Chapter 5 : Good Godfathers

Tadfield Town Hall looked like any other town hall in Wales. Crowley looked up at the small stone walls. And yet it emanated an ominous, threatening aura. He saw a shadow peering at them from behind one of the windows on the second floor.

" Are you sure, Goldilocks?" Crowley asked his partner, who hadn't uttered a single word the whole journey. "I don't think that the three bears living here are very friendly."
"Absolutely sure!" said the sergeant, raising his head hurriedly. "Absolutely tickety-boo !"
He slipped out of the Bentley and was about to head for the town hall when Crowley called out to him again, forcing him to turn around:
" Goldilocks! "
He watched in amazement as his team-mate pulled a plump apple from his pocket, stolen from the Tylers' orchard, and threw it at him. Aziraphale caught it in his hands. The inspector smiled what could be described as a smile:
"So you don't have to lick the bowl of three bears if you get hungry."

Aziraphale thanked him and a semblance of a smile, which quickly faded, appeared on his lips. Crowley watched him cross the threshold of the town hall, his chin against his forearms resting on the steering wheel of his car. He stood there for a few seconds, his eyes riveted to the second-floor window. The shadow disappeared and the policeman decided to return to the station, but the musical antics of his "infernal automobile" were not enough to dispel the anxiety clenching his gut.

Back at the station, he was greeted by Shax, who handed him a thick envelope that she had 'neglected' to give him that morning. He turned over his mail and saw that it had been opened, before being summarily glued back together. The diabolical receptionist smiled at him with a completely hypocritical expression. Crowley crossed the room, which he thought was deserted, before spotting Eric, barefoot, trying to remove the thick splinter he had embedded in his heel. As he contorted to remove the thorn, the young officer informed him that Muriel and Furfur had gone to lay radar not far from the Tarot Forest. Crowley thanked him and entered his office. Eric took hold of the thorn and was about to remove it after more than an hour's effort, when a scream ruined all the work he had done. The young officer lost his balance, fell from his seat and caught it in the face. Massaging his sore face, he hobbled back to his superior's office.

Crowley, holding the letter at arm's length, paced the room cursing the noble institution of the British police with every insults he knew and in every language he spoke.

"Inspector?" asked Eric as he staggered closer.
" They've suspended my licence, bastards! Speeding, going the wrong way... By Satan's nails, I don't drive that fast and a one-way street depends on how you look at it!"
"Haven't you ever had problems like this before?"
"A colleague of mine, Elspeth, always managed to get rid of my little misdemeanours on the road. I helped her when she found herself with a dead body... Long story!"
"I'm sure it is, Inspector. You know, I can solve the problem in a few minutes," said a now mysterious Eric.
" I'm not sure," began Crowley as he saw the young officer take his place behind his computer.

He was about to move him away from his desk to avoid electrocution, when he saw with amazement that the young officer had already connected to the police's private network. He performed a few quick manipulations and confidential files appeared on the screen.

"Didn't Sergeant Fell say anything to you?" Eric said mischievously." I'm pretty good with computers."
He clicked on the 'delete' button.
"That was it! No more licence suspension!"
"You won't have any trouble?"
" If you knew the number of sites I've been able to access... did you know about a former prime minister's passion for pigs?"
"No, I didn't."
"And do you remember the 'little' problem with the four hundred tonnes of uranium that disappeared from the Turning Point power station?"
" Yes, I remember."
" That was me! I gave them quite a scare! But my best shot was still for Sergeant Fell. Well, it wasn't the result he was hoping for but ..."
Eric caught Crowley's glance and stood up hurriedly.
"Oops... I shouldn't have said that! "
"Eric, what have you done ? I promise I will keep your dirty secret," Crowley murmured in a honeyed voice, flashing his best smile.
" I can't say anything... I promised ! " If it makes you feel any better, it wasn't totally illegal... well, not totally legal either, but there was no money involved, no deaths... it's just..."
The young officer stared at the screen showing the Alpha Centauri.
" Sergeant Fell was looking for 'someone' but I make a mistake and..."

Lilith's bark, announcing the return of the other two officers, roused the poor constable from his embarrassment. He excused himself and left the office with the suppleness of a giraffe that had just felt the air fill its delicate nostrils. Crowley, while putting away the now obsolete mail, thought to himself that Tadfield, after all, had a lot of little secrets in stores.

