Waiting for Godalming (14 page)

“So Jesus is down here too?” said Icarus.

“You’ll have seen him on the telly. But I am not at liberty to divulge his earthly identity.”

“This is all too much,” said Icarus. “Far too much.”

“It gets worse. When God went bust, He had to sell up Hell too. So the demons all got evicted and now they’re here as well.”

“And you and they have been battling it out ever since, with mankind in the middle?”

“It was all predicted in the book of Revelation.”

“Isn’t everything?” said Johnny Boy. “But tell me this. Professor Partington reasoned that there was no afterlife. No Heaven or Hell to go to when we die.”

“Not any more,” said the captain.

“But there could be again?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“I know,” I said. And I did. “I know, because I’ve solved it.”

“What?” they all went. Well, they would, wouldn’t they?

“I’ve solved the case,” I said. “Now that I’ve heard everything the captain had to say, I know who did it and why.”

They looked from one to another and then they all looked back at me.

“Well, go on then,” said Icarus. “Tell us.”

“No way, buddy. Not until the final rooftop showdown. I know, but I need proof. I have to present this proof to my employer. To wit and to woo, God’s widow. When I’ve done that, I’ll tell you the lot.”

“He’s bullshitting,” said Icarus. “He doesn’t know. He’s just making it up.”

“Kid,” said I, “once I’ve solved this case, you can forget about angels and demons walking the Earth. Everything will be back the way it should be. Trust me on this, I’m a detective.”

“Well,” said Johnny Boy. “Where does this leave Icarus and me?”

“Dealing with it ourselves,” said Icarus.

“My advice to you”, said Captain Ian, “would be to lie low until Mr Woodbine has solved the case.”

“Oh yeah, right,” said Icarus. “As if I’d trust
him
.”

“All I need is a week, kid,” said I. “And if I don’t solve the thing in a week, you can do whatever you want. Tell your tale to the
News of the World
. Whatever you damn well please.”

“A week?” said Icarus. “One week?”

“That’s all I need.”

“No,” said Icarus. “Out of the question.”

“Listen,” said Captain Ian. “You trust
me
, don’t you?”

Icarus nodded. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Then if I were to ask you to let Mr Woodbine deal with this, would you do it, for me?”

“Well …”

“He did save our lives,” said Johnny Boy.

“All right,” said Icarus. “I’ll do it for you. But when my brother here screws up, as he most certainly will, Johnny Boy and I will sort everything out by ourselves.”

“And how exactly will we do that?” asked Johnny Boy.

“I’ll think of something. All right, captain, I agree.”

“Good lad,” said Captain Ian. “Then I suggest this. I will liaise with Mr Woodbine, you and Johnny Boy take yourselves off to a place of safety and we’ll all meet back here in exactly one week’s time. How does that sound?”

“All right,” said Icarus. “But if after a week he hasn’t solved the case and everything is
not
put to rights, Johnny Boy and I
will
deal with it.”

“Kid,” said I, “I
will
solve the case.”

And I would. I knew that I would.

Yes siree.

By golly.

Icarus Smith and Johnny Boy sat in the scarlet bar and grill of the Station Hotel.

“So what
are
we going to do?” asked Johnny Boy.

“Lie low,” said Icarus Smith. “Leave it to Lazlo Woodbine.”

“As if. You lied to them, but you can’t lie to me.”

“Lying to them seemed hardly out of place. Everyone in that office was lying about something.”

“I wasn’t lying at all.”

“Everybody but you, then.”

“Hold up there,” said Johnny Boy. “Are you telling me that the captain was lying? Angels don’t lie, do they?”

“
He
did. It was nonsense, all of it. Think about it, Johnny Boy. God having to mortgage Heaven. Angels and demons getting evicted. It’s all rubbish.”

“It sounded quite convincing when he told it.”

“Well, it might have done in there with my brother. I told you that if you spend time with him, you get drawn into his madness.”

“But surely angels don’t lie.”

