Loud munching and rustling sounded from the tables on all sides as I passed and made my way up to the serving counter. I reeled off my order to the plastic-headed robotic attendant, stuffed bills into the hopper – then grabbed the bag of food and drink as it slid out of the gate.
We sat on the boxes in the back of the van and ate and drank with enthusiasm. I had left the reardoor open a crack which gave us more than enough light. During my absence The Bishop had discarded his dress and was now wearing more masculine garb – the largest size I could find. He wolfed down half of his sandwich, nibbled a few spamyams to hold it in place, then smiled over at me.
‘Your plan of escape was pure genius, my boy. I noticed the change in the flooring when I first sat down in the chair in the courtroom and pondered long over its significance. I hoped it was what I thought it might be, and can truthfully say that when the ground opened under my feet, so to speak, I felt a feeling of pleasure such as I had never experienced before. The sight of that despicable judge’s face disappearing from my sight is a memory I shall always treasure.’
Smiling broadly he finished the rest of the sandwich, then wiped his lips delicately before speaking again.
‘Since I do not wish to cause you greater embarrassment with more fulsome praise, perhaps I should ask you what plans you have made to keep me safe from the hands of the law? Because, knowing you as I do now, I am secure in the belief that you have planned ahead in precise detail.’
Praise from The Bishop was praise indeed and I basked in the warmth of it for a few moments while I worried out a bit of swinish gristle from between my teeth. ‘I have done that, thank you. The bread truck is our vehicle of invisibility for it and its brothers trundle the highways and byways of this country daily.’ For some reason I found myself sounding more and more like The Bishop when I spoke. ‘We will stay in it until nightfall, slowly approaching our destination all of the while.’
‘And of course casual police patrols will not bother us, since the identifying numbers on this vehicle are not the ones that were on it before it came into your possession.’
‘Precisely. The theft will have been reported and local police informed. But the search will not widen, for this vehicle will be found not far from its depot in Billville in the morning. The new numbers, soluble in paint thinner will have been removed, the odometer turned back to show only a brief joy ride by the thieves. If a van like this were seen and noted in the distant city of Bit O’Heaven there will be nothing to connect that bread van with this one. That trail will run cold as will all the others.’
He digested this bit of information, along with the last of the spamyams, then licked his fingers ruminatingly. ‘Capital. I could not have done better myself. Since further movement will be dangerous – the police will soon have a net over the entire country – I presume that Billville is our destination?’
‘It is. I have my establishment there. Also your place of security. When I asked about your food tastes I had that in mind. You are going to take up residence in an automated Macswineys until the heat of the chase dies down.’
His eyebrows climbed up to his forehead and I saw him glance with some apprehension at the discarded wrappings, but he was kind enough not to speak his doubts aloud. I hurried to reassure him.
‘I have done it myself – so don’t worry. There are some slight discomforts …’
‘But none to equal that of Federal prison! I apologise for unseemly thoughts. No offence given.’
‘Or taken. It all came about by accident one evening when the police were a little close behind me for comfort. I picked the lock on the service entrance of the local Macswineys, the very one that you will be visiting, and my pursuer lost my trail. While I waited for a safe period I examined the premises. Amazing! Operating at high speed all around me was the solution to the single problem that faces all fast-food chains. The cost of keeping even the highly underpayed and unskilled employees. Human beings are both intelligent and greedy. They tend to become skilled, then want more money for their work. The answer is to do away with human beings completely.’
‘Admirable solution. If you are finished with your crumplumps I just might nibble one or two while I listen to your fascinating documentary.’
I passed the greasy bag to him and went on. ‘Everything is mechanised. As the customer speaks his order the required item of food is ejected from the deep-frozen store into a super-voltage radar oven where it is instantly blasted to steamingly edible temperature. These ovens are so powerful that an entire frozen porcuswine can be exploded into steam and greasy particles in twelve microseconds.’
‘Amazing!’
‘Beverages are dispensed with the same lightning speed. By the time a customer has finished speaking his entire order is waiting. Behind a steel door, of course, until he has paid. The machinery is fully automatic and reliable and rarely touched by human hands. It is inspected weekly while the frozen food store is replenished weekly as well. But not on the same day so that the vehicles don’t get in each other’s way.’
‘Crystal clear!’ The Bishop cried aloud. ‘One makes one’s home so to speak, in the machinery chamber. When the frozen store is replenished access to it will be from outside the building and the living chamber will not be entered. On the day the machinery is inspected the occupant rests comfortably in the freezing room until the technicians leave. I assume there is a connecting door, easily found. Ahh, yes, the freezer – that explains the large and warm garment I found packed in with my clothes. But should there be an equipment failure …’
‘The alarm sounds in the central repair depot and a mechanic is dispatched. I have also arranged for it to sound in the room as well to allow enough time to slip away. I have also made provision for unexpected visits by the engineering staff. An alarm sounds if a key is placed in the outer lock, which then jams for precisely sixty seconds. Any questions?’
He laughed and reached out and patted my shoulder. ‘How could there be? You have thought of everything. Might I ask about reading matter and, how shall I phrase it delicately, sanitary facilities?’