On entering the town hall, Aziraphale was greeted warmly by the receptionist, a man dressed entirely in white – the obligatory colour for anyone working there–, and sporting a fine pair of moustaches that were the delight of their owner and the envy of many of the moustachioed inhabitants of Tadfield. He looked up as Aziraphale approached and put an end to R.P Tyler's weekly phone call to see if he could install electrified fences around his orchard.

" I don't think that's allowed under planning law, . No, we don't give permission for a watchtower either. Very well, Mr. Tyler. I'll pass on your request for a meeting to our mayor."

He hung up, but didn't bother to take note of the request from the new citizen of Tadfield.

"Good morning", he said, tapping on his keyboard.
"Good morning Andersiel, I'm expected by the mayor."
" I know."

At that moment, Aziraphale noticed the man sitting near the reception desk, his face hidden behind a newspaper, pretending to read as he watched the comings and goings of everyone in the town hall. Aziraphale nodded at him. The mayor's personal chauffeur, who had been with him for years, settled for his eternal little grin, which had always displeased the policeman. How many times had he had to cunningly evade the surveillance of this unfailingly loyal man who had always found him, even during his little escapade in Edinburgh, to bring him 'home'?

Shaking these unpleasant memories from his mind, Aziraphale climbed the imposing, immaculately carpeted staircase to the mayor's office on the second floor. As he reached the impressive doorway, its majesty overwhelming him, he plunged his hand into his pocket and felt the soft flesh of the apple against his fingers. He grabbed it and brought it to his lips. He sank his teeth into it and took a large bite, as if it were a magic potion designed to protect him from the evil tricks of a naughty bear, and put it back in his pocket. He raised his right hand and struck three blows. Two long blows and a shorter one, following the code established over the years. He waited a few seconds. A deep voice ordered him to enter and Aziraphale, after giving the hidden apple one last touch, entered the office.

The curtains had been opened, bathing the gigantic room in divine light. The surprisingly modern office contrasted sharply with the frozen-in-time appearance of the rest of the town hall. The only old object was a pictorial reproduction of a field of bluebells. As he did every time he entered these premises, Aziraphale couldn't resist taking a look at this painting, his mother's favourite, of which there was only one reproduction left in Tadfield: the one in this room. He walked over to the huge glass desk on which sat a computer. As he approached, a white-coated Great Dane, lying under the desk, raised its head and greeted him with a bark.

" Quiet, Her Almighty," hissed the voice from the man whose back Aziraphale could only see.
Aziraphale bowed his head and greeted the figure sitting in the armchair.
"Greta," the voice ordered the woman lurking in the shadows. "Offer Aziraphale an almond coffee."

The woman called Greta, tablet in hand, approached a resolutely modern coffee machine, placed a cup in it and brought Aziraphale the obligatory drink. The policeman tried to decline the offer – he had never been much of a coffee drinker – but the voice ordered him to take the drink and he complied in silence, as he always had. He thanked Greta as he glanced down at her shoes: that day, the mayor's assistant was wearing a pair of exquisite silver pointed pumps embellished with a small pair of wings at the heel.

" I'm listening Aziraphale. What can you tell me about our new inspector?"
Aziraphale took a sip of caffeine to give himself a semblance of courage:
" He's having a bit of trouble acclimatising to Tadfield and ..."
" I wonder how such an error could have occurred... I called the Home Secretary himself, who seemed quite confused... a computer bug apparently."
Aziraphale coughed as he spat out the little almond coffee he had just swallowed. Her Almighty looked up at him again, its eyes heavy with accusation.
"This job should have been yours, despite your little whims..." muttered the voice." That was the plan."
" I suppose some things are... ineffable," replied Aziraphale, swirling the cup around to hide his nervousness.
" Keep an eye on him, Aziraphale, until we find a solution to send this fallen inspector back to his Hell..."
" He keeps me on my toes !"
Aziraphale began to sway from one foot to the other, embarrassed by the silence between him and the man who refused to look at him. The man, his arm resting against the armrest, seemed lost in contemplation of Tadfield.
" Don't forget Aziraphale, to whom you owe your loyalty."
"I'm not likely to forget," he replied, tightening his fingers around the cup.
" A reminder is always necessary, especially since your outburst last year..."
" I... I promised I'd never do it again! "
" Your promises, Aziraphale, allow me to doubt their sincerity. You may go."