“And do angels murder people with golden swords?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a thing. But do you think your brother was lying too? I could see his colours. It looked as if he thought he was telling the truth.”

“I think you’ll find that he gave a somewhat edited account of his side of the story. He neglected to mention Barry, for instance.”

“And who’s Barry?”

“Barry the voice in his head. His Holy Guardian Sprout. Barry talks to him and helps him solve his cases. Except he doesn’t solve any cases. He’s not a real detective. He’s my mad brother.”

“I find it all somewhat confusing,” said Johnny Boy. “And I still don’t understand how nothing happened to him when he took the drug.”

“Now that”, said Icarus Smith, “is a mystery.”

“It’s a mystery. It’s a mythtery.” I sang it in my finest Toyah Wilcox.

“Ease up on the singing there, chief.”

“Why, Barry, my little green buddy pal. Where have you been all this time?”

“Sleeping, chief. That Sam Maggot bopped us on the head, didn’t he? Did I miss anything?”

“Not a lot,” said I. “But I seem to be missing quite a bit.”

“How so, chief?”

“Well, Barry, I have taken a drug which enables me to see angels and demons, which would otherwise be mistaken for ordinary folk.”

“Good golly Ms Molly, chief.”

“Ms Molly indeed, Barry. Yet, even though I have taken the drug, I can’t see any angels
or
devils at all.”

“I can’t say that I find that altogether surprising, chief. You probably can’t see any pink elephants or fairies either.”

“Point taken, yet only a moment ago I was in the company of an angel. And also two men who had also taken the drug. And what they saw on the surveillance video footage, I was quite unable to see. How would you account for that, Barry?”

“Perhaps they were all just pulling your plonker, chief.”

“Or perhaps someone or something was stopping me seeing what they saw. What do you think about that, Barry?”

“Well, chief … I—”

“It’s
you
, Barry! You little green ball of phlegm! It’s you stopping the drug from taking effect on me.”

“Come now, chief, as if I would.”

“You would and you have. Switch it on, Barry. Switch it on now. Or by crimbo, I’ll winkle you out of my ear with a pencil and boil you up for my lunch.”

“I was only looking out for your best interests, chief. I didn’t want you getting all upset, seeing horrible demons and everything. You wouldn’t like them, chief, they’re really nasty.”

I took a pencil and began to sharpen its point.

“I’m waiting,” said I.

“Chief, please, you really won’t like it.”

“This is a 9H, Barry. Very sharp and pointy. I’ll put a saucepan on the stove, shall I?”

“No, chief. Please. All right.”

“All right,” said Johnny Boy. “So what
do
you intend to do?”

“I am a relocator,” said Icarus Smith. “That is my vocation.”

“Relocating all the devils and angels might prove a bit of a challenge.”

“Possibly,” said Icarus. “But there might be a way.”

“You cannot be serious, surely?”

“Do I look serious?”

Johnny Boy studied the colours of Icarus. “Yes you do,” said he. “Very serious. And very concerned also. Something is troubling you deeply.”

“Yes,” said Icarus. “It is. With all the nonsense going on with my mad brother and everything, I’d quite forgotten about Cormerant. He’ll be coming after the left luggage locker key. The one I mailed to myself.”

“God. You’re right. We’d better get round to your house.”

“No,” said Icarus. “We’d be too late. But I have another idea.”

“I’ve a really good idea, chief,” said Barry. “Why don’t you just turn off the video and have a slug of Old Bedwetter?”

I rewound the videocassette and played the tape once again.

“But you’ve watched it thirty-seven times, chief. Surely you’ve memorized the plot by now.”

“Look at them, Barry. Just look at them.”

“I can see them, chief. They’re demons, I know.”

“And they’re murdering God and we have it on tape.”

“Yes, chief, so you keep saying.”

“And I couldn’t see them for what they really were.”

“No, chief, not until I let the effects of the drug kick into your tiny tiny brain.”

