Where the Birds Hide at Night (15 page)

I just wanted,
needed
, to wreck terrible misery on everyone now. It had been done to me, so I would do it to them. I caught sight of Stuart again, smiling in his way, and I charged at him. He tried to get away, but it was no good. No human was any match for both Peter Smith and Reaping Icon. Yet, as I punched and kicked him as he cowered on the floor, I wondered why I didn't just remove his life as Reaping Icon. I could utilise myself and take Stuart's being away. That I wasn't doing this gave me a glimmer of a hope that Reaping Icon could actually be cast out and put to an end without me having to die.

I thought of Noose, just lying there, and I rushed over to him. He'd gone from this corpse, no longer to grace me with his kindness. Ruby and Arthur had already left with Kate, and Alex had hold of the gun again. ‘I'll do it,' he welched, pointing it loosely at his head.

‘Go on then.'

* * *

‘To cut a long story short, Superintendent, they're running amok,' Nicola Williams explained. ‘And, it's our job to see it's put right before the problem gets out of hand.'

Sergeant Helen Douglas and Officer Jacobs looked on, trying to appear full of pity and sadness at the recent turn of events. They were more in awe than anything else.

‘The problem's already out of hand, Williams. We've had three deaths this week alone,' Hastings shouted.

Lauren held up some photos of the three disembowelled victims. ‘Deirdre Ann Perrin, mother of Liam Perrin. Queenie Clooney, wife of Colin Clooney and mother to Francesca. Also, a very flattened young paperboy called Samuel Martin, who just happened to get in the way of a speeding reliant robin,' Lauren explained. ‘Mrs Perrin was found stabbed and burned. Mrs Clooney was found chopped up into several pieces and placed in various dustbins across town. Poor Master Martin was left where he lay in the hit and run attack. All in all, pretty wicked if you ask me.'

There was a deathly silence before Hastings spoke: ‘Colin Clooney. Are you sure?' he asked, deadly serious as he took a gulp.

‘Yes, Colin Clooney,' Lauren repeated herself with curiosity, checking the file to make sure she hadn't made a mistake.

‘So, he's back,' Hastings gasped.

‘Who's back?' Douglas asked.

‘The Clown.' Hastings turned away and looked out of the window, sheer horror on his face. ‘He's a sick murderer who dresses up as a clown.'

‘But,' Jacobs cut in, the top half of his face creased in puzzlement whilst the bottom half sported a big smooth grin, ‘I thought he was just legend, just a training college myth?'

‘He's not a myth, Jacobs,' Hastings sighed, ‘he's more real than you could ever imagine.' He turned back to face the gathering, feeling he owed them at least that much. ‘You're too young to remember, but there's somebody who isn't.'

‘Who?' asked Douglas, looking over and smiling at Jacobs.

‘But,
Sir
,' Williams cut in with some trepidation, ‘you can't possibly mean who I think you mean?'

Hastings straightened his back and stared Williams right in the face. ‘If The Clown is a playground horror story, then Mr Monkey is a see-saw loaded with TNT,' he growled in defiance.

* * *

‘Oh Brendan, you're the man of my dreams! Why are you so amazing?'

‘And cut. Excellent, absolutely excellent. Haha, I'll win an oscar for this. Ahem… and the winner for the best director of the year, for his smash hit musical
Mr Monkey: I Am Ace
,
is none other than Mr Monkey,' the furry orange sleeve puppet shouted, his flimsy paws swishing from side to side as his body twisted back and to.

Woe is Mr Monkey, for he had sunk to new lows as an unpopular, small town director of an amateur dramatics group who were set to perform an adaptation of Shakespeare's
Romeo and Juliet
. Quite how that had metamorphosed into a musical about the puppet himself was anybody's guess. And, quite frankly, it didn't do to try and guess anything with Mr Monkey around. Second-guessing was even more of a no-no, as it was double a normal guess. Triple-guessing didn't exist. That aside, rehearsals were going well. Comparatively.

‘Come on Douglas, stop doddering,' Williams seethed under her breath at her lacking-in-speed sergeant. The dashing Jacobs was already seated and watching the performance with petulant gusto. It annoyed Douglas anyway – he wasn't even a sergeant, yet Williams didn't shout at him. She thought that maybe Williams felt Jacobs didn't have it in him to progress career-wise, and thus wasn't wasting her time pushing him. Nevertheless, she sat down next to him and gave him a smile.

‘Sorry,' Douglas mouthed, her mind more on Williams' mental health. Surely she'd been affected by Noose's suicide some weeks prior? After all, everybody knew they'd been on-off lovers for years.

