The Contract

The Contract

I had a small innocuous office in the city and a large deposit in the safe. Life was looking up and I didn't have a care in the world; at least that was what I thought. Two months ago, I'd managed to convince a Russian businessman to invest a couple of million in a fund that didn't exist. Now, I had tickets and the taxi was booked. I was out of here and heading for the good life.

The two shadows outside of the office door didn't alert me or alarm me in any way. I hid the Champagne by the side of the desk and told the delectable Miss Simms to stop what she was doing and get dressed, so she did.

When the door burst open, I didn't have time to hide. The two giants were in the office and the uglier of the two said, in a thick accented voice, "My boss wants his money!"

I told them it wasn't here and they would have to wait. Miss Simms was in the toilet and fortunately the door was bolted. Looking back, perhaps she knew more than she let on, but that's another story.

The taller of the two men pulled a gun. It looked huge and had a silencer attached. I was then forced to open the safe and handed over my emergency fund of £385,000, which they snatched from me and counted. Through broken English they asked me where the rest of the money was. I tried to bluff my way through the negotiation because the balance was in a Swiss account and getting it was going to prove difficult.

I was kind of hoping Miss Simms would reappear, though for her sake, kind of hoping she wouldn't. The gun was now at my temple and my tie was being tightened around my throat. I lied to them "I could get the money in the morning," knowing I would be in Rio by then and they would never find me. It didn't work. I was offered an ultimatum, the money or my life. I didn't have the money and began to sweat.

When the bullet struck, the pain lasted only a split second. I found myself floating and looking down on the scene. By the time the second bullet thudded into my body, I assumed I was dead. I tried to get down and back into place. Instinct told me that if I didn't, then this really was the end!

Needless to say, I didn't get back.

The white light took me and to my surprise I actually found some gates. I surmised the myths were true and these were the gates of heaven. I knocked.

A small guy materialised behind the gates, but he didn't open them for me. Instead, he asked who I was and produced a register from thin air. I was impressed, but not overawed.

His finger ran down the page and found my name.

His voice was agitated, he made a loud tut-tut and finally said, "You're not due yet." He looked really annoyed.

I shrugged my shoulders, "Well, I'm here." I replied.

He thought for what seemed like, and probably was, an eternity and then begrudgingly said, "Yes, well Ok." He stepped back and the gates opened inwardly. I stepped through and it literally was heaven.

The first person I met was a busty blond with the most exquisite figure. She came over to me and took my hand. When I looked down to take in her lower half, I realised we were walking on a kind of foam. It finally clicked what the foam was when I smoothed some out of the way. I looked through the slightly hazy aftermath and saw planet earth. It was gently spinning and looked extremely tranquil. For a brief moment, nostalgia gripped me, but the feeling didn't last long. I looked up at the blonde and wondered how she would look naked. Her clothes instantly fell away, so I sighed and grudgingly accepted the situation. I now wondered what it would like to...well you know.. and the next thing I knew, I was and we were. Wow!

Heaven wasn't so bad after all. I got the gist of the idea of thinking meant getting and soon had fifteen blonds, twelve brunettes and a couple of pairs of twins, all doing heavenly things. I watched and joined in, well it had to be done!

When I was hungry, I ate and when I was thirsty, I drank. Time had no meaning and it seemed I was being treated like a celebrity.

I took a few minutes away from the distractions to have a chat with Pete. He'd said I could call him Pete, so I dropped the saint bit. I asked Pete what was going on. He said, "Well dear boy, there's a definite hierarchy in heaven?"

I replied lamely, "Ok."

I must have looked dumb and he raised an eyebrow and gave me a wry smile.

"Look, my dear boy, you were a contract killing, weren't you?"

"Well, now I come to think of it, yes I was."

"Contract killing victims are the elite in heaven."

Pete looked as if I should have known this, but how could I possibly have known? It seemed, as in life, death had allowed me to fall on my feet. I was one of the elite in heaven and nothing was too much trouble. I received everything and anything I wanted.