“Look at them. They’re horrible. Look at all the quills and the scales.”

“Yes, chief, I quite agree, they’re not a pretty sight.”

“But there’s no doubt of what’s really happening. And so I’ve solved the case.”

“Yes, chief, you do keep saying that. Would you care to take me through your reasoning and explain to me exactly how you’ve solved the case?”

“No, Barry, I would not.”

“But, chief, we don’t have any secrets. Well, you don’t from me, anyway.”

“Then read my thoughts, Barry.”

“You won’t let me, chief, you’re blocking me out.”

“Damn right I am. No-one ever finds out how Woodbine solves the case, or even who the villain is, until the final rooftop showdown. That’s the way it’s always done and that’s the way it always will be done.”

“Well, I’m not bothered, chief. You’ll give it away when you go to sleep. You can’t keep me out of your dreams.”

“Then I won’t go to sleep, Barry. I will stay awake for the entire week, until I bring the criminal to justice.”

“No-one can stay awake for a whole week, chief. They’d go mad if they did.”

“Wanna bet? You just watch me.”

“Watch you go mad? I’d rather not.”

“Watch me solve the case. Just watch.”

Icarus and Johnny Boy watched as the long dark automobile drew into the car park opposite the Station Hotel. They watched as the creature that was Cormerant emerged from the automobile and strode to the left luggage lockers. They then watched as he took a key from an envelope which bore the name and address of Icarus Smith, opened one of the lockers and removed a black briefcase.

They did not, however, watch as he returned to the long dark automobile. Nor did they watch as the new chauffeur drove him away.

They did, however, feel the movement of the car.

Because they were now both in the boot.

“It’s really quite comfortable in here,” said Johnny Boy. “Better than being in the boot of that taxi.”

“I’ve known better places to be,” said Icarus. “But this seems the best way to get back inside the Ministry of Serendipity.”

“I’d like to see the look on that Cormerant’s face when he opens the briefcase,” said Johnny Boy. “He’ll be well peeved when he finds it empty.”

“It seemed the only solution. I couldn’t get to my house in time. And as we were opposite the station, it was only a matter of crossing the road and opening the locker up.”

“You’re pretty nifty with your little roll of instruments. What exactly do you plan to do when we get back inside the Ministry?”

“Learn,” said Icarus. “Learn exactly what is really going on. And then act upon that information.”

“I’m not keen to go back in there. I don’t want my little head getting squeezed by that harpy Philomena.”

“I told you, you didn’t have to come.”

“I’ll stick with you,” said Johnny Boy. “It may not be safe. But at least it’s never dull.”

“Dull,” said I, flicking channels with the old remote control.

“What exactly are you doing, chief?”

“Just watching a bit of TV. Isn’t daytime telly really dull?”

“Richard and Judy are never dull, chief. They never cease to inspire me. And there’s always
Countdown
of course. That Carol Vorderman’s a lovely-looking woman.”

“Oh yeah, right.” I flicked the channel and up came Carol, quills and scales and all.

“Well, who’d have thought that, chief, eh? Our lovely Carol in league with the devil.”

“Who’d have thought it, indeed.”

“But come on, chief, you can’t sit here all day watching TV.”

“Just unwinding, Barry. Why don’t you take a little nap if you’re bored?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind, chief, thanks.”

“You just take a nap then and I’ll wake you up later when we go out.”

“Are we going somewhere nice?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, “real nice. We’re going up west to a bar where all the swells get together.”

“Smart, chief. I’ll bet you’ll cut a real dash in your old tweed jacket.”

A knock came at my office door.

“Enter,” said I with more élan than a Lotus.

A guy entered carrying a large cardboard box. “Delivery for Mr Woodchip wallpaper,” he said. “Python skin trenchcoat and fedora.”

“I’ll just take a nap then, chief.”

“I’ll wake you later,” said I.

