A Dog Called Demolition

by Robert Rankin

  The lips curled back further. ‘You wouldn’t shoot another man.’

  ‘I really have nothing more to lose.’

  ‘Ah, well, let’s not get too carried away.’ This voice did not come from the mouth of Demolition. It came from the mouth of the gentleman. ‘I really wish you hadn’t come down here,’ he said. ‘You were doing so well and being such great assets.’

  ‘That’s a very big gun you’ve got in your hand,’ said Mickey. ‘And you don’t look pleased to see me.’

  ‘Yes it is quite a big one, isn’t it? Please drop yours, Danny, I know it’s only an electric job. It wouldn’t reach this far anyway.’

  Danny dropped the gun onto the floor. ‘What’s going on here?’ he enquired.

  ‘I don’t want any harm to come to you here. Nor to my prize exhibit.’

  ‘Well, we’re fine,’ said Danny. ‘You can put your gun away.’

  ‘Perhaps I’d better hold onto it, just in case.’

  ‘Please yourself. Any news of our fish and chips, by the way?’

  ‘Ah, no. In fact, the police are being somewhat adamant. They demand I surrender you and your companion within ten minutes or they’re going to come bursting in. Guns blazing, that sort of business.’

  ‘Tricky,’ said Mickey.

  ‘Yes, I do feel it might rather compromise our operation here.’

  ‘You’d best go back and talk to them then. We can manage.’

  ‘Ah, no again, I’m afraid. I don’t want you to do any managing.’

  ‘Mickey has a plan,’ said Danny.

  ‘I rather thought he might. I still have to ask you to come with me.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Danny, as if he hadn’t guessed.

  ‘I’m going to turn you over to the police, of course.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘It’s nothing personal, Danny, but this is all too important.’

  ‘But Mickey has a plan.’

  ‘A plan to destroy the Riders?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Just as I feared. Come on, we must be going.’

  ‘No,’ said Danny. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to shoot you.’

  Danny stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘I dare you.’

  ‘What? I mean, pardon me?’

  ‘Well, come on, don’t be ridiculous. What are you going to do? Shoot us dead and then drag our bodies outside? In front of all those police? All those police with Riders on their shoulders? All looking at you. The clear.’

  ‘Tricky,’ said Mickey.

  ‘Not too tricky. I was thinking of taking your bodies up in the lift and throwing them out of the window, actually.’

  ‘I don’t like this man at all,’ said Mickey. ‘And it’s nothing to do with this beggar on my shoulders either.’

  ‘Just one thing.’ Danny took a hand from his pocket and put it in the air. ‘Why are you doing this? Mickey and I could sort this out once and for all just give us time. Stall for time.’

  ‘I don’t want you to sort it out once and for all, it is not in the interests of the department.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You want the Riders destroyed, surely?’

  ‘Well, yes and no.’ The gentleman took out his pocket watch and perused its face. ‘All right. It can’t hurt to tell you, your fate is sealed, as it were.’

  ‘Could we sit comfortably?’ Danny asked.

  ‘No. Just stand with your hands in the air.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘So,’ said the gentleman. ‘And briefly. As I say, it is not in the department’s interests to destroy the Riders. Possibly in time, but certainly not now and all at once. They are a most valuable commodity. All we seek to learn is how to destroy them selectively and at a distance. Imagine the power of that. Let us take, for example, Saddam Hussein. Wicked Saddam goes off to bed one night. Someone here presses a little button. His Rider is destroyed. Saddam awakens the next morning. I bet he wouldn’t make it to the breakfast table alive.’ The gentleman laughed. ‘The possibilities are endless. An opposing army. You zap the Riders on half the soldiers, the other half do the job for you. Do you get the picture?’

  ‘All too clearly,’ Danny said.

  ‘And, of course, one could expand upon this premise.’ The gentleman was all smiles as he spoke. ‘Once we have learned how to destroy the Riders, the next logical move would be to communicate this knowledge to them directly. Once they learn that they are vulnerable, they may well choose to be co-operative.’

  ‘Such as by urging their human hosts to vote for a particular politician?’ Danny suggested.

