by Bob Burke
As I swerved to avoid hitting one of these trees and to try to ensure that my pursuer didn’t, I had another of my really bright ideas.
‘Hold tight,’ I roared at Jack as I pressed hard on the accelerator. ‘This could get scary.’
‘You mean it gets better?’ he shouted back, grinning from ear to ear. ‘This is the coolest ride I’ve ever been on. Go Harry!’ He stretched both arms up over his head, as people do just as they get their photograph taken on the scary part of a roller coaster ride, and yelled at the top of his voice. Truly this child had no fear.
The sudden burst of acceleration had, for a few seconds, taken me away from my pursuer. Rather than head towards the forest’s edge, however, I took one of the trails deeper into the trees. I had a very specific destination in mind and one that might, if my timing was right, get this particular pursuer permanently off our backs.
As we drove further into the forest, the trees grew closer together and, eventually, their branches became so entwined over the road they formed a natural tunnel, shutting out daylight completely. I flicked on the headlights and they gave just enough illumination to prevent me driving off the road. On either side, gnarled branches were trying to grab at the car as we passed but I was going so fast they only scraped off the sides. They might be ruining the bodywork, but at least the bodies inside the car were undamaged–for now.
I recklessly navigated turn after turn (by the skin of my teeth in most cases), the road getting narrower and windier as we drove. I wasn’t particularly scared of the forest; being chased by an invisible maniac tended to force all other thoughts of being frightened from one’s mind. Our pursuer wasn’t quite as reckless though, preferring to drive fast enough to keep us in his sights but not so fast as to spin off the road. We would hardly have been that lucky but that wasn’t my main objective. It would, however, have made what I was about to do much less of a risk–especially to Jack and me–if he’d managed to hit something other than us in the interim.
A fork in the road came up so fast that, even though I was expecting it, I still nearly ploughed straight into the tree that stood right where the road split in two. I swung the steering wheel in an effort to keep the car on track. It screeched around the right-hand turn, leaving a liberal helping of rubber on the road. I was hoping my pursuer might not be so lucky but as I looked in the mirror I saw him take the fork a little less dramatically than I had and continue his relentless pursuit. We were now driving in total darkness such was the tree cover all around us. Even the car’s headlamps didn’t do much to light the way.
I was now driving purely on instinct. Bends came and went in a blur and all the while I could see the lights of the other car behind us, never closing the gap but never losing any ground either. Well, if things went according to plan, there would soon be a fair, and somewhat unexpected, distance between us. I turned to Jack.
‘Hold on tight. Things might get a little bumpier.’
His face lit up like a searchlight. ‘You mean it gets better?’
‘Oh yeah, much better,’ I replied grimly. ‘Just make sure you’re well strapped in.’
At last we were arriving at our destination. In front of us the road narrowed and curved around sharply to the left. Right on the bend stood a large and very old ash tree. Its gnarled branches hung down over the road, trailing long green strands of moss. As we approached they began to twitch as if anticipating our imminent arrival. I stood on the brakes and the car stopped abruptly just in front of the tree, jerking both of us forward. Moss draped across the windscreen, obscuring our visibility, but I was only interested in what I could see out of my side window. Jack was looking over his shoulder to see where our pursuer was and was finally starting to panic.
‘Why have you stopped, Harry? He’s getting closer.’
‘I know. Just another few seconds.’ I began to rev up the car.
‘We don’t have a few seconds. He’s right on us.’ Jack was really panicking now.
There was a blurred movement of something grey and gnarled coming towards us from the side and I instantly accelerated. The car shot forward as if it had been fired from a cannon. Our pursuer, who had sped into the space we’d just vacated, was suddenly swept sideways by a large and very fast moving branch. There was a loud wail from inside the car as it was catapulted across the road and smashed through the undergrowth on the opposite side, leaving a large and impressive vehicle-shaped hole in the bushes. Where the car had been on the road, a few leaves floated gently to the ground.
‘Now that’s what I call a flying car,’ I muttered with satisfaction. ‘James Bond, eat your heart out.’
Before I could take too much pleasure in the somewhat premature end to the chase, I had to drive my own car out of reach of the ash tree’s branches before it had a second swipe. Better safe than even more damaged, I always say.
‘Well, let’s take a look at the incredible flying car,’ I said, as I opened the door and got out. ‘From the noise that it made as it flew through the air with the greatest of ease, I very much doubt that it was driverless.’
As Jack joined me and we began to make our way across to where the other car had landed I turned to the ash tree. ‘Thanks Leslie,’ I said. ‘I can always depend on you to miss me.’
The tree shook its branches violently and sprayed moss in all directions.
‘Maybe next time, Pigg,’ it said in a voice that made Treebeard sound like a soprano. ‘You can’t be lucky forever.’
‘What’s his problem?’ asked Jack.
