‘Are you sure it’s me he’s after? No-one knew I was coming here. If you ask me, you’re the one he wants.’
Jonathan chewed upon a thumb nail. ‘No, no, no. He doesn’t know I’m here. No, no, no.’
‘Well there’s one way to find out. Let’s ask him.’
‘No. I don’t think that would be a good idea at all. A confrontation now would ruin all my plans. I think I shall have to postpone our little chat about the job. In fact I don’t think I will be requiring your services at all.’
Jonathan touched something on his wrist. A section of floor in the middle of the room slid aside and a nice bright-red Buick air-car rose into view. Jonathan did another couple of touchings and the large men with the large guns merged into a single figure. This figure opened the car door for Mr Crawford. ‘Clever that, isn’t it? A little innovation of my own. Shan’t tell you how it’s done of course. Would you care to ride with me, Laura?’
‘No. I wouldn’t.’
‘Well, just do anyway.’ Jonathan produced a weapon of mightier ilk than Laura’s. ‘Just get in.’ Laura got in. ‘So it’s goodbye, Rex. There isn’t a back door and I doubt whether even you with that charmed life of yours can come up with a way out of this one.’
‘Don’t you bet on it.’
‘Game to the last, eh? Bye bye.’ Ceiling panels swished aside and Jonathan’s nice bright-red Buick air-car rose into the night sky.
Jonathan waved down at Rex. ‘Bye bye,’ he mouthed
Rex glanced at the image on the wall. The plaza was now deserted, but the corridor beyond the studio door sounded like it was pretty crowded. With the noises of all the marching feet and everything.
‘Hmm,’ went Rex Mundi. That’s another fine mess I’ve gotten myself into. Mmm hmm.’
13
The truth is flexible, white hot, but it soon becomes brittle if tempered with cold bullshit.
Robert Williams
Stevie Wonder felt my face.
Louise Rennison
‘There must be some kinda way outta here,’ sang Rex Mundi to no-one but himself. The trouble was, for the life of him, he could not imagine where or what it might be.
The big white room didn’t have much to offer. It boasted a desk and a chair to its account. But was knowingly undersold in the window department. And it only had the one door.
Rex stepped lively. He picked up Laura’s gun and considered his options. He could hide behind the door and club them down one by one when they came in. Or at a pinch he might be able to squeeze himself into the desk drawer and hide. A heroic stand against impossible odds was always a possibility. As was his stumbling across the secret technique of effecting invisibility.
Rex numbered his options on to his fingers. ‘I’ll just have to dip for it,’ he said. ‘Dip, dip, sky blue; who’s it, not you. There goes the desk drawer. Dip, dip, sky blue; who’s it, not-’
There was an almighty crash.
‘And there goes the door.’
‘Stick ‘em up,’ chorused the large men with large guns tumbling over each other through the doorway.
‘Or I might just stick ‘em up.’ Rex threw down Laura’s weapon for the second time and stuck ‘em up. ‘That’s another option, I suppose.’
The latest crop of large men with large guns thundered into the studio and formed themselves into a chaotic firing squad.
‘Ready,’ cried one. They made themselves ready. ‘Take aim.’ They took aim.
‘Fi-’
‘Hold it right there!’ Rex shouted. ‘And that’s an order.’
‘Fi . . . oh . . . er . . . it’s you, sir.’
‘Yes.’ Rex wondered how he had omitted this rather obvious option from his former list. ‘It’s me. How dare you point your weapons in my direction.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. Just got a bit carried away with all the excitement of storming the building and everything. No offence meant.’
‘Well, some taken, I can assure you. Atten shun!’
The squad came to attention. Rex reviewed his troops. ‘This is a sorry business,’ said he.
‘Sir?’ One of the ranks put his hand up. As they all looked very much the same it didn’t matter which one.
‘What is it, soldier?’
‘Sir, how come you were behind us in the corridor and now you’re in front of us here?’
‘I’m glad you asked me that.’ Rex paced up and down trying hard to look glad.
‘And wearing different clothes, sir?’