‘Sit yourself down,' Williams shouted at the young woman. The small gathering seated on the front row turned around in unison to catch a glimpse of the disturbance behind them. ‘Bravo, Bravo,' she roared, applauding the appalling performance they'd just crashed. ‘That was amazing, wasn't it Jacobs?'

‘Hmm,' Jacobs contemplated.

‘So what do you want me back for?' a croaky voice groaned from behind the trio. They turned very slowly to be confronted face-to-face by the iconic legend that was, is and always will be Mr Brendan Monkey. His purple button eyes stared vacantly at them, stitched onto a thinning orange cloth.

‘Hello Mr Monkey, how are you?' Williams gulped with trepidation.

‘I heard he died,' Mr Monkey said with part sadness and part glee. Williams stared back at the button eyes of the puppet, as cold and as empty as she could.

* * *

‘But I killed him myself, I saw his head inflate like a balloon and explode in a gooey guffaw,' Mr Monkey yelled in disbelief, ‘then the building collapsed on him and I blew the building up and I put the ashes in a box and blew the box up and-'

‘Stop, stop just listen for one minute will you please… just listen,' Williams tried to keep up with him. It was hard trying to stay level with a puppet in a blazing rage at the thought of his worst enemy of all time being back from the dead. He was sure it had been The Clown – the genuine article – who had died that day in the cellar. That was back when everyone believed a copycat clown was at work; could that in fact
now
be the case?

‘Okay I'm listening, Nicola. Remember, like last time I was on the force and someone claimed I was too personal with my vendetta against this scum? Oh I was fine at my job; in fact the best and you know it! Douglas and Jacobs told me you still value me as the best. Jacobs even told me that you still believe I'm part of the team, as it were,' he went on, pausing only for an intake of puppet breath. ‘Well, I've moved on now. I don't have to kill people to win respect in the neighbourhood. This new town respects me for what I am: a talented artiste… not how many human heads I have on my wall, or however many criminals I come home with. I like it here and I'm not going.' Now would have been an opportune time to fold his arms to elevate his protest, but as he had no control over them they merely continued to hang loosely by his sides.

‘Well if you want to hang out with these Shakespearian imbeciles then so be it, but I'm warning you that that personal vendetta thingy might just catch up with you,' Williams shouted back.

‘Do you have to shout all the time?' he shouted back.

* * *

‘But we can't do it without him. You know he's the best man we've ever and will ever have,' Hastings argued from behind his desk, his fist coming down hard on the top of it. ‘And, he's not even a man… he's a puppet, made of cloth. A man of the cloth.'

‘I tried to get him to come back but he just wouldn't,' Williams lamented.

‘Well you didn't try hard enough,' Hastings growled at her, but she clenched her fists.

‘Sometimes I wonder whether you're still fit for your job,' she suddenly came out with, quickly realising she'd said it aloud when Hastings' jaw dropped. She whimpered, gulping, before uttering: ‘I'm sorry, Superintendent. I've been under a lot of stress lately.'

‘Yes, Henry's death couldn't have helped matters,' he replied acceptingly. ‘I believe you two had grown close again just before he did himself in.'

‘Well, well, well, isn't this all very lovey dovey? Won't somebody please pass me a bucket,' a voice sounded from the doorway. The pair turned to see Mr Monkey there, his bland unchanging face staring haplessly back at them.

‘Mr bloody Monkey,' Hastings sighed happily, ‘you old dog, you.'

‘I'm a monkey, actually; not a dog.'

Hastings got up and grabbed the puppet's limp paw to shake it. The Superintendent did the old boys secret handshake, winking. ‘We need you, Mr Monkey… just like the old days.'

‘Then I'm back on the force!' he trilled. Turning to face Williams, he fired: ‘Go and put the kettle on, love.'

‘Er, what?' Williams tried to clarify, shocked.

Completely ignoring her, Mr Monkey turned back to Hastings and whispered: ‘I'll do a deal with ya, big guy,' he giggled, prodding Hastings' stomach with his monkey mouth, ‘I get to kill Colin ‘The Clown' Clooney and his sidekick Liam ‘The Worm' Perrin, and you leave me alone for good,' he suggested.

‘A deal,' Hastings replied in haste. ‘But you also have to find out what on earth Colin and Liam are up to. You must not attempt to assassinate either of them until you are fully sure of their intentions. We thought The Clown was dead before, but he's somehow risen from the ashes. And as for Liam, well… The Clown hasn't colluded with The Worm for decades. Your job is to stop them progressing and commencing further…' He paused, contemplative. ‘They could get close to taking over the world again,' he finished.

