Sprout Mask Replica (32 page)

‘Highball.’

‘Oh, I
thought you said something else. Carry on.’

‘I’m
not getting close yet, eh?’

‘Go on
to wines,’ said Fangio. ‘Do wines.’

‘OK.
Red wine? White wine? Rosé? Fortified wine? Sparkling wine? Spumante? Madeira?
Port? Claret? Hock? Champagne?’

‘Champagne,’
said Fangio.

‘You
have champagne?’

‘No,
but I love champagne, don’t you?’

‘Oh
yeah, champagne’s wonderful. Now where was I? Sherry? Burgundy? Chianti? Rezina?’

‘You
sure know your potables, sir.’

‘Listen,’
I said, ‘in my business, knowing your potables can mean the difference between
humming a tune to that old devil moon and shouting “spain” at a spaniel, if you
know what I mean and I’m sure that you do.’

‘My
lips are sealed,’ said Fangio. ‘Do you want to go on to cocktails now?’

‘Listen,’
I said once more, ‘I’ll take whatever you have.’

‘Would
you care for a Horse’s Neck?’

‘Is
that a cocktail?’

‘No, it’s
a horse’s neck. It’s not proving as popular as the chewing fat used to.’

‘Bring
me a large slice and a glass of water.’

Fangio
placed a meat cleaver upon the counter. ‘Would you mind helping yourself?’ he
asked. ‘The horse is out the back in the paddock.’

We both
laughed at this. What a wag that Fangio, what a shame the way he met his end.

‘Now
don’t start that again,’ he said. And we laughed again. I’d forgotten just how
much I enjoyed being a private eye, standing about in bars, drinking and
talking a lot of old toot.

‘I hate
to keep harping on,’ I told Fangio, ‘but would there be any chance of a drink,
do you think?’

‘Certainly,
sir, what would you like?’

‘I’d
like
a bottle of Bud.’

‘Coming
right up.’

‘But
you said—’

‘Don’t
take any notice of anything I say, sir. I’ve never been the same since I was
shot in the brain at the Somme.’

‘You
were never at the Somme, were you?’

‘Did I
say, the Somme, sir? I meant of course that I once had my head shut in a fridge
door. Student’s rag week I think it was, or National Trust demonstrators.

Fangio
served the beer and I drank it back with relish. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t
like a bit of horse’s neck to go with that relish?’ asked the fat boy. ‘Or
perhaps a buttered-bap.’

‘Yes
please.’

‘That’s
a shame, because—’

‘Never
mind, I’ll stick with the beer.’ I smiled at Fangio and he smiled right back. ‘I
see you’ve got a TV behind the bar,’ I said. ‘Would it be all right if we had
it on?’

‘With
the greatest of pleasure, sir. My heart’s desire is to please my customers,
mind you—’

‘What?’

‘Well,
I had it on earlier and there was only a test card with the words THE STATION
REGRETS THAT ALL ITS PRESENTERS HAVE GONE TO THE BEACH. NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE
RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.’

‘Then
let’s see if it has.’

‘Let’s
do that, sir.’ Fangio switched on the TV then came around the bar and sat down
beside me. The screen cleared to display the smiling face of a male presenter,
with a crowded beach in the background. And then pulled back.

‘Isn’t
that Jack Black?’ I said. ‘Used to present
World of the Weird?’

‘Still
does,’ said Fangio.

‘So why
is he wearing a dress?’

Fangio
shrugged. ‘I suppose he just felt like it today. I know I did.’

‘I see.’

‘And
here I am at the beach,’ smiled Jack. ‘And what a wonderful day for it. The sun
is shining, the sky is blue and the water is warm, warm, warm. And what a crowd
we have here. Reports say that London is virtually empty, only one per cent of
the working population actually having turned in at their places of employment
today, and most of those folk who run their own businesses. As for the rest,
they’re in for a swum.

‘And on
the world front. It’s the same game. Folk taking to the beach and smiling. I’ve
never seen so many happy people before. It’s just as if the whole world woke up
today and said, “Let’s do it.” This is Jack Black, cross-dressed and proud of
it, returning you to the studio.’

And
then the test card came up on the screen.

‘What a
very nice dress,’ said Fangio. ‘I wonder where he bought it. And what a
wonderful day, would you care for another beer, on the house?’

‘I
certainly would,’ I said, and I smiled as I said it. Fangio went around the bar
to pop another bottle. ‘Come on, chief,’ said Barry, ‘you can’t sit around all
day drinking. You’ve got to put all this right. The whole world’s taken the day
off and it’s all your fault.’

‘The
whole world is happy and smiling,’ I said. ‘And I’m proud of it.’

‘Me
too,’ said Fangio.

‘I’m
sorry, I wasn’t talking to you.

‘Oh no
problems, you were talking to your sprout, I suppose.’

‘My
what?’

‘Your
Holy Guardian Sprout. I’ve got a radish, you know. Never even knew I did until
this morning when it started talking to me. Robbie, his name is.’

‘Robbie
the radish?’

‘Wotcha,
Robbie,’ said Barry.

‘Hi,
Barry,’ said Robbie.

‘Hang
about,’ I said. ‘What is all this?’

‘The
merciful arrival of the cavalry I hope, chief. As you’ve brought the world out
on strike, let’s pray the Holy Guardians can persuade everyone to go back to
work tomorrow.’

