“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said. “I believe you have something for me.”

“Only if you have something for me.”

“Just everything you needed to know, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” I looked around. There were far too many people crammed up against the bar. “I think we should take this outside. These things would be better said in private.”

We squeezed back towards the door. Outside the bar, Alby led me down a little side lane, away from the madness of the street.

“Okay,” I said. “What have you got to tell me?”

“I’ve got answers to all your questions. I’ve poked my nose into places it shouldn’t be seen in, and I’ve dug down to the bottom of the deepest holes in Heaven, but I’ve found the answers.”

“If I wanted dramatics I would have gone to the theatre. Just tell me what you know.”

“Okay,” he said. “Now the first thing you wanted to know is who is responsible for collecting the garbage in Heaven. It’s actually collected by teams from . . . down below!”

Alby paused, clearly expecting some sort of reaction to his revelation. When I didn’t respond, he went on anyway. “They come up every night and clean up the whole place. Though I have to say,” he added as he kicked away a couple of pages of newspaper that had wrapped around his feet, “that with the job they’re doing at the moment, I think I deserve my money back.”

“I’ll decide what you deserve,” I said. “This isn’t news to me. Have you got anything else?”

“Oh?” For a moment, Alby was taken aback, but it didn’t stop him for long. “Actually I do. Something huge. All of the teams are organised by one central agency that is involved with not only garbage collection but also all operations for the maintenance of Heaven, including sewage, electricity generation, and window cleaning. This agency is one hundred percent owned and operated by . . . the Devil!”

“All old news.”

This time, the look of dismay on Alby’s face couldn’t be hidden. “You’re lying,” he cried. “You can’t possibly have known all this.”

“I know about this and plenty more. Now, have you got anything fresh for me or are you just wasting my time?” I began to walk back along the alley.

“No, wait,” Alby called. “Perhaps you’d like to know who signed the contract from Heaven’s side?”

I stopped and turned around. “There’s a contract?”

“There most certainly is. Iron-clad. No exemptions.”

“Then perhaps I would like to know.”

“So I do have some useful information after all.” Alby was speaking as slowly as he could, clearly enjoying the power his secret knowledge gave him. “The signatory for Heaven is in fact none other than . . . ”

“Yes.”

“ . . . none other than . . . ”

“If you don’t tell me now, I’ll fill you so full of soda water you’ll explode.”

“ . . . none other than God’s own son.”

“Jesus?” I said.

“No, the other one. What’s his name, Percival?”

I froze in my tracks. If Alby had been holding a feather, he could have knocked me down with it. Inside my head, I could hear the click as another piece of the puzzle slid into place. The Devil had signed an iron-clad contract to provide a garbage collection service to Heaven. If anyone else wanted to take over that service, they would have been faced with a considerable problem. But if the signatory to that contract on Heaven’s behalf should suddenly disappear, maybe convincing the Devil to break that contract and sell the garbage collection business wouldn’t be quite so difficult. Could this be the real explanation for Phil’s disappearance?

Immersed in thought, I started towards the street. An enraged voice quickly pulled me short.

“Where do you think you’re going, Clarenden? I gave you what you wanted. Now give me what you promised me.”

I turned and walked back towards him. His eyes acquired a greedy glow as he watched me reach into my pocket and remove the bottle. As I handed it over, he attacked it like a hungry squirrel trying to prise open a particularly stubborn nut, and then he slammed it to his lips. After a moment, he lowered it again. The sullen gaze had returned to his face.

“This is your idea of a joke, I suppose,” he growled, holding up the bottle. In the fading light I could just make out that it was empty. My drinking session with Bully Malone had been far more thorough than I’d realised.

“That’s too bad, Alby,” I said. “But if you’ll remember, I didn’t actually promise you anything. I placed a label in a note. That was all.”

“You’re a rat, Clarenden,” he snarled. “You’re a filthy rodent.”

I chose not to throw a retort back, partly because I wasn’t sure I could argue with his assessment of my character, but mainly because my instinct told me a more practical course of action would be to duck. I ducked. Almost instantaneously, the empty bottle sailed past the spot where my head had been and shattered on the ground behind me.

Taking this as a clear sign that my business with Alby had reached an endpoint, I didn’t stick around. I was finally onto something, but there was still so much to uncover. I had to know who had taken over the garbage collection from the Devil, and there was only one person I could think of to ask. One person who I suspected had the answers to all of my questions inside his head. The only problem was he also had the answers to every other question inside his head as well.

* * *

As I rapped on the doors of God’s palace, I couldn’t help noticing that even the previously pure white of the palace walls now looked stained and dirty.

Gabriel opened the doors and ushered me in. He greeted me with words that were both highly unexpected and also profoundly worrying.

“I’m so glad you’ve come back, Mr Clarenden.”

“That would probably make you the first,” I said. “I figure it’s not for any good reason.”

“Indeed. I’m afraid the Master is not in a good way.”

“Has something happened to Him?”

“You’d better see for yourself.”

He led me to the door of God’s chamber and knocked loudly.

“Mr Clarenden to see you, Master.”

“Show him in, Gabriel, show him in.” God’s voice sounded surprisingly jovial through the chamber door.

I pushed open the door and passed through. God’s chamber was alarmingly different. The couch was gone and in its place there was an enormous throne, carved out of mahogany and gilded with precious stones. Sitting proudly atop the throne, God himself no longer wore a simple white robe. He was instead arrayed in a massive red cloak, trimmed at the edges with white fur and seams of gold thread, while on His head sat a crown of gold that sparkled with diamonds and other jewels.

The only thing about the room that was resolutely unchanged was the television on the far wall. On the gleaming screen, a salesman was screaming about the amazing benefits of his particular brand of hypnotherapy, while a parade of supposedly satisfied customers gave his message an air of profound banality.

God turned to me and held out His arms. He was beaming.

“Mr Clarenden, do take a seat.”

“I can only see one chair, and you seem to be occupying it comfortably.”

“So I am,” God chuckled. “I keep forgetting. I’ve just discovered the most wonderful thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“Television home shopping networks. Thanks to them, I’ve got my new throne, and a completely new wardrobe, and take a look at this.”

He lifted the crown and shook His head, sending His white hair flapping and waving.

“I’ve found a shampoo that gives my hair a new bounce and life it’s never had before!”

I stood, unable to form words, as God continued discussing the details of His purchases, including His new exercise machine, His new fat-free deep fryer, and His new set of steak knives. There was only one conclusion to be gained from any of this. The pressure had finally gotten to Him. God had gone completely mad.