Aziraphale murmured a faint "goodbye" and left the office, his head bowed like a schoolboy who has just been reprimanded for cheating. When the door closed behind him, he couldn't suppress a relieved sigh and hastily threw the still full cup into the dustbin on the first floor. He returned to the stairs and was about to go into the entrance hall when he came face to face with Gabriel, dressed in a pearl grey suit of the highest quality. The estate agent greeted him with a slap in the stomach.

" Aziraphale! I haven't seen you run for a while!"
" I'm running out of time at the moment," replied the policeman, massaging his stomach.
"Look at that bun! Fiddle-dee-dee ! You need to take better care of your sacred temple! Don't forget that your objective is to fit into your wedding suit."
Gabriel put his connected watch under his nose.
"You've only got six months, three days and twelve hours left to get rid of all that fat. If you like, I can give you a discount on my new slimming programme. What do you think?"
" Gabriel, I really don't..."
"All right, I'll send it to you. I've also put a whole series of new videos online on how to lose a few kilos before going to the beach. A perfect summer's body programme!"

Aziraphale nodded and managed to make his way away from the estate agent, who for some years now had been pursuing a successful career in Internet coaching. Under the name of Fit Gabi , he had managed to create a business that was just as successful as selling sumptuous houses to wealthy city dwellers.

" Aziraphale," Gabriel called out to him from the bottom of the stairs, "you really weren't bad back then."
He raised his head. Gabriel winked at him and clicked his tongue teasingly.
" When you were at police school, you were so thin! I think there's someone who'd love to see that Aziraphale again : your dear sweetheart."

The estate agent left him on his last words before disappearing to the second floor. Aziraphale raised his right hand and brought it to his upper lip, which he pressed firmly. He had no desire to see that unhappy "Aziraphale" again. He closed his eyes and intensified the pressure of his fingers against his mouth to rediscover the flavour of a kiss never forgotten. Except for one thing. Just one thing. That night when, for the first and last time, he had felt fully wanted.

When Aziraphale returned to the police station, after having collected his bicycle from the Tylers, he looked glum and took refuge in his office. He even declined Muriel's offer of a break. Crowley, who had agreed to share a coffee with Muriel and Eric, wanted to bother – just a bit ! – his mute team-mate. He even undertook to carry the poor Ficus from the entrance hall to his office to get him to react, but the sergeant remained deaf to all his provocations, even when he began to inveigh against the green plant using some very naughty epithets! Having just torn three leaves from the poor plant, on the pretext that they weren't bright enough, Crowley played one last card and, at an even higher volume, insulted the plant in Gaelic. His technique seemed to work... but all he got instead of the expected shrieks was a curious look from Goldilocks that he couldn't decipher. After swallowing a good ten cups of dubious coffee – which wasn't as good as Nina's – Crowley decided to go back to sorting out his desk, whose drawers still contained a few uninteresting possessions belonging to his predecessor.

In the first drawer, he unearthed a few catalogues from a time when online shopping didn't exist, featuring the curves of canonical-age women posing in knickers and slimming girdles. He tossed the catalogues into the bin and discovered, rolled into a ball, some underwear that probably didn't belong to Sergeant Gomorrha. The scraps of fabric suffered the same fate as the catalogues. Finding an old receipt for a shop for "grown kids" in Heavhell, Crowley had to force himself not to grab his phone and send a self-esteemless message to Samael. His mind then began to wander, no doubt encouraged by the series of articles bought by Gomorrha, far, far away from Tadfield, in his flat in Mayfair. He chuckled as he imagined himself in the little greenhouse he had set up for his chlorophyll slaves. In the early days of his divine idyll, the poor girls had witnessed some scenes that had made the tips of their leaves blush. Crowley closed his eyes and remembered one particular Sunday afternoon when he and Samael had taken communion in their own way... but his little reverie was interrupted by the horrified scream of an Eric who had just stuck a staple in his thumb. The scream, which sounded nothing like Samael's, was followed by sobs. Crowley mumbled and cursed the British police, left his office and, with Muriel's help, took the injured man to the rest room. He sat him down in a chair and let the young constable disinfect poor Eric's wound before wrapping a large piece of gauze around his finger.

