fiction
Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 23
An opportunity of this kind presented itself the first time my church ran our soup kitchen, “Souper Saturday” at the Saturday market. The church had been on friendly terms with the local Hells Angels since I took the funeral of one of their members. Indeed, one of them, Psycho, was running the soup kitchen and very effectively too.
I stepped forward for some beneficial steering. I looked at the men, and their bikes, and walked up the largest, apparently the leader. His bike was exceptional because the front forks had been extended much further than normal. Front fork extension appears to be a male dominance thing with Hells Angels. Judging by the shininess, it was new-found dominance, and didn’t look very safe to me.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I wonder if I might have a quiet word?”
Psycho started nudging his friends Al and Porker, and saying, “Jezzer’s in for it now! You watch this – dead man walking!”
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so I held my hands together close to my chest, tilted my head slightly to one side, and smiled gently. It is a pose I call “Pious Priest”, and it is guaranteed to infuriate even the kindest soul.
Jezzer stuck his face two inches from mine and said - omitting some of his less imaginative language - “What’s it got to do with you?”
He was wearing mirrored sunglasses, which made his eyes difficult to read. I leant closer and whispered, “If you ride your bike again, you will die.”
“Oh yeah?” he replied, stepping back. “Oh yeah? You reckon? Watch this!”
He climbed on his bike, pulled on an open-faced helmet, and started the bike. His two accomplices stood there sneering. It was all depressingly childish, but I maintained my gentle smile. Jezzer opened the throttle and rode up North Street to the Sutley Integrated Transport Hub. People were becoming aware that something was happening and started to turn to look. Psycho was almost bouncing up and down with excitement as Al and Porker kept telling him to be quiet – or words to that effect.
The bike’s engine noise dropped to a murmur for a few seconds as he negotiated the mini-roundabout, then roared as he let it open all the way, heading back towards us. Jezzer brought the bike up into a wheelie which he held for perhaps thirty metres before dropping the front wheel to the ground in front of us. At which point the overly-extended front forks crumpled in a most regrettable manner. The bike flipped, driving Jezzer head-first into the ground before skidding and sparking its way down the road.
Jezzer’s accomplices stared slack-jawed at the wreckage.
“Excuse me,” I said to them, “I believe my services are needed.”
I walked over to Jezzer while Psycho kept saying, “I told you! Didn’t I tell you? He knows the Words of Death!”
Psycho can be funny about such matters, but I put him out of my mind as I focused on Jezzer. As a priest I have seen death, and I knew I would see it again very soon.
“Right, Jezzer, I’ll keep this brief, because you haven’t got long. Upstairs or downstairs – your call. Yes or no?”
He made a rattling sound, so I said, “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’”
I pronounced a quick absolution and finished the necessary prayers just in time. The whole death-bed repentance thing is a bit controversial, I know, but there wasn’t time for meaningful debate.
Returning to the others, I said, “Psycho, you’d better stir that soup before it burns.”
Al and Porker nodded and led him away, still muttering “Words of Death”. Abigail was efficiently taking care of crowd control. One of Jezzer’s mates was sitting on the ground, head between his knees, and the other was being noisily sick beside his bike. Well, Jezzer wasn’t a pretty sight. About then, the emergency services arrived. Events like this attract multiple phone calls. One of the ambulance staff caught my eye, and I shook my head slightly. She nodded and went about her duties in a professional manner. The police cordoned off the area, and once they were assured everything was safe, started talking to people. Predictably, I was interviewed after the late Jezzer’s friends.
“So, what can you tell me, Reverend?” asked a constable.
I gave a succinct summary, of how I had attempted to calm a confrontation down, in the process warning Jezzer that his front forks were an accident waiting to happen. Sadly, he hadn’t accepted my advice with tragic consequences. Although the constable doubted the wisdom of me intervening, she understood that as a vicar I would see it as my duty.
She asked, “What is it about the tables? They were saying you’d stolen their tables.”
I looked blank. Like “Pious Priest”, I practice “Bemused Priest” in front of a mirror. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, “We borrowed these tables from the school, and we’ll be taking them back when we finish here. You’re welcome to come and see if you like.”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary.”
And there was another police interview concluded. I made a mental note not to become blasé about them and went to check on Mabel.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m fine,” I replied.
“I saw you with the biker before he died. Did he turn to the Lord?”
A typically evangelical question from my somewhat dim, somewhat evangelical fiancée. I assured her of Jezzer’s spiritual destination, and she smiled with joy. I took over the kitchen while the police chatted with Al, Porker and Psycho. We continued to do a roaring trade, which might surprise some, but how often can you watch the emergency services at work while enjoying freshly made soup?
When finishing time came, Psycho was very cheerful. “Over two hundred sold! Would you believe it?”
“Yes,” I said. “And now we will take the tables and chairs back to the school, where we got them from this morning.”
He was quick on the uptake, saying, “Sure, sure. What was it you said to Jezzer, anyway?”
“I rather think that’s between me and him, don’t you?”
He turned pleasantly pale and nodded twice, quickly.
I continued, “I’m rather curious what Hells Angels would be wanting with tables and chairs.”
“Dunno, David. I picked these up from the school.”
I remembered that he had originally agreed to help out after asking if we had any tables and chairs. I was curious for details, as there is nothing like details for tripping you up. Still, that could wait until later.
Once we’d taken the tables and chairs to the school I returned home for dinner. Luckily it was relatively light as I had had more than one serving of soup from Souper Saturday myself. After that, I retired to my study to write the next day’s sermon. Naturally I would have to make mention of the success of Souper Saturday. Equally, it was required that I reference Jezzer’s death. I looked up the next day’s Bible readings as set out in the Lectionary. Just as I was getting into it, there was a knock on the door. I sighed, got up and answered it.
Outside were Jezzer’s two friends. Apparently, they had spent the intervening hours since the accident drinking.
They had not come to discuss funeral arrangements.
Disclaimer: The “Pious Priest” pose is not at all infuriating, and it should not be necessary to practice in front of a mirror in order to achieve perfection. It is a pose that should flow naturally from within.