate that,” he smiled fleetingly, “you might like to make them out to Santino and Michael. Now, I am already in your debt and you have not yet told me what it is that I can do for you.”

“Mr. Baldino,” said Angel in an embarrassed undertone, “I was robbed.” She told the entire story, at her own pace and in considerable detail. Baldino did not interrupt once, nor did his eyes stray from hers. When she was completely finished he paused thoughtfully and stroked his hair unconsciously before answering.

“So this Ambrose Livingstone left with more than two million pounds of your money?” he summarised in a tone of quiet sympathy.

“That’s right, Mr. Baldino.” The retelling of it all had brought Angel close to tears.

“This is a harsh world, Miss Hanson,” he confided, “where true justice for the weak must be fought for, by men of honour. Have you come here tonight seeking justice, Miss Hanson?” She nodded, unsure of what Baldino had in mind. “Then I accept your request on behalf of this family. One day, and that day may never come, we may ask you to perform some service in return. Is that acceptable to you, Miss Hanson?” She nodded again. “What was the exact amount that Mr. Livingstone took, Miss Hanson?” he asked politely.

“Two million one-hundred-thousand two-hundred and fourteen pounds. And sixty pence,” she added with a forced smile.

Baldino flicked a glance towards one of the men at his side. “This is Tom, my adopted son. He’s our lawyer and the main financial advisor to the family. Of course,” he smiled, “the family doesn’t always take his advice.” A polite titter of laughter went through Baldino’s seated men. “Tom, would you please get the lady’s money.”

Tom looked faintly surprised. “That won’t leave a great deal in petty cash, Dad.”

Baldino shot a faintly reproachful glance in his direction and without another word he stood up and left the room. Elk looked very puzzled but decided not to say anything. There was a long pause during which Baldino took another sip of wine, while the ticking of the grandfather clock began to sound like a military drum in a funeral procession. Eventually Tom returned with two large and expensive-looking suitcases which he placed in front of Angel’s chair.

“Your money is all there,” Baldino assured her. Instinctively Elk lifted one of the suitcases to look inside but Angel placed her hand on top.

“Elk, Mr. Baldino just said the money is all there. What would be the point of counting it?”

Elk immediately understood and put the case back on the floor. Baldino smiled pleasantly at Angel. “You’re an intelligent woman,” he said quietly, “you understand matters of good manners without having to be told. I like that.” He looked up and seemed to address everybody present, though he still spoke very quietly.

“Now Mr. Livingstone doesn’t owe this money to Miss Hanson any more. He owes it to me. I want you to collect this debt, Tom. I want you to make it the first thing on your list. I don’t care how much it costs or how long it takes or how many favours have to be called in. I want the debt repaid. Including the sixty pence.” He thought for a moment. “And I would like it if Mr. Livingstone stayed alive long enough to apologize to Miss Hanson personally.”

Tom nodded to indicate his full understanding of what was required.

“What can I do… I mean… to repay you?” Angel whispered nervously.

Baldino reflected for a moment. “Actually there is something,” he said pleasantly. “My son Michael gets married in three week’s time. I would like it if you could sing at his wedding.”

“Sing? But that’s nothing! Just sing?”

“To the Italian people, Miss Hanson, singing is not nothing. Singing is a secular prayer, a celebration of life. But that is not the service of which I spoke.” He lowered his voice and looked her straight in the eye. “Miss Hanson, this family is about to open a chain of casino hotels in European seaside resorts. Benidorm, Magaluf, places like that. It needs a small change in European Union law which may take a week or two to arrange. Tom is sorting it out for us. But when we’re ready to open, we’re going to need entertainers. A cabaret artist like you with an established name could have a big future with our organization. Would you be willing to do this service for my family, in return for all expenses and a reasonable share of the income generated by the enterprise?”

“Consider it! Are you kidding! Sorry, Mr. Baldino, I didn’t mean to shout. Yes, of course, I would be absolutely over the moon. So long as I could have Muskie with me - he’s my accompanist - and Elk, my… my new manager. Would that be alright?”

“No problem at all, Miss Hanson. We’ll talk about it at Michael’s wedding.” He paused again and when he next spoke it was to everyone. “And I would like you to put the word around that Miss Hanson is now under the protection of this family. If anybody else upsets her, or steals from her, or treats her with disrespect… I’m going to hear about it, and I’m going to be displeased.”

