Pastor Elk

Pastor Elk

By David Gardiner

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."

"I've been a very naughty girl," she began quietly and provocatively.
Every eye in the hall was fixed on her. Nobody moved a muscle. "I've
done so many bad things with so many men&;#8230; hundreds, maybe
thousands. Sometimes two or three in one night. Sometimes half a dozen
at a time. Sometimes in cars, sometimes in hotel rooms, dark alleys,
launderettes, store-rooms, locker-rooms, on billiard tables, in the
shower, standing up behind the curtains in the middle of a
dinner-party, in the changing rooms at Marks and
Spencers&;#8230;"

"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&;#8230;
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&;#8230; to be honest&;#8230;" 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&;#8230; shallow&;#8230; that
everyone you meet is insincere and greedy and trying to put one over on
you&;#8230; 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&;#8230; 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&;#8230; But you weren't there any more. I thought I'd left it
too late, Muskie&;#8230;" 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&;#8230;?"

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&;#8230; she's Clare
Hanson, the singer&;#8230; used to be pretty
famous&;#8230;"

"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&;#8230; and
pictures&;#8230; 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&;#8230; I mean&;#8230; 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&;#8230; 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&;#8230; 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&;#8230;"

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&;#8230; 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&;#8230;"

"But if we all live together it's four nights for both of
you&;#8230;"

"I don't know, Angel. It's the principle of the thing&;#8230;"

"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.

? 2001 David Gardiner