  ‘You have it. Urge them to work harder for less pay. Spend more of their earnings on the National Lottery. The possibilities are, indeed, endless.’

  ‘And you and an elite of clears would run all this, run everything in fact.’

  ‘As benign rulers. The power behind the throne, as it were. Whichever particular throne we choose to put our power behind.’

  ‘Can I have your autograph?’ Mickey asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re the very first loon bent on world domination I’ve ever met. My dad got Hitler’s autograph. It’s a family thing, you understand.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time for autographs. Kindly hand me the book of spells.’

  ‘Away on your bike,’ said Mickey.

  The gentleman sighed. ‘No more time. I’ll just have to take it from your body.’ He aimed and cocked his pistol. Aim it went. And cock.

  Danny covered his head, ‘Don’t shoot,’ he pleaded. ‘We’ll go quietly.’

  ‘We will?’ Mickey asked.

  ‘Yes, we will. Give him the book of spells.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Of course you will. Kiss the book goodbye and give it to the nice gentleman. Remember? Like you did for me in your hut?’

  ‘Oh yes. Indeed.’ Mickey lifted the book to his lips and gave it a great big kiss. ‘Be good now,’ he told it.

  ‘Hurry,’ said the gentleman. ‘And no tricks.’

  ‘No tricks, I assure you.’ Mickey stepped forward and handed him the book.

  The gentleman took it in his non-gun-toting hand. There was a bang and a bit of a flash and the gentleman fell in a faint.

  ‘Works every time,’ said Mickey, retrieving his book from the floor.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Danny snatched up the gentleman’s gun. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘Anywhere but here.’

  They stepped over the fallen gentleman and rushed into the corridor. The ‘TOP SECRET’ door had a bolt on the outside. Danny swung it shut. Then on second thoughts he re-opened it and went back into the sinister room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mickey called.

  ‘Something.’ Danny returned to the corridor and slammed the door. As he pushed home the bolt he said, ‘I’m sure Demolition heard everything the gentleman had to say. So I’ve pulled the plug on his freezer. Let the two of them work it out. Head to head, eh?’

  ‘Ooh. That’s really horrible. I like it.’

  ‘Now, which way should we go?’

  From above came a devastating explosion, followed by the sound of rapid machine-gun fire.

  ‘Not up,’ said Mickey.

  ‘Any chance of a spell?’

  ‘We don’t have the time, let’s try running.’

  And so they ran.

  Now the thing about Whitehall buildings is that they do have a lot of basement. Plenty of basement with miles of corridor. Popular legend has it that they all interconnect. The various ministry buildings, Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace. There’s war rooms and store rooms and record rooms and listening rooms, where dull-looking men sit smoking cigarettes, wearing headphones and watching the spools of big tape recorders going round and round. And there’s top-secret rooms. Loads of those, of course.

  It would indeed be tedious to list all
the various top-secret rooms Mickey and Danny ran past. Obviously there were openings for a few satirical gags there. But none spring immediately to mind.

  ‘Oh look,’ said Mickey. ‘National Lottery Winning Calculation Room. Paul Daniels only.’

  ‘It’s a rubbish gag,’ said Danny. ‘Shall we try down this way?’

  Further sounds of gunfire were to be heard, marching feet also.

  ‘Down that way seems good to me.’

  And on they ran.

  ‘We can’t run for ever,’ wheezed Mickey.

  ‘I can. And if we keep going east we’ll get back to Brentford in an hour or so.’

  ‘And which way would east be?’

  ‘This way, undoubtedly.’

  ‘Drop your weapons and put up your hands.’ Men sprang out before them. Men all dressed in black with all blacked-up faces. Guns raised. Big guns…

  ‘Back this way, I think.’

  ‘Hold it,’ came cries from behind them.

  ‘Perhaps not back this way.’ Danny dithered.

  ‘Drop your weapon.’

  Danny dropped his weapon.

  ‘Now onto the floor, face down. Hands behind your heads.’

  ‘I think we’re done for,’ Mickey said.

  ‘There’s always the possibility of divine intervention.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Well.’