‘Yes indeed.’ Rex turned upon the questioner. ‘Do you know anything about the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter?’
‘Er ... no sir ... not much.’
‘Well then.’
‘Well then, sir?’
‘Well then, clear off. Carry on. Dismissed. Get moving.’
‘Yes sir.’ There was mass saluting, mass mumbling and mass pouring out of the door. And Rex found himself once more alone in the big bright room. He picked up Laura’s gun yet again and tucked it into his jacket.
‘Rex Mundi, you genius. Time you left the building.’
He tip-toed across the studio floor and peeped up the corridor after the marching men. ‘Up and away. Ahhh!’ Rex felt the cold muzzle of the gun as it entered his left ear.
‘My, my,’ came the voice of the gun’s owner. A voice that Rex knew almost as well as he knew his own. Even though he only heard it through his right ear. ‘My, my. If it isn’t the shopper.’
Rex turned slightly to view the owner of the voice. He knew that face almost as well as he knew his own.
In fact equally well. It was his own face.
‘Back inside,’ ordered the other Rex. ‘And you lot!’ He bawled up the corridor. ‘Here on the double!’
The gun left Rex’s ear, nuzzled into his chest and pushed him back into the studio.
‘Nice jacket.’ The villain fingered Rex’s lapels with his gun-free hand. ‘What expensive taste you do have.’
Rex stared into the face of his mirror image. He’d known loathing and hatred before. But nothing on the scale of this. His body ached to leap upon this travesty and wring the life out of it.
‘Oh yes. Love to, wouldn’t you? It’s funny, I don’t feel nearly so badly towards you. Even though you’ve nearly bankrupted me! I suppose that’s because I hold your life in my hands. That would be it, I expect. How does that feel by the way?’
‘Not good.’ Rex gritted his teeth.
The large men were flooding largely back into the room. They were looking largely confused.
The other Rex turned to greet them. He kept his gun trained on Rex as he did so.
‘Gentlemen, I would like you to meet my twin brother.’
‘What?’ went Rex.
‘My twin brother, Max. Max the psychopathic killer. Recently escaped from the state mental institution. Placed there-’ a plaintive tone entered the voice of the other Rex ‘-for the murder of our dear white-haired old mother, whom he killed and ate.’
‘Oh shame, shame,’ went the large men, who all had dear white-haired old mothers of their own. ‘String him up. Shoot the bastard.’
‘Quite so, gentlemen.’ The teller of tall tales poked Rex in the chest with his pistol and steered him to the far end of the room. ‘I could just let them lay into you now,’ he whispered. His face was far too dose for Rex’s comfort and his breath smelt like dog shit. ‘But there’s still time for you to redeem yourself. Where is Simon Butcher?’
‘You missed him. He had to fly.’
The other Rex hit him hard in the stomach. Rex doubled in pain. ‘Our mutual friend Mr Presley. Is he here? In the building?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rex gasped for breath.
‘Pardon?’ The fiend dragged Rex up by his hair. ‘What did you say?’
‘I haven’t seen him. I don’t know where he is.’ Rex felt the knee as it made contact with his groin.
‘Not much help, are you? Where is my Volvo?’
Rex gazed up at him. ‘Yo
ur Volvo. Ah, I begin to see.’
‘You see nothing. And apparently you know nothing. It’s all up for you then. But take comfort in this.’ He dragged Rex up and spat the words into his face. ‘When I’m all done here I’ll be spending a lot of time in your world. I do so look forward to enjoying all the comforts of your juicy little wife.’
‘Go to Hell.’
‘I was there just this morning, as it happens. Getting
your room ready. And now I think it’s time for you to move in.’ The other Rex turned and strode back to his troops.
‘Take careful aim for the head, men. I don’t want the jacket spoiled. It’s just my size and I paid for it. Ready.’
The troops made themselves ready. They were really going to enjoy this one. Dear white-haired old mother and everything.
‘Take aim. Don’t forget the head now.’ No, they weren’t going to forget the head.