" Maybe he'd like a magic kiss," whispered Furfur, who was leaning against the gas cooker, thinking he was adopting a charming posture.
Crowley rolled his eyes. The officer hastened to add:
" I could do with some to give me a bit of courage."

His superior, as a kiss, ordered him to get back to work if he didn't want to be in charge of traffic when the rain had been pouring down continuously for the last few hours. Crowley, having rid himself of Furfur and reassured Eric that he would not die of tetanus, returned to his lair.

He went to the last drawer of his desk. He opened it and was faced with a whole pile of receipts that he would never have liked to discover. He was about to close the drawer when he dipped his hand in and felt a double bottom. He groped around and effortlessly managed to unlock a small hiding place large enough to conceal a file. He withdrew it and opened it. Crowley grabbed a photograph and examined it: it was a fisherman's house that had largely burnt down. He also read the report written by Heavhell's fire captain. The report was about thirty years old and pointed to the possibility of arson. He also found a newspaper article about the fire that had claimed the life of Ceridwen Fell, a local celebrity according the few interviews given by the people of Tadfield who seemed to have loved her. One of the most grave tributes, but Crowley sensed a few things left unsaid between the lines, was that of the mayor at the time: a man with piercing blue eyes. A man of power, the policeman guessed as he filed away the press cuttings. Was there a link between this file and the 'Morpheus' file? Crowley's instinct said that the two stories were linked. He took out the file he had compiled on the mysterious Morpheus and slipped in the new documents he had discovered. Why would Gomorrah keep this file in his office, knowing that his successor might stumble across it? If he was so keen to hide what was undoubtedly a sordid affair, why hadn't he taken it with him or destroyed it? It was more than reckless, it was stupid! Crowley grabbed his notebook and jotted down a few ideas so he wouldn't forget. His team-mate had a panic fear of fire and had scolded Muriel when they had mentioned the fire. Was he the son of the woman who died in the fire? Crowley realised that he wouldn't be able to ask him about it, and knew that he would have to use other channels of information to find out more about his partner, who had been spying on him discreetly ever since he got his hands on the file...

The last hours of the day passed slowly and painfully. Furfur, claiming filial duty, left the police station shortly before teatime. Shax, who had spent much of the day not answering calls and gambling away what little capital she had left from her late husband's life insurance, deserted her post at the same time as the officer. Before switching off her computer, the diabolical receptionist had created an online bet, the link to which had been posted on the town of Tadfield's Facebook page, so that the community could bet money on the expected departure date of their new police inspector. Ennon, the young paperboy, bet £10 – what was left of his student grant – over seven days, while Furfur bet a large sum of money over a fortnight. A few comments from Muriel, Eric and Arthur Young took offence at such a bet and came to the defence of the 'nice' Inspector Crowley, comments which were immediately deleted by the page's administrator, none other than Shax. Shax, however, missed Nina's comment saying that it wouldn't be long before the fop-doodle brought a few people to their knees.

By the end of the day, around fifty punters had already placed several bets when Crowley, to relieve his boredom, logged on to Tadfield's Facebook page. He read the new post and clicked on the link to the online bet. He smirked and, under the pseudonym he used to keep an eye on the various social networks, bet the money he didn't have over four weeks. He was giving himself a month, and not a day more, to get out of this Welsh hell and back into the upper echelons of his Majesty's police force.

Once the money was in, Crowley went back to writing the Tyler Report. Gradually, he felt himself falling asleep... He sat up briskly and found that night had already fallen and that the police station was now deserted... well, almost deserted. Goldilocks was still at his desk, scraping paper by the light of a paraffin lamp. Fell should have made a career in administration rather than the police! thought Crowley as he stood up. He grabbed his jacket and took another look at his partner. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. Wasn't waiting impatiently for him, cooking up a little Welsh dish or having an even more delicious surprise in store for him? Conceding defeat, and with no or to greet him after such a day, Crowley decided to leave his office. He turned off his computer, picked up the 'Morpheus' file which he intended to study in front of an episode of Golden Girls.