‘But
that’s cheating. That isn’t free will. That’s not the freedom I wanted everyone
to have.’

‘It’s
all for the best, chief, really.’

‘Why,
you sneaky little sod. You’ve been trying to persuade me to change everything
back and while I’m saying no, your mates are trying to persuade everyone else.
This is sabotage.’

‘Not
really, chief. It’s just that you neglected to mention it in the small print of
your BIG ANSWER.’

‘Well I
won’t forget it next time.’

‘Next
time, chief? What do you mean, next time?’

‘You
wait and see.’ I began wishing very hard and doing strange things with my
fingers.

‘No,
chief, you can’t, you can’t, chief—’

‘Wanna
bet?’

HUGE
BLACK BULLET

Farmers in gaiters looked up from their digging

Sailors in bell-bottoms watched from the rigging

Dons in their dinner suits choked on their egg

When the huge black bullet landed

Fey window dressers fumbled their frocks

Men from the Ministry registered shocks

Tall executioners leant on their blocks

When the huge black bullet landed

Cavalry officers out on fatigues

The elves who make boots that can walk seven leagues

The lovers of Dresden turned off Arthur Negus

When the huge black bullet landed

The glass—blower’s clerk laid down his crucibles .
Don’t
be silly!

The carpenter’s lackey put down his new plane (that’s
more like it)

The toffs watched from seats on the Paddington train

The chef dropped his pudding and cried out in pain

When the great big

Coal black

Horrible

Beastly

Huge black bullet landed.

And that’s why I’m late for my first day at work— The
huge black bullet landed.

HUGE BLACK BULLET II

BLACK CAPSULE (SON OF BULLET)

To be intoned in a deep dark voice.

Oh black capsule

Son of bullet

Relative of Dick

Brother to

Lord Vindaloo

(The stuff that makes me sick)

Oh black capsule

Friend of Jimmy

Lover of Van Gogh

Mucker to

Lord Vindaloo

(That makes me choke and cough)

Oh black capsule

Chum of Derek

Pal to Simon Dee

Buddy to

Lord Vindaloo

(I had some for my tea)

Oh black capsule

Loved by Lemmy

And George Bernard Shaw

Cousin to

Lord Vindaloo

(I don’t want any more)

But blood is thicker than water.

But I’m in trouble deep.

23

SSSH
NOW, I’M WAGGLING

THE SOUND MADE BY THE
EXPLOSION OF AN ATOMIC BOMB HAS BEEN
likened to that of
a great door slamming in the depths of Hell. The sound I now heard wasn’t quite
like that, but it wasn’t far off. The blast that tore the door of Fangio’s Bar
from its hinges this time was one of quite considerable force. I was lifted
from my feet, carried backwards across the bar and straight out through the
exit. I would surely have met with certain death against the wall of the
building next door had I not had the good fortune to strike a woman in a straw
hat who was dragging a deckchair. We went down amongst plastic rubbish sacks,
Styrofoam food cartons and rotting fruit and veg.

I shook
a dazed head and glanced all around. A shrill wind howled down the alleyway.
Overhead the sky was— ‘Green. The sky’s turned green.’

‘Call
them back, chief,’ cried Barry in my head. ‘Do what?’

‘The
Holy Guardians, chief, call them back, as quickly as you can.’

‘I
bloody won’t.’

‘You
must, chief, you must. Things have turned
really
bad. You’ve done a
really bad thing.
Two
poems at the start of the chapter. That’s
really
bad. Call them back, chief, the Holy Guardians, call them back.’

‘I will
not.’

‘Chief,
we don’t have a lot of time. In fact, if you don’t call them back, there isn’t
going to be any more time, period.’

‘What
are you talking about?’ I ducked as a dustbin whistled past my head. It was
whistling the famous tune ‘When Your Grey Hairs Turn to Silver Won’t You Change
Me Half a Quid?’

‘Did
you hear that dustbin?’ I shouted.

‘Stuff
the dustbin, chief, call back the Guardians. Twiddle your thumbs about quick,
while you’ve still got thumbs to twiddle.’

‘What
are you going on about? And why has the sky turned green?’ I took to cowering
in a doorway, all manner of stuff was blowing by. Bicycles and barnacles,
cigarette packets and blue book jackets, parsnips and pomegranates, old grey
wigs and suckling pigs.

‘It’s
chaos, chief.’

‘You’re
damned right. What
is
going on?’

‘Call
back the Holy Guardians, chief, I’ll tell you then.’

‘Tell
me
now.

The
bricks of the building next door started to separate, they weren’t bricks any
more, they were small living things that began to jostle in an agitated
fashion.

‘That
Fangio must have slipped a tab of acid into my beer,’ I shouted. ‘I’m having a
really bad trip here, Barry.’

‘It’s
no trip, chief, call back the Holy Guardians. Do it now, chief, or the entire
planet will go down the plughole.’

‘It’s
only another trick, Barry, to stop me putting the world to rights.’ I struggled
out of the doorway, bracing myself against the driving wind and blundered into
the street.

Folk
were running madly about. And not just folk. There were other things, vague,
indistinct, dark forms, low and scuttling.

‘Call
them back, chief, please call them back.’

‘I did
this, didn’t I?’

‘Just
call them back, please.’

‘All
right.’ I twiddled my fingers.

A great
jagged crack tore across the sky.

‘It
didn’t work, Barry, my fingers —
God, my fingers!’