I was receiving the 'gold star' treatment because I had been murdered. The powers that be, judged this to be not of my doing and because of this I was given the gold star lifestyle. I lived the life of luxury.

Heaven was similar to a three-storey apartment block. Top-floor, were the gold stars. The murdered the wronged and contract killed. Surprisingly, there were quite a few of us, but heaven has no concept of space or time, so it didn't matter.

The second floor was less plush and the inhabitants had to do menial tasks. Every so often, maybe every week, though I couldn't tell. The lower floor would clean for us. We didn't communicate with them, because it was obvious, they were below us. Their clothes didn't have the gold braded edge and we just knew they weren't like us.

On the bottom floor were the suicides and the atheists. Both types were in rehabilitation. The suicides demise was deemed to be their own fault and they had to clean up everyone else's mess. The atheists had the roughest deal, poor food and constantly plagued by flies until they were ready for repatriation to earth. When they left heaven, they were destined for a life of misery in the priesthood or social worker. God ensured he was in their mind and heart before they left. In the meanwhile, they did everything and we definitely never mixed with them.

When the pains in my chest arrived, I felt sick and really dizzy. My throat became dry and heaven filled with a strange mist. My heart was pounding out of my body and I thought for one weird moment, I was about to die again. Suddenly everything went black. I found myself in limbo. I began floating. Only this time I didn't float up, instead I floated sideways and down. The best way to describe it was like a plane coming into land. My plane was completely translucent and I could see right through the floor and all around me. As the cloud cleared, I saw them.

In my office were people hunched crouched and kneeling. They all had white coats and one of them was doing strange exercises. My chest was aching. I descended lower and lower until I was level. Miss Simms had left the toilet when the second shot rang out. By then the gunmen had fled and she phoned for the police and ambulance.

I was now level with her and realised it was my body being surrounded by these people. The guys in the white coats were frantically delivering C.P.R. I didn't want to go back, I was happy up there. I screamed at Miss Simms and asked her why she had done this, but she blanked me. I tried to tap the paramedic on the shoulder and tell him to stop the revival, but my fingers went straight through his shoulder. He didn't even twitch.

I opened my eyes. An oxygen mask was over my face and a drip was attached to each arm. As soon as I woke, a gang of do-gooders made sure I lived. Miss Simms was holding my hand. I looked at her and begged her to come closer. When she did, I whispered, "You're fired."

Six months later, I promise you I looked both ways. I stepped out and flew into the air. Instantly I knew I had died; well I was used to it by now. I watched as a small crowd gathered. This tall guy, who looked strangely familiar, stood over me. He stooped and held my wrist feeling for a pulse. I saw a faint smile on his face because there was no pulse. His voice was low and he whispered, "Dos vadanya" and then dropped my arm. The car had hit me at seventy-two miles an hour.

Once more I reached the gates and rubbed my hands together. I was glad to be back. I thought about the food, the drink and of course the women who were waiting for me. Pete came to the gate and opened it instantly. No questions this time.

I said, "Hi Pete, how's it going?"

He looked at me and a small bolt of lightning hit me and knocked me down.

"Call me Pete again, and you'll burn in Hell, understood?"

I nodded and glumly followed him in silence.

I was put to work, peeling potatoes, plucking chickens and washing the dishes.

A few days later I caught up with Saint Peter and enquired what had happened to the blondes and the food. The quality and service, was nothing like I was used too. He turned to me and half smiled. "You are classed as a suicide now, lowest of the low. You've scraped into heaven by the skin of your teeth, so shut up and stop moaning."

He left without a goodbye and just one more comment. "Don't piss me off, because you don't want to see Hell, do you?"

Since that conversation, I have kept quiet and done my chores. I've been told I am in line for promotion and after that, I may get a rebirth: second chance on the old planet. Until then, I have to toe the line and shut up. I haven't met the main-man yet, but I live in hope and I've sent several letters but had no reply.

Here's a quick tip about heaven. Before you get here, take a contract out on yourself. I promise you it's worth every penny!

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