Fell finally looked up from his cursed paperwork and gave him a vague greeting ... which Crowley couldn't accept. He stepped through the non-existent door separating him from his partner and rested his hip against the doorframe.

" Don't keep Mrs. Fell waiting too long, Goldilocks."
His partner gave him a surprised look.
"Mrs. Fell?"
"Your wife, Sarge Aussilarondelle!"
" I think there's been a misunderstanding," declared Aziraphale as he increased the brightness of the paraffin lamp.
Crowley tilted his head to one side and began to observe his team-mate's wriggling little curls and, above all, his eyes, made even brighter by the light.
"You've got a wedding ring, so you're a married man."
" Almost married."
" The happy bride-to-be! You're about to experience the ineffable joys of marriage, for better or for worse! Congratulations, Sarge Quasifidèle! What's the name of the lucky lady? I hope her name is as original as yours!"
" I'm not in the habit of talking about my private life, Inspector Crowley, which, as the name suggests, is private. And I would ask you to stop making jokes about my name!"
"Very well, Cherub."
" I'm not a..."
"You've got all the makings of a cherub, with your little curly hair like that of a little girl wanting to take holy orders and your choirboy manners ! "

This time, Aziraphale removed his glasses, stood up from his desk and faced his declared enemy. He searched for his gaze, but couldn't find it, as the sunglasses on his team-mate's nose made it impossible.

" Look, I can understand that you're frustrated to find yourself here and I apologise, but..."

The lights went out, plunging the station into darkness, with the exception of Sergeant Fell's office. Crowley cursed and fumbled for the light switch. Aziraphale let out a sigh:
" It's no use, the electricity goes off at ten o'clock at night. It's one of the solutions found by Inspector Gomorrah to make a few savings."
" Couldn't he go easy on his travels and other naughty objects, instead?" grumbled Crowley, who had every intention of resolving the situation by the next day.

He caught a smile on his partner's face. A shiver ran down his spine. There was something familiar about this nocturnal discussion. The memory of another night, a summer night rather than a spring night, came flooding back. A power cut in a student residence. A door with a twisted number showing the number "16". A hand turning a handle while lips, his own, were lost against the nape of a neck...

" Inspector Crowley?"

A door closing. Clumsy hands groping for each other. Feet, his own, banging against a gramophone on the floor and a mouth, his own, letting out an expletive that was muffled by other lips, making him taste a kiss that was a little clumsy... but so much more intense than all the experienced kisses exchanged with Goldie or Samael.

" Inspector Crowley? Is everything all right?"

He blinked as Sergeant Fell, no doubt concerned for his sanity, ran his hand over his eyes to get his attention. Crowley nodded. Reassured, Aziraphale walked over to his desk and grabbed his paraffin lamp, the usefulness of which his inspector had just realised. They crossed the station and made their way to the front door.

" Do you still have work to do?" asked Aziraphale when he saw the file Crowley was holding in his hand.
Crowley hastened to reply, bringing the file to his chest:
" A real policeman never stops, Sarge Cherub!"

He then noticed his team-mate's tired face. His exhaustion was undoubtedly not due to intense night-time activities involving at least a second person. He really did look exhausted, as if he hadn't slept for days. Crowley felt a pang of guilt at the thought that he must have been a real pain in the arse with his bloody temper! Fell had had to run the station on his own to overcome Gomorrah's incompetence and he, a grumpy old man, hadn't made his job any easier since his arrival in Tadfield.

" Cherub" Crowley murmured in a soft voice, "don't stay up too late. You look as good as a spy zombie!"
" A spy zombie?!"
" Every self-respecting film has its spy zombies ! You've never seen 1941: Spy Zombies of the Blitz? Excellent film!"

Aziraphale gave him a surprised look before masking a small amused laugh. Encouraged by this unexpected reaction, Crowley launched into an impassioned summary of this forgotten masterpiece of comic-horror cinema, featuring a pairing of a naive bookseller and a quick-witted American, battling a trio of cannibalistic zombies as bombs fall on a papier-mâché London.