‘Portable viewscope and library with your bedroll. All needed facilities already plumbed in for visiting technicians.’
‘I could ask for no more.’
‘But … I could.’ I lowered my gaze – then raised it and steeled myself to speak. ‘You once told me that you were not in the acolyte-seeking business. Dare I ask you if you still feel that way? Or would you consider dallying the hours away with some lessons in criminal lore? Just to pass the time, so to speak.’
Now it was his turn to lower his eyes. He sighed, then spoke. ‘I had good reasons to reject your request. Good at the time, or so I believed. I have changed my mind. In gratitude for my rescue I would enroll you in my school of Alternate Lifestyles for a decade or more. But I don’t believe you would like mere gratitude. That would not wear well, unless I have misread your character. I don’t believe you rescued me just to gain my gratitude. So I therefore tell you, in all truth, that I look forward to passing on the few things I have learned down through the years. I look forward to our continuing friendship as well.’
I was overwhelmed. We were on our feet at the same time and shaking hands, laughing. His grip was like steel but I didn’t mind at all. It was I who turned away first, then looked at my watch.
‘We have been here too long already and must not draw any attention. I shall drive on now – and the next stop will be the last one for we will have arrived. Please exit quickly, enter the service door at once and close it behind you. I’ll be back as soon as this van has been disposed of, so the next person to open the door will be me.’
‘ At your orders, Jim. But speak – and I shall obey.’
It was a boring drive but a necessary one. But bored I was not for I was filled with plans and thoughts of the future. I drove through street after street, stopping only once to charge the batteries at an automated service station. Then onward again, doomed forever to rumble through the
back roads of Bit O’Heaven, watching the sun creep towards the horizon. To at last pull into the service road of the Billville shopping centre, now empty of traffic until morning.
No one in sight. The Bishop passed me with a swish and the door slammed. The operation was still going well and I was in a hurry to finish, but knew better than to rush now. No one saw me when I carried the boxes and equipment into the building and dumped them in my office. It was taking a chance, but it had to be done. The chances that the van would be noticed and remembered were slim. Before I drove away I sprayed the interior of the van with print-go, a solvent that destroys fingerprints and should be in common use by all criminals. Even bread van thieves.
This was it. I could do no more. I parked the van at the end of a quiet suburban street and walked back into town. It was a warm night and I enjoyed the exercise. When I passed the pond in Billville Park I heard a water bird calling out sleepily. I sat on the bench and looked out at the still surface of the pond. And thought about the future and my destiny.
Had I really succeeded in breaking free with my old life? Was I to succeed in the life of crime that I so much wanted? The Bishop had promised to help me – and he was the only person on the planet who could.
I whistled as I walked towards the shopping centre. Looking forward to a brilliant and exciting future. So involved in my thoughts that I ignored the occasional surface car that passed, barely aware of one stopping behind me.
‘You there, kid, just a minute.’
Without thinking I turned about, so distracted that I didn’t notice until too late that I was standing under the street light. The policeman sat in the car staring at me. I’ll never know why he stopped, what he wanted to talk to me about, because that thought fled his mind instantly. I could see recognition there as his eyes widened.
In my concern over The Bishop I had forgotten completely that I was still a wanted criminal and jail breaker, that all the police had my photograph and description. And here I was strolling the streets bereft of any disguise or attempt at security. All these thoughts passed through my head and out my ear in the instant that he recognised me. Nor did I even have time for any mental kicks in the seat of my trousers.
‘You’re Jimmy diGriz!’
He seemed as surprised as I was. But not surprised enough to slow down his reflexes. Mine were still getting into gear by the time his were all through operating. He must have practised that draw in the mirror every day because he was fast. Too fast.
As I was turning to run the muzzle of his recoilless .75 appeared in the open window.
‘Gotcha!’ he said. With a dirty, wide, evil law-enforcing smile.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Not me – someone else – mistaken identity!’ I gasped, but shoved my hands into the air at the same time. ‘Would you shoot a hapless child just on suspicion?’
The gun never wavered, but I did. Shuffling sideways towards the front of the car.
‘Stop that and get back here,’ he shouted, but I kept the nervous shuffling going. I doubted, or hoped, that he wouldn’t shoot me in cold blood. As I remember that is against the law. I wanted him to come after me, because in order to do that he would have to take the gun out of the window. There was no way that he could point it at me and open the door at the same time.
The gun vanished – and so did I! The instant he lowered it I turned and ran, head down and pumping as fast as I could. He shouted after me – and fired!
The gun boomed like a cannon and the slug zipped past my ear and slammed into a tree. I spun about and stopped. This cop was insane.
‘That’s better,’ he called out, resting the gun on top of the open door and aiming it at me with both hands. ‘I fired to miss. Just once. Next time I hit. I got the gold medal for shooting this piece. So don’t make me show you how good I am with it.’
‘You are mad, do you know that?’ I said, all too aware of the quaver in my voice. ‘You just can’t shoot people on suspicion.’
‘Yes I can,’ he said, walking up to me with the gun still pointed steady as a rock. ‘This ain’t suspicion but identification. I know just who you are. A wanted criminal. You know what I’ll say? I’ll say this criminal grabbed my gun and it went off and he got shot. How does that sound? Want to grab my gun?’
