The Midnight Cleaning Company

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The journey back to the club was muted by failure. Josephine's idea to convince the Cleaners to join us had proved to be too optimistic and my plan had been too confrontational. We were alone against the might of the Elders as well as the institution of the Cleaners. Michael's threat of incoming reinforcements weighed heavy on our minds.

It was Josephine who broke the silence.

"Ze time for caution is over... war 'as begun", she said sadly.

"We must commence recruitment immediately", said Vincent, unable to hide his excitement.

"At ze club tonight, we recruit volunteers", Josephine said in a serious tone, visibly forcing herself to move past the failure of her plan.

George caught my eye. We both knew that volunteers would not be enough. We were on the defensive now and the nights to come would be the fight for our lives, against odds which stacked against us at every moment of inactivity.

"If we're at war now, I can't wear the enemy's uniform", Andre said oddly cheerfully as he looked out the window at the high-street shops.

"Fair point", I said. "Stop here", I called to the driver.

Andre and I got out of the cab,

We were near the Rogue's club on Camden Town high-street. It was still early evening and the shops had yet to close. It was the strange part at the end of the year when it gets dark so early that the night time and day time worlds blend into one.

Young drunk students and middle aged executives clinging to their evaporating youth, stumbled between pubs, shouting and laughing as they tried to cram as much fun as possible into their brief lives. They clashed with the high-street shoppers. Plastic bags of clothes and early Christmas presents from the sales, flailed in the air like feathers from startled birds whenever the two worlds collided.

Andre and I ducked into a clothing store. The second that we crossed the threshold, an overly chirpy staff member ambushed us.

"How can I help you?" he beamed with an fake friendly grin reminiscent of Vincent. I was unfamiliar with the ritual of shopping, having worn the same uniform since the end of The War.

"I would like some clothes please", I said politely.

"Erm... OK", said the confused shop assistant, "what kind of clothes are you looking for?"

I looked down at what I wore.

"Anything that isn't black", I replied.

Andre sighed.

"Don't worry mate, I'll handle this", he told the shop assistant. He seized me by the arm and dragged me to the men's section.

"Look through the racks for somfin' you like then try it on in there", he said, gesturing to the changing rooms before hurriedly walking away to browse for himself.

"We got money right?" he froze and asked over his shoulder in a sudden panic.

I fished into my jacket pocket and pulled out the roll of notes I had been given for the pig's blood run. It felt like an eternity ago.

"Safe", Andre said happily as he disappeared between the colourful racks of fabrics.

I pulled a pair of charcoal coloured jeans from a rack, and a bundle of shirts in different colours that looked about my size. On the way to the changing room that Andre had pointed out, I passed a display of shoes. I backtracked and stared at the variety of them. A sign informing me that a pair of Dr Martin's were acid proof, persuaded me to pick up a dark red pair, described on their label as ox blood coloured.