‘They didn't even come close last time!' Mr Monkey interrupted. ‘No, they're too keen on causing awful small-scale pain and suffering, especially The Worm with all his wriggling at the bottom of the garden. I still remember the nursery rhyme that gave a whole generation of children nightmares: there's a worm at the bottom of the garden, and his name is Liam Perrin.'

‘Indeed. With the pair of them amalgamating again, we've certainly got our work cut out,' Hastings gasped.

‘Then let this be known,' Mr Monkey purred dramatically, ‘as the dissolution of that amalgamation!'

* * *

Mr Monkey had arrived in America on the Tuesday last and booked into a paradisiacal hotel in Miami. Although Hastings had told him to stay low, giving the puppet unlimited access to the police treasury had resulted in something quite self-indulgent. Mr Monkey, not being one to take orders seriously, had enjoyed a night on the beach joining in with parties and other forms of entertainment for single men. Later that evening he went back to his rented apartment with Meg, a cocktail bar waitress who had got the innocent puppet and herself drunk.

‘An I sad tooo hem fat if he did noot gev me thhe gun I wod kill em all wiff mey water piscal. Bang bang,' Mr Monkey slurred drunkly as Meg dropped her dress to the floor and unclipped her bra. She helped his flimsy body onto the bed as her large exposed breasts glistened in the moonlight.

‘Oh Brendan, giv-' Meg stopped as five large men entered the room through different doors and windows. ‘Oh my God no,' she screamed, but was silenced when one of the men put a bullet in her head. Her lifeless body slammed to the floor, the fall only slightly cushioned by her loose boobs.

‘What haff ya don ya id…id…idiot,' Mr Monkey stammered, trying to get hold of his gun as his vision became weaker and weaker. Four of the men held him down, and the other injected him with a tranquilliser.

* * *

‘He awakens to find himself in a mysterious vessel,' a voice announced as Mr Monkey awakened from a dismal sleep. He was in a large, private plane. He tried to move his arms to comfort his aching head, but he found himself strapped to a chair. Unable to move, he peered around the plane through his purple button eyes looking for a body to go with that voice. There was no one in sight, although Mr Monkey's sight was nothing to write home about since that tranquilliser knocked him out some time ago. Plus, his eyes were buttons, not real eyes. What time was it? He looked around, trying to spot a clock.

‘It's seven o'clock my friend,' the same voice from before answered Mr Monkey's thoughts.

‘How did you know I wanted to know the time?' he asked the mysterious voice.

‘I didn't,' it replied. That's funny, Mr Monkey thought. If a person said something that you were thinking, and then you asked them how they knew, the standard reply is: “I can read your mind.” Saying: “I didn't” isn't a very substantial answer for the mastermind behind this devilish scheme.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Monkey,' a different voice exclaimed, as a metallic door opposite the puppet opened. In the doorframe stood a prematurely grey-haired man. He smiled at Mr Monkey and gently raised an eyebrow.

‘Please, call me Brendan,' the puppet replied in his usual confident and defiant voice.

‘And you can call me Doctor Bullings,' the man announced.

‘And what am I doing here, exactly? Please could you tell me, Dr. Bullfrog,' Mr Monkey giggled.

‘Dr. Bullings,' the man yelled.

‘Sure it is… Dr. Bullfighter,' Mr Monkey carried on goading.

‘Dr. Bullings,' he roared.

‘Hey, Dr. Bullface, you're big enough to be a bullfighter yourself. I bet the crowd would go wild when your name was announced at a bull fight,” Mr Monkey cheered.

‘Arsgghdjjegjrrhgteeeerrrrhgrrrr,' the man screamed as he leapt at the puppet and sent the chair, which Mr Monkey was tied to, flying into the air. He landed, legs first, on the man's shoulders and tried to break his neck with his puppet thighs. Dr. Bullings howled with pain and managed to throw him off and onto the floor. Suddenly the plane dipped down, but almost immediately regained its balance. The plane didn't dip due to Mr Monkey landing with such a thud, however, but because he had managed to pull a wire out of the floor that was sticking up. Dr. Bullings came crashing down onto him and they both cried out.

Meanwhile, on a speeding train below, Ruby and Arthur were having a spot of lunch in a private compartment.

‘Oh Arthur, I know things have been tricky of late, but I do feel we've got over the hardest part of our lives now,' Ruby sighed with sweet relief. Arthur rolled his eyes and tucked into a ham sandwich. Ruby filled her mouth with cheese and onion crisps and carried on talking: ‘Yup, it's all plain sailing from here on in.'

‘Well I suppose all we have left to overcome in life is old age and death,' Arthur replied after some trepidation.