We recommend our readers to watch this incomparable film from the 1970s, whose director very quickly abandoned his promising career to start raising French chickens. The actor who played one of the two heroes went on to have a brilliant career as a background's vampire in other vampire movies such as Dracula and the Yeti, Dracula in Paris, Dracula Gets Married and Dracula's Divorce. His acting partner, on the other hand, disappeared from the screens and, after a failed career as a singer, turned to making burgers in a remote fast-food restaurant in the United States. Despite our research, we have no information to pass on to you about the three actors playing the zombies.

" And at the end," finished Crowley, "the American and the Englishman have a candlelit dinner in the bookshop and kiss."

This time, Aziraphale burst out laughing and gave him a sparkling look of mischief that bore no resemblance to the hostile glances he had been giving him since they first met. He really did have very pretty eyes. Eyes that a demon would damn himself for, if he wasn't already...

" Be careful," murmured an Aziraphale who had regained his seriousness, "when you leave. And don't forget to pay your debt to the Little Giant!"

Crowley grimaced: he had forgotten this 'little detail'. He promised to pay the amount due as soon as the mini-market opened.

" Good night, Inspector Crowley," said Aziraphale as he opened the door for him.
" Likewise, Cherub," he replied, turning to him one last time.

The police station door closed and Crowley dashed into the small alley where his Bentley was waiting.

In London, Crowley was always on his guard, but here in Tadfield, what did he have to fear, apart from rabid dogs, cheeky kids or team-mates with golden curls? He opened the Bentley's door, threw the backrest onto the passenger seat and lost his balance with a jolt against the back of his neck...

Crowley awoke to a blinding light. He fluttered his eyelids and thought he heard the celestial harmonies inviting him to give an answer to Saint Peter: he would have to find a solid defence to justify what had happened in that deserted church in the small Sussex village where Goldie had come from...

" Forgive me," he muttered, massaging his aching skull, "for sinning again..."

Or else, he would have to explain his very personal way of exploring a Scottish cemetery in the company of Samael...

Another blow hit him hard, knocking him out of Heaven and sending him back to Earth. He then saw David standing in front of him, holding a frozen leg of lamb wrapped in cellophane.

" I warned you, Inspector Crowley, we don't like robbers here!"

Crowley was about to retaliate when the leg of lamb slammed into his face again, throwing him back against the freezer. His left cheekbone cracked and intense pain flashed across his face. He managed to get to his feet, vowing never to eat lamb again. David, abandoning his weapon, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Crowley tried to struggle but the salesman, who had a strong grip despite his slim build, quickly dragged him to the open freezer. He pulled his hair back before plunging his head into the ice cream and other frozen foods. Crowley's nose came into contact with a bag of frozen peas. His opponent raised his head, hurled a volley of insults at him and plunged him back into what was to become his tomb. His sunglasses fell off. So, Chief Inspector Anthony J. Crowley, the man who had managed to arrest Professor Satan – one of London's crime lords – who had dismantled the Nebula network, was going to die here, in a supermarket, between a caramel Cornetto and some frozen vegetables?

Suddenly, an even stronger hand than David's grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted him up more gently. Crowley took advantage of this momentary lull to take a deep gulp of oxygen. To his great surprise, the grip that he had thought would kill him, removed him from his place of torture and released him.

" Let me finish him, Goliath!"

Crowley turned his head and found the giant protecting him from another assault by his associate. The latter, furious at having been disturbed in his murder attempt, was trying to bend the giant's will by punching him hard in the chest.

" I'm going to smash his filthy little face of ... of ... Oh my God!"

David froze. His eyes met those of his victim. He stepped back, shaking uncontrollably.

" What... what is... but..." he stammered as he took refuge near the shelf of hygiene products.
" Thanks, mate," Crowley said to his saviour as he picked up his sunglasses.

He turned towards his attacker, who let out a few mouse-like squeaks before sliding to the floor. A knock sounded against the door. Goliath went to open it, glaring menacingly at David, who was huddled between bundles of toilet rolls. Crowley watched in amazement as Sergeant Fell entered the convenience store.

" I saw the door of your Bentley open," he said, turning to his partner, "so I knew where you were going to be..."