There was no visible response from Tom or the other men but it was obvious that everyone understood.

“I’d like to wish you a pleasant trip back, Miss Hanson. A couple of my private detectives will watch over you until you put that money somewhere safe.”

It was obviously their cue to leave. “You’re a lovely man,” Angel almost wept as she stood up. “I’ll never be able to repay you…”

Baldino smiled. “All of us are in the same business,” he said cryptically, “We just want to make people happy.”

oo0oo

Elk, Angel and Muskie sat in a line along the big bed in the back room of Elk’s trailer and stared at the two suitcases open on the floor in front of them. Each suitcase contained twenty thousand fifty-pound notes, neatly packed in one thousand note bundles, held together by stout rubber bands. The odd one-hundred-thousand two-hundred and fourteen pounds and sixty pence which had been packed separately in a plastic carrier-bag inside one of the cases now lay on the floor between them. Even Angel felt a certain awe at the sight of so much money in one place at one time.

“There it is,” she whispered, “my whole career in two suitcases and a plastic bag. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

Elk was the first to reply. His tone was also hushed. “You know, this is what I always dreamed about. Big suitcases stuffed full of fifty-pound notes. But shit, you’re right. It ain’t beautiful or exciting or anything. It’s scary. It’s like the money’s watching us. Saying to us, okay, here I am, how are you going to turn me into happiness?”

There was another pause. “I wonder what you’ve really agreed to with Baldino,” Muskie mused apprehensively.

“Baldino?” she smiled, “no, you don’t need to worry about him. He’s a pussycat.”

“Just one word of advice,” Elk offered with deep sincerity, “don’t end up in the sack with his son. At least not the one who’s getting married. I know Baldino wouldn’t like it.”

“Elk,” she laughed, “what kind of girl do you think I am?” The three exchanged knowing smiles.

For a moment they paused and looked at the money.

“Look, Angel sweetheart,” Elk said at last, “I’m not sure I feel right about this. You and Muskie are crazy about each other, I know that. And Muskie is a great guitarist. And it’s pure magic when the two of you sing together. I know all that. But I ain’t a singer and I don’t know sod all about managing one. What do you want me along for? You two have outgrown me. I’m yesterday’s man. That’s your money, Angel. And you’ve got yourself a new career, with your own talent, and your own looks. You don’t need me dragging after you. I mean, I’m okay now. I’m surviving. I’ve got a scam together that works and that’s almost legal and I’m doing okay. You don’t want me holding you back in your casino singing career.”

Instead of replying Angel stood up and started to count out bundles of fifty-pound-notes from the suitcases. She carried them over and spilled them on to Elk’s lap, where they overflowed on to the floor.

“What are you doing, Angel?” he gasped.

“That’s the first thing you need to learn about being a manager,” she explained cheerfully, “they get ten per cent.” For once Elk was speechless. “I trust you, Elk. And you’re street-wise. I’m not. I want you along. I’ll beg you if you want me to.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to do that, Angel,” he whispered, picking up the fallen bundles of fifties.

“And you, Muskie,” she went on, “the very first time we sang together, at the bottom of the escalator at Paddington Station, you divided the money four ways: you took one share and gave me three. Well, it’s my turn now. And this time we split fifty-fifty, after Elk’s ten per cent. And you’ve got to write me at least three songs a year, for me to sing exclusively. Those are my terms, take them or leave them.”

With tears in his eyes he embraced her and planted a gentle kiss on her lips. “Will you… always be there for me?” He asked weakly.

“Well, I think the last time we agreed you two could have me every night except Mondays and Tuesdays. I’m older now, I need more rest. I want to reserve Wednesdays as well.”

“Now hang on,” Elk protested, “that’s only two nights each, that’s a lot less than before…”

“But if we all live together it’s four nights for both of you…”

“I don’t know, Angel. It’s the principle of the thing…”

“Forget it Elk. I’ve learned something since those days. You don’t try to make Angel fit in. You don’t try to change her into someone else. You accept her the way she is and you thank God that you’ve got her at all. Come on. Let’s chill out. It’s bedtime.”

Elk laid his bundles of notes on the floor and for the second time that night started to undress.

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