  The lights went out.

  ‘Open fire,’ shouted someone. And men opened fire.

  Muzzle flame and tracer shells and sparks and fire and noise. Such noise in a confined space. And so many bullets. In both directions.

  And the lights flicked back on. What a lot of smoke. And men rooting fingers into their ears and shouting, ‘I’ve gone deaf.’ They advanced, both teams, and they met in the middle. They weren’t dead. The teams. Bullet-proof jackets, that kind of thing. But they weren’t half furious.

  ‘Where did they go?’ someone asked.

  ‘Pardon?’ said somebody else.

  24

  BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE BRENTFORD

  ‘Where did we go?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Pardon?’ said Mickey.

  And the lights came back on. But not in the corridor. Well, in a corridor. But not the one they’d just been in.

  ‘Aaaagh!’ went Danny.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mr Parton Vrane. ‘Did I startle you?’

  ‘Yes, you did, you–’ Danny stared. Parton Vrane hopped up and down on one leg. He only had the one. And only the one arm. And not much in the way of shoulders. ‘I had a job keeping up. Are you okay?’

  ‘Obviously more than you are. No offence meant.’

  ‘None taken, I assure you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Danny. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘From me too,’ said Mickey. ‘How did you do that? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘Secret door. There’s no shortage down here. Shall we go?’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘I thought perhaps Mr Merlin’s hut.’

  ‘You’re a really good bloke for a beetle,’ said Danny.

  They travelled on the underground. But it was not any underground Danny or Mickey had ever travelled on before. It was a top-secret underground. Comfortable ride though, and no graffiti.

  Mickey took out a packet of cigarettes.

  ‘Give us one,’ said Danny.

  ‘My last,’ said Mickey. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s a no smoker anyway.’ Parton Vrane tried to make himself comfortable on his seat. It wasn’t easy. ‘Would you like to tell me about your plan? I overheard that you had one.’

  ‘You were listening in while we spoke to the, er, gentleman?’

  ‘It’s what I do. Listen in. Seek and destroy. You know the form.’

  ‘I reckon you’re likely to be unemployed quite shortly,’ said Danny. ‘I think your governor’s probably gone over to the other side by now.’

  ‘Serves him right. I knew he was up to something.’

  ‘Look there’s no-one about,’ said Mickey. ‘I could have a fag, couldn’t I?’

  Parton Vrane nodded. ‘If you hand them round.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’

  They took up fags and smoked them. Parton Vrane leaked a bit and the effect was none too pleasing. ‘Speak to me of your plan,’ said he.

  ‘It’s down to magic.’ Mickey patted the book on his knee. ‘See this?’ he pointed to his Rider. It looked a most uncomfortable Rider. One ill at ease with itself. One most disturbed. ‘This fellow is going to help us, aren’t you?’

  The Rider nodded its big bald transparent head. Gloomily.

  ‘Incredible,’ said Danny. ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Thought,’ and Mickey tapped at his temple. ‘We’re on speaking terms now. Especially since he heard the gentleman say his piece. He’s eager to oblige.’

  Danny looked up at the Rider. He didn’t look that eager. ‘You can make it do what you want it to do?’

  ‘It’s not an it,’ said Mickey. ‘It’s a him. His name is Rodney.’

  ‘Rodney the Rider? Leave it out, please.’

  ‘Wave to my friend, Rodney.’

  Rodney raised a long slim hand and waved at Danny.

  ‘Rodney is going to do his impersonation of Moses,’ said Mickey. ‘He is going to lead his people away from the evil pharaoh and off to the promised land. Aren’t you, Rodney?’

  Rodney nodded once again. He looked anything but enthusiastic.

  ‘Or Rodney will get another nail in his head.’

  Rodney flinched and grasped at his dome-like.

  ‘Careful, Rodney, or you’ll fall off.’

  ‘You know what, Mickey,’ said Danny, ‘you never cease to amaze me.’

  ‘Yes, well, when this is sorted, you can buy me a drink. When you’ve paid off my bar tab. Which you haven’t yet.’

  ‘I’ve had things on my mind.’