Rex stared back at them. This was just about as bad as it could possibly get. He was really going to die this time. No trick endings. No ingenious escapes. No unlikely coincidences. This was it. He’d come all this way, been through everything, just to wind up here. To be murdered by his Satanic double who was looking forward to enjoying his wife. Rex began to shake. He tried to pull himself together, but it was impossible. It couldn’t end like this could it? It was so unfair. So unjust. He didn’t want to die.
‘Oh Max,’ his executioner called to him. ‘Any famous last words you’d like recorded for posterity?’
‘How about lay down your guns and back off asshole?’
The voice didn’t belong to Rex Mundi. Rex looked up in no small surprise. Through the open ceiling panel, which he might easily have climbed out of, had he chosen to number pulling over the desk amongst his previous choice of options, the barrel of a trusty Smith and Wesson was visible, aiming down at the head of his other self. His other self was staring right back up at it, and he wasn’t smiling.
‘Do it now,’ said I, with more authority than a gymno-sophist in a lesbian love-dungeon. The guy looked kinda doubtful, so I let off two rounds. Goons to either side of him took in the air through their foreheads.
‘Drop the guns.’ The guy said it like he was falling asleep, but his army took the hint. I let down the tow rope.
‘Best climb up here, fella, if you’re looking for another chapter.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ The guy in the black leather took to scrambling.
‘Don’t you even think about it.’ I cocked my piece towards the other guy, who was definitely thinking about it. ‘We’re out of here.’
I slammed into the driving seat. The guy slammed in beside me. ‘Bill’s cab,’ said he. ‘How did you get this up here?’
‘It’s a flying model.’ I revved the engine. ‘By the look of what’s on the meter some sucker’s been driven around at ground level. Where’s the cab jockey?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘Okay. Then I shan’t. The name’s Woodbine, by the way. Lazlo Woodbine. Some call me Laz.’
‘Thanks for saving my life, Liz.’
‘Laz,’ said I, letting out the clutch and hitting the air. ‘Don’t bite the hand that pulls you out of the shit.’
‘Thanks, Laz,’ said he.
The cab fades into the night sky over Presley. The camera pans to the full moon. There’s a bit of a lap dissolve and the full moon becomes a paper cup viewed from above. Ice cubes clatter into the cup, followed by a large slug of Old Bedwetter.
I was pretty pleased with the effect. Cinema verity, film noir, that kind of thing. And I’d come out of it looking sharper than a Connecticut Yankee at a 2 live Crew concert. Four-set clause intact.
Because, let’s face it, all you saw in the studio was the barrel of a gun, and on the roof-top, the interior of a cab. The cab could have been anywhere. Like in an alleyway, maybe. But I don’t want to split hairs.
I passed the cup across my office desk, just to make my present location dear. The guy in the black leather took it in both hands. ‘Cheers,’ he said.
‘Likewise.’ I raised a cup of my own and took a belt. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Still a bit shaky. And not a little confused. How come you pulled me out of there?’
‘Seemed like the thing to do.’
‘Well, my thanks. This is really appalling liquor by the way.’
‘It’s an acquired taste. Do you want to tell me all about it?’
‘Well, it’s the taste mostly, and the smell. Where do you buy this stuff?’
‘Not the drink, buddy.’ I leaned back in my chair and took a slug to go with the belt I’d just had. ‘It. Your it.’
‘Oh, my it.’ Rex hesitated. ‘Sorry, is it you or me, but one of us appears to be working in the first person.’
‘It’s me. That’s the way I do business.’
‘Could get pretty confusing. Do you mind if I just go on in the way I’m used to?’
‘You can give it a try,’ said I. ‘If it don’t work out, I’m sure we can compromise. Or at least you can.’
‘Sounds reasonable.’ Rex settled into the client chair. ‘Actually this isn’t too bad. I’ve tasted a lot worse. Who are you exactly?’
‘Woodbine. I told you. Lazlo Woodbine.’
‘And some call you Laz?’
‘Some do. You can.’
‘Thanks, Laz. My name’s Rex Mundi. Some call me, well, Rex, I suppose.’
‘Good to know you, Rex.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking this. But what were you doing on top of the Butcher Building, in Bill’s cab, rescuing me?’
