WARNING: Spoilers ahead for Thank God You’re Here (it’s a brilliant, short piece, go play it now and come back when you’re done).
Is that light blinding you? Good. I’ll get to the point.
I’ve got you, Coal Supper. I’ve got you covered. I know who you are. It’s over.
I heard what happened in Barnsworth. I sent a man undercover to investigate. Don’t think of revenge, he’s gone now and you can’t touch him. He tricked you, pretending to be a salesman when he arrived over the rolling hills on a bus. I knew you would underestimate him because he’s just a little guy with a lemon-shaped head. The thing about little guys is, you know, they can sneak into every corner and no one notices they’re there. Or realizes they’re a threat.
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He told me about the trap you set for him when you first arrived at his house. The mayor is busy, and here’s a poor idiot with his arm stuck in a sewer trying to fish out a twopence. You help him, an impressionable stranger, an ambitious young lad just trying to make a name for himself in the world. Go and get that damned stick of butter!
It was a test, wasn’t it? You wanted to see how easily he could be coerced into helping you, and you got what you wanted. He cooperated. They were freed, and he was freed from suspicion. He took the path you had set for him, speaking your language. No, not the language you pretend to speak, the one that masks the truth with those cute phrases. Yes, I know your staircase isn’t really made of apples and pears. I know that when you drink a glass of bitters, no one should look for a tonic to go with it.
He speaks the true language of your organization. He speaks pure, unfiltered, emotionless violence. He uses slaps and beatings to gain your favor while searching for clues. He even kills the happy little flowers just to fit in. He met that Scotsman Jasper, whose tools you stole because he was an outsider, a man who helped anyone, no matter where they stood. questionBecause it doesn’t matter which side you’re on questionbut you have to accept one. That’s how you control people, isn’t it, keep them in line? Yeah, that’s right, I know pie!
Big pie people, like Ron. Small pie people, like the other guy, the one with the beady eyes. You gotta be one of those, swear. You gotta stick to being yourself, too, even if you, like a lot of people, eat a lot of fish and chips or drink a lot of tea because you just can’t resist. He sees the stickers on the windows, the arguments between in-laws in different camps, the attempts at sabotage on businesses. The people who are peddling contraband under the table, like the guy selling fish, cigarettes and other fish, they probably already have lung cancer.
He saw things that weren’t so obvious, too. The locksmith who was paid off by the landlord so you could steal his keys and come and go as you pleased. The young girl with braces who worked in nearly every store in town because you knew she grew up in that environment and she wouldn’t tell anyone about it. He saw her sister make a deal with strangers to completely destroy the aisles of her store, causing rats to run out of the woodwork so the owner could claim compensation.
He sees the only policeman in the area, bribed and paid. He’s busy polishing his baton because he knows if he takes one look at what’s really going on, the money will stop and bad things will happen. That’s why that counterfeiter always gets away. You know the one I mean, the one with the hat and coat – the watch salesman. Even if our guys managed to hand him over on a silver platter to Bobby Bash, you all ganged up on him to get away. Because he was part of your plan. This little guy, this petty criminal diverts attention from all the real crimes that are happening inside the townhouses and among the zucchini growing in the garden.
You’ll protect him, but when it comes to innocent people who aren’t willing to play games with you, you’ll come at him like a tide and make him miserable. The poor guy with the big ass who just wants to drive his food truck. You slap him on the cheek with the palm of your hand to teach him a lesson. The poor guy who just wants to sit in his boring living room and read the newspaper. You clean up the smoke from the chimney over and over again because you want to break his spirit. The poor vegetable salesman with the big head. Bullied mercilessly since birth because he could have changed everything. He could have changed everything, but you instilled your habits in him and now he keeps throwing parsnips at people’s heads.
They were Barnsworths just as much as you were, and they didn’t deserve to live under your iron fist. And they wouldn’t. Not again. You see, that lad, he made it through. He took on every test you threw at him, even though he nearly lost his mind in the process. He earned your trust. He held out long enough to give the kiss of death to your seasoned lips.
You see, Mr Mayor, we knew that when you sent him to fetch that jar of mustard which we had seized after it had been illegally shipped to England, and which we exchanged for fifty tons of black market quality Wensleydale cheese and enough money to enable you to buy Mallard from the York Railway Museum – just as you have always dreamed of doing.
We caught you. We pulled you out of the abyss of lies, out of the painful struggle, and into the light of justice. We cried for joy.
Take him to the cell!