He was a nutter all right, and a police nutter at that. I could see that he really wanted me to make a break so he could fire off his cannon. How he had escaped all the tests that were supposed to keep his kind out of law enforcement I will never know. But he had done it. He was licensed to carry a gun and was looking for an excuse to use it. That excuse I was not giving him. I extended my arms slowly before me, wrists together.
‘I’m not resisting, officer, see. You are making a mistake, but I am going quietly. Put on the cuffs and take me in.’
He looked downright unhappy at this, and frowned at me. But I made no more moves and in the end he scowled, pulled, the handcuffs from his belt and tossed them over to me. The gun never wavered.
‘Put them on.’
I locked them on one wrist, very loosely so I could slip my hand out of them, then on the other. I was looking down when I did this and I did not see him move. Until he had me by both wrists and had squeezed both cuffs until they had locked hard, deep into my skin. He smiled down at me, twisting the metal into my flesh with sadistic glee.
‘Gotcha now, diGriz. You are under arrest.’
I looked up at him, he was a head taller than me and maybe twice my weight – and I burst out laughing. He had put the gun back in its holster to grab me – that’s what he had done. The big man had grabbed the little kid. He couldn’t understand why I was laughing and I gave him no opportunity to find out. I did the easiest, best and fastest thing possible under the circumstances. Also the dirtiest.
My knee came up hard into his groin and he let go of my wrists at the impact and bent double. I did him a favour, the poor man must have been in some pain, and got him in the side of the neck with my joined hands as he went by. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. I knelt and started to go through his pockets for the keys to the handcuffs.
‘What’s happening there?’ a voice called out as a light came on over the door of the nearest house. The sound of that shot would bring the whole street out soon. I would worry about the cuffs later. Right how I had to make tracks.
‘Man’s been hurt!’ I shouted. ‘I’m going for help.’ This last was called over my shoulder as I trotted off down the street and around the corner. A woman appeared in the doorway and called after me but I wasn’t staying around to listen. I had to keep moving, get away from this place before the alarm was called and the search began. Things were coming apart. And my wrists hurt. I looked at them when I passed the next street light and saw that my hands were white, and were getting numb as well. The cuffs were so tight they were cutting off all the blood circulation. Any slight guilt I may have had over the dirty fighting vanished on the instant. I had to get these things off – and fast. My office, the only place.
I got there, avoiding the main streets and staying away from people. But when I reached the back door of the building my fingers were numb and stiff. I could feel nothing.
It took an intolerably long time to fish the keys out of my pocket. When I succeeded I instantly dropped them. Nor could I pick them up again. My fingers would not close. I could only drag my lifeless hands over the keys.
There are low moments in life – and I believe that this was the lowest one that I had ever experienced. I just could not do what had to be done. I was finished, licked, through. I couldn’t get into the building. I couldn’t help myself. It didn’t take a medical degree to figure out that if I didn’t get the cuffs off soon I was going to go through life with plastic hands. This was it.
‘This is not it!’ I heard myself snarling. ‘Kick the door open, do something, unlock it with your toes.’
No, not my toes! I fumbled the keys about on the ground with my dead fingers until I had separated out t
he correct key. Then bent my body over it and touched it with my tongue, feeling its position, ignoring the filth and dirt that I licked up along with it. Then I pulled back my lips and seized the key with my teeth. Good so far!
If you should ever be tempted to unlock a door with a key in your teeth while wearing handcuffs I have only a single word of advice. Don’t. You see you have to turn your head sideways to get the key into the keyhole. Then roll your head to turn the key, then butt the door with your head to get it open …
It worked at last and I fell face first onto the floor inside. With the knowledge that I would have to do the whole thing all over again upstairs. That I did do it, and finally slid through into the office, owes more to persistence, stubbornness and brute force than to intelligence. I was too exhausted to think. I could only react.
I elbowed the door shut and stumbled to my workbench, hurled my toolbox to the floor and kicked its contents about until I found the vibrosaw. I picked this up with my teeth and managed to wedge it into an open desk drawer, holding it in place as I closed the drawer with my elbow. Closing it on my lip as well, which brought forth a nice gusher of blood. Which I ignored. My wrists were on fire – but my hands were past feeling. White and dead looking. I had run out of time. I used my elbow to turn on the saw. Then pushed the handcuffs towards the blade, pulling my arms apart to stretch the chain. The blade buzzed shrilly and the chain was cut and my arms flew wide.
Next came the more exacting job of cutting the cuffs off without cutting my flesh. Too much.
There was blood everywhere before I was done. But the cuffs were off and I could see the flesh turn pink as circulation was restored.
After this all I was up to was collapsing into a chair and watching the blood drip. I sat like this for about a minute when the numbness ended and the pain began. With an effort I stumbled to my feet and dragged over to the medical locker. Getting this good and bloody as well while I shook the pain capsules out and managed to swallow two of them. Since I was already there I pulled out the antiseptic and bandages and cleaned up the cuts. They were more messy than dangerous and none were very deep. I bandaged them, then looked into the mirror and shuddered and did something about the lip.
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