‘I’m on a case. I’m a private detective, see. The private detective. Didn’t you ever read Blonde in a Body Bag?’ (A Lazlo Woodbine Thriller.)
‘I’m afraid not.’ Rex finished his drink. ‘Did you ever read Armageddon: The Musical?’ (A Rex Mundi block-buster.)
‘Can’t say that I did. So, like I was telling you, I’m a detective and I’m here on a case. My lead takes me to the Butcher Building. I see you go in. Then I see you go in again, this time in real bad company. So I just follow a hunch. Did anyone ever tell you that you bear an uncanny resemblance to a young Harrison Ford?’
‘Once in a while. Anyone tell you you look just like-’
‘Hush up, guy. My face never gets a mention. The reader projects himself on to me. Hence the first-person. One of the secrets of my success.’
‘Success?’ Rex looked around at the jaded office. ‘You’re successful then?’
‘I’m the hero of this novel. How much success do you want?’
‘Hmm,’ went Rex Mundi. ‘So tell me about this case of yours.’
‘I’m tracking down something called the Presley hoard.’
‘Ah,’ said he. ‘Now there’s a thing. Could I have a top-up over here?’
The other Rex shouted into his handset. ‘Dee! Kelley! Where are you?’
After playing their parts in a fruitless search of the Butcher Building, Dee and Kelley were now dining out at the Drowning Handbag, an up-market eatery in the best part of town. The establishment’s boast was that if it wasn’t on the menu, then you could take your pick for free. This gourmet’s challenge had been taken up successfully upon only one occasion, when a patron ordered elephant’s testicles on toast and the chef was forced to admit that he didn’t have a bit of bread in the house.(Classic.)
Ed and Johnny were enjoying an unimaginative platter of boiled sprouts. But very much indeed.
‘Where are you?’
‘We’re tailing Woodbine, excellency.’ Dee spat sprout into his portable phone.
‘That’s a bleeding lie,’ said the other Rex, slipping unexpectedly into his Michael Caine persona. ‘Get out of that restaurant and get around to Woodbine’s office. If he’s there and Mundi’s with him, kill them both. I’ll be there as fast as I can.’
‘Yes, excellency. Check please, waitress.’
Jonathan Crawford dumped ice into a tall Venetian baluster goblet and splashed pink liquo
r over it. ‘I’m sorry I had to throw old Rex to the wolves back there,’ he said, without a trace of conviction. ‘I hope you two weren’t an item.’
‘No. Strictly business.’ Laura accepted the goblet. She was draped across a glorious Queen Anne walnut-framed settee, upholstered in gros point floral needlework. A piece of furniture, she considered, which would look right at home in her apartment.
She ran her hand lovingly over the fabric, kicked off her shoes and exposed a length of leg. Jonathan looked on appreciatively and filled his own glass with orange juice. ‘Nice sofa, eh? Look right at home in your apartment.’
‘Now that you mention it. Why have you brought me here, Simon, or Jonathan is it?’ ‘Strictly business. And it’s Jonathan, by the way. Jonathan Crawford, boy genius and future Lord of Presley City. And everywhere else now that I come to mention it,’
‘I like the sound of that.’ Laura didn’t like the sound of that one little bit.
‘What do you think of my collection?’
‘Very nice.’ Laura had been mentally cataloguing it since the moment she entered the room. The room was of considerable size and contained more priceless antiques than an entire Lovejoy series.
‘We have so very much in common, you and I.’ Jonathan joined her on the sofa. His feet dangled three inches above the Marasali Shirvan rug. ‘We appreciate the finer things of life. And we share a wish to change the system. To overthrow it, in fact.’
‘Do we?’
‘We do. I know all about your dreams of revolution. I took the liberty of planting a listening device in the jukebox you . .. earned. That’s how I knew that you and Rex were on your way over.’
‘You little shit.’
‘Strictly business. I can give you everything you want. All this. All you have to do is throw in your lot with me. Join forces against the common foe.’
‘And who is the common foe?’
The Suburban Book of the Dead: Armageddon III: The Remake Page 15