He took out two banknotes from his pocket and tossed them to David, who was now swaying back and forth, singing a curious nursery rhyme.

" That should pay off his debt!"

The crook salesman greeted his reward with a chuckle before resuming his ramblings about a Nile crocodile. Aziraphale raised his eyes to the sky, before pivoting towards Goliath. He made a few quick signs with both hands, soon to be followed by Crowley's guardian angel. Sign language, the inspector realised. His team-mate signed one last time before moving towards him.

" Goliath apologises."
" Not necessary," he grumbled, glancing over his partner's shoulder at the salesman. "Thank him."
" Do it yourself, Inspector Crowley."

He protested that he hadn't mastered sign language. Aziraphale asked him to observe and gave him a demonstration. Crowley behaved like an attentive pupil and memorised Aziraphale's movements. He reproduced them in front of him to practise, before addressing, a little awkwardly, to the gentle giant. The giant applauded him and gave a thumbs-up to indicate that he was happy to accept his thanks. Crowley didn't know it yet, but he had just conquered another of Tadfield's souls.

"He's a demon!" exclaimed a David who had just come back from the crocodiles and caimans, "this guy who's come out of nowhere!"
" From London," he corrected him.
" He has to leave and quickly!"
Goliath and Aziraphale turned to the salesman trying to stand up on the toilet paper packets. Sergeant Fell put on his deepest voice and gave David a disdainful look that Crowley hadn't suspected.
" Your godfather is no longer the chief of the Tadfield police force, David, so you'll have to accept that your shenanigans will no longer be covered up."

Behind Aziraphale, Crowley lowered his sunglasses and stuck out his tongue, in a gesture reminiscent of that of a reptile, at his pitiful adversary. The latter let out a terrified scream before retreating back into the shelving. Crowley replaced his eye armour on the tip of his nose. Aziraphale approached him and stood on tiptoe to examine his left cheekbone, which was gradually taking on a lovely purplish color.

" Don't bother," grunted his team-mate when Aziraphale suggested calling for help.
" But you must be in pain! And you're likely to have quite a haematoma!"
" It won't be the first ..."
" At least take off your glasses to check that your eye hasn't been hit!"
A guttural cry from David's mouth greeted Aziraphale's request. Crowley shook his head and pulled the sergeant's right hand away from his face.
" Not necessary, Cherub."
" Don't be ridiculous," he hissed, turning back to Goliath.

He made a few hand movements. The giant nodded and disappeared down the aisles of the mini-market. He returned with a tube of cream in his hand and some bandages decorated with plump little angels. Aziraphale decided that the bandages would be of no use to him, and grabbed the ointment. He opened the tube carefully and placed a small amount on his fingertips. Understanding his intention, Crowley stepped back and soon found himself backed up against the freezer.

" No! No! It's not..."
The contact of Aziraphale's fingers against his skin removed any attempt at resistance.
" Don't be childish," whispered his partner, massaging his sore skin.

Crowley lowered his head to make Aziraphale's task easier. Aziraphale applied the ointment carefully and, out of a sense of professionalism – what other reason could he have? – He added a little cream to his fingers and gently dabbed it on his team-mate's cheek. His movements became slower and slower and turned into a penetrating caress. Crowley closed his eyes to better savour this gentle touch. A fifth application later, with Crowley's face glistening with cream, Aziraphale put an end to the treatment. He closed the tube, wiped his fingers with a tartan handkerchief and handed it to his team-mate.

" Don't forget to use it in the morning when you wake up. And if you feel any pain during the night, call Emergency."
" Thank you, Cherub."

They heard Goliath let out a few amused chuckles. They gave him a puzzled look, to which the giant replied with a curious smile. Aziraphale turned back to his team-mate:
" I think this time we can really say good night."
" I think so too... "

Moved by an inspiration he couldn't explain, Crowley leaned towards him and murmured an "Oidche Mhath" to which Aziraphale replied with a barely whispered "Nos da". Crowley smiled and left the mini-market. Aziraphale watched him disappear into the night. With a mechanical gesture, he brought his right hand, the one that still carried the scent of cream and Crowley's skin, to his lips. "Oidche Mhath" had whispered to him a voice from his past, as arms drew him against a reassuring chest covered in fine red hair...