  ‘Most amusing.’

  ‘We’re almost there,’ said Parton Vrane. ‘Tell me, Mr Merlin, just what have you got on your mind?’

  ‘Well,’ and Mickey went on to explain.

  They have beautiful dawns in Brentford. Gorgeous they are. Rich with golden promise. The rooftops shimmer and sparrows rejoice. Angels on high join in their chorus and not without cause. No siree.

  Two and a half men approximately were climbing out of a manhole in Mafeking Avenue.

  ‘Is it safe?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Of course it’s safe,’ Mickey helped Parton Vrane to his foot. ‘Put your arm round my shoulder,’ he said. ‘It’s hopping time.’

  The allotments, all dew-kissed, glittered in the early light. The church clock of St Mary’s chimed five-thirty. Danny took a deep breath and sighed. If he’d had any poetry in him, he might have recited it now. But he hadn’t, so he did not. ‘Are you sure we’ll be safe?’ was what he said.

  Mickey helped the half a man along. ‘Of course I’m still not certain this will work,’ he told him. ‘Magick is a most precise business, we’re spreading our net rather wide.’

  ‘If it does work,’ said Danny, giving Parton Vrane a help along too, ‘the world is in for a bit of a wake-up. I mean, these Riders have driven their unwitting hosts along, probably not into the jobs they might have chosen of their own free will. I mean, they’ve probably made people marry each other because the Rider on the bloke fell in love with the Rider on the woman.’ Danny tripped up and fell into a lettuce patch. ‘And that’s only the tip of the iceberg,’ he said.

  ‘Do you want them on or off?’ asked Mickey.

  ‘Off,’ said Danny.

  ‘Then let’s get to it.’

  Apparently there was a door in the allotment wall that Danny had all too recently scrambled over. Mickey had the key, of course.

  The canal looked so good too. Sun dappling the water. A heron moving in his roost. A black-necked swan. A bandicoot.

  ‘A rat!’ said Danny.

  ‘That’s a squirrel,’ said Mickey. ‘You’re rubbish o
n animals.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted a dog.’

  ‘Don’t start on that again, please.’

  ‘This converted hut of yours,’ said Parton Vrane, ‘how exactly is it converted?’

  ‘Thoroughly,’ said Mickey. ‘Walk this way.’

  ‘If I could walk that way—’

  ‘Come on.’ Mickey’s keys were out once more.

  He turned one in the lock of the door. ‘Follow me.’

  Danny sat down on the camp-bed. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, you can get off my bed for a start.’

  ‘Should I draw a magic circle or something?’ Danny got off the bed. ‘Or should I put the kettle on?’

  ‘Why don’t you be the look-out?’

  ‘Who am I looking out for?’

  ‘Oh a gentleman with a toupee, a police inspector with pneumonia, the SAS. Take your pick really.’

  ‘Look,’ said Danny. ‘You seem to be taking over everything. It’s me who’s been through all the horrors. Me that told you about that Rodney on your shoulders.’

  ‘Me who got you out of the police cell,’ said Mickey. ‘Me with the book of spells—’

  ‘Excuse me, chaps,’ said Parton Vrane. ‘But it was me who saved you in the corridor.’

  ‘I helped you out of the manhole,’ said Mickey.

  ‘You threw my leg in the canal,’ said Parton Vrane.

  ‘You turned me into a female psycho killer on her way to the electric chair,’ said Danny.

  ‘I never did,’ said Parton Vrane.

  ‘No, not you, him.’

  ‘All right,’ said Mickey. ‘I’ll just put my book of spells back on the shelf then, should I?’

  ‘Looks like you’re running the show,’ said Danny.

  ‘Right, well you keep watch then.’

  ‘All right I will.’

  ‘Are you sure the world is ready for independent thought?’ asked Parton Vrane.

  ‘Don’t have a go at me,’ said Mickey.

  ‘Oh, as if I would.’

  ‘Are you making the mock? You are making the mock.’

  ‘If I told you that there was a whole load of blokes in black uniforms creeping along the tow-path, would that hurry things up?’ Danny asked.