Somewhat later, though only a bit, the long dark automobile cruised out of the secret underground tunnel and into the secret underground establishment known as the Ministry of Serendipity. Icarus and Johnny Boy heard the car’s doors open and then slam shut. They also heard the voice of the evil Cormerant. And a very grumpy voice it was.

“I think he’s opened the briefcase,” said Johnny Boy. “I wouldn’t want to be us, the next time we meet him.”

Icarus shushed the small man into silence. They waited until the sounds of cursing had died away and then Icarus raised the lid of the boot.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They crept through the underground cathedral of a place, marvelling anew at all they saw. Especially all those barber’s chairs. Those thousands and thousands of barber’s chairs.

“Shouldn’t there be workers everywhere?” asked Johnny Boy.

“What, in orange jumpsuits and hard hats, like at the supervillain’s HQ in a James Bond movie?”

“Something like that. Have you ever wondered where the supervillains get their workers from? Do you think they advertise in the newspaper? You know,
Supervillain seeking world domination also seeks skilled manual workers to help construct nuclear missile silo in defunct volcano. Apply box 666
.”

“You don’t have a lot of truck with movies, do you, Johnny Boy?”

“They’ll never replace the music hall. Where exactly are we going?”

“To the barber’s shop,” said Icarus. “We’ll find our answers there.”

“Perhaps you should ask the Greek to give you a haircut. You’d look good with a Tony Curtis.”

Tony Curtis had nothing on me when it comes to pulling the womenfolk. I attract women like flies. But then who wants women like flies? The way I figure it, either you have or you haven’t got style. And I’m a have, every inch of the way, and quite a few inches that is.

I slipped on the snakeskin fedora and tipped it at the angle that will be for ever rakish. I discarded the old tweed jacket and took up the new trenchcoat. Now this
was
style.

Matching python-skin two-piece. I should have asked Fangio whether there was any chance of getting a pair of shoes made up from the off-cuts. I’d have really mullahed the mustard in a three-piece get up. Or would that be four, as shoes come in a pair? And I could have had a necktie too. And a pair of boxer shorts. I made a mental note to pop back to the Lion’s Mane as soon as I had the time, and butcher a couple more python. And perhaps a white rhino, if they had one. White rhino hide would look pretty good on the seats of the brand new Bentley I intended to buy with my payoff from the case.

Payoff? I hear you ask. Just what payoff might this be, Mr Woodbine? Well, my friends, I’ll tell you, it’ll be a big payoff.

Because I
had
solved the case. And if you were as smart as I am, then you’d have solved it too. You heard everything I heard when Captain Ian the angel was telling his tale. And if you’d been able to put two and two together the same way that I did, you’d be planning what kind of seat covers you’d be having on your Bentley.

But hey, you’re not me. And if you’ve been asking yourself just how come I’ve spent most of the day watching TV rather than getting out and about, then that’s another good reason why I’ll be the one in the Bentley, not you.

But I don’t want to give any more clues away here now. So you’ll just have to settle for the not inconsiderable joy of watching me ponce up and down my office in my new trenchcoat and fedora. Looking like a million bucks.

And I don’t mean green and wrinkled.

“Green and wrinkled,” said Johnny Boy. “That’s what I think of sprouts. Horrid green and wrinkly things and your brother, if indeed he
is
your brother, actually thinks he has one that lives in his head?”

“I told you he was mad.”

“Damn right,” said Johnny Boy. “I can understand an onion. But a sprout? No thank you. Where exactly are we now, by the way?”

“We’re here,” said Icarus. “Outside the door of the barber’s shop.”

“I don’t remember that bust being in that niche yesterday. Surely that’s Noel …”

Knock knock, went Icarus, knocking at the door.

“Er, just hold on a moment,” called the barber’s voice.

Icarus opened the door and walked right in.

The barber sat in the middle chair. He had the now legendary brown envelope open and had clearly been savouring its contents.

“How dare you bustle in here,” the barber complained. “Me being busy with myself. What game is yours and oh …”