‘Some other time,’ I replied. ‘It’s a long story. Suffice to say that, ever since my last encounter with him, he’s had a deep longing to play baseball with me–using me as the ball.’
We made our way through the undergrowth. It wasn’t too difficult as the flying car had cleared a wide path for us. We found it in a tree, jammed into the junction of two large branches. On the driver’s side the door was open. Fortunately for me it was within climbing distance. Very carefully, I climbed up to the car and peered inside. Whoever–or whatever–had been driving had clearly done a runner, leaving nothing in the way of clues behind. Apart from the glass all over the floor, the inside of the car was spotlessly clean. I was now convinced that, despite initial appearances to the contrary, there had been a driver. Something had been screaming in terror as the car took flight and that same something had managed to open the door and disappear before we got there. All I had to do now was figure out what that something was, and if there’s one thing I’m good at (actually, there are lots of things I’m good at) it’s figuring things out. I hadn’t actually expected to find anything in the car–that was a long shot. I was more interested in what may have been on the front. I swung around to the remains of the hood. Steam hissed from the mangled engine but there was no obvious smell of gasoline so I figured I was safe. I ran my trotters carefully over the front grille and felt something jammed in.
‘Let’s see what we’ve got here,’ I muttered, pulling at the mysterious object.
There was a sudden screech of metal as the object I was investigating came off in my hand. With a loud shout, I fell back off the branch and plummeted to the ground. Fortunately for Jack I missed him when I landed. Unfortunately for me I also managed to miss anything remotely resembling a soft landing and hit the ground with a very unsatisfactory (from my viewpoint, at any rate) thud. As I groaned in pain and checked all extremities for damage for the second time in a day, I swore I could hear the ash tree sniggering in tones so low I could feel my fillings vibrate. He was obviously enjoying a minor victory at my expense. As I’m not a petty pig–but more because there was a small boy in the vicinity–I refrained from making an obscene gesture at him, although someone had once pointed out to me that it was very hard to make obscene gestures when you didn’t have any fingers.
I was, by now, mastering the art of getting gingerly to my trotters so I managed it much better this time. Once I had dusted off the leaves and other debris, I examined the object, the
removal of which had caused me to fall in the first place.
‘What is it, Harry?’ asked Jack.
‘Exactly what I’d expected,’ I replied. ‘It’s a very small but very powerful camera.’
‘What was it doing on the front of the car?’
‘Well, think of it like this, if you were really small and had to drive a car, how would you be able to see where you were going if you couldn’t see over the front dash?’
I had now dismissed the idea of being beaten up by an invisible superhero. All the evidence I’d gathered during the course of the day had led me to a different, less super and far more irritating solution. The camera had now confirmed my suspicions. I now needed to pay a visit to someone very annoying. This someone would not appreciate me visiting him, so, in order to prevent a recurrence of the previous night’s unfortunate incident, I needed some additional protection.
‘OK Jack, let’s head back to the ranch. There’s nothing more to see here.’
As we walked back to the car, being very careful to avoid any aggressive branches, I reached for my shiny new phone and made a quick call. For my next trick I would definitely require a very specific type of assistance, and I knew exactly who could provide it.
6
The Gift of the Gab
It was early evening when we got back into town. After dropping Jack at home with a promise I’d call him again if I needed him, I drove back to the office, parked the car and headed back towards the main street. After the previous night’s experience I kept a regular look over both shoulders and avoided any dark, or even not that brightly lit, alleyways. If there weren’t at least twenty people in the same street as me then it wasn’t going to be one I was going to walk down, across or through. Once bitten–or once punched, threatened and deposited in garbage–had made me very careful and I was also concerned about the impact that constantly being decorated with rotten vegetables was having on my laundry bill–not to mention my personal grooming.
After navigating the side streets of Grimmtown without attracting any undue attention, I turned onto Hans Christian Andersen Street. Dusk had made way for night and the city’s bright young things were all out in their vampire-look finery again. On every corner a girl from Little Matchgirls Inc. was hawking hot dogs, burgers and fried chicken–the company had diversified over the years, especially after smoking fell out of favour. The sound of people having a good time (at least, everyone except me) could be heard through the doors as I passed the multitude of bars and restaurants that proliferated both sides of the street. Much as I enjoyed a quiet drink and some intellectual conversation in my local, the bar I was heading to was one where I didn’t expect the conversation to be particularly stimulating. It was located about halfway up the street and had a particularly distinctive frontage–it was bright green. Outside the Blarney Tone, Grimmtown’s only Irish bar (‘Come for the Music, You’ll Stay for the Craic’), a very small man in a very shiny bright green and white costume was exhorting passers-by to come in and enjoy the fun inside. Benny was a gnome and Grimmtown’s worst leprechaun impersonator. I stopped behind him to listen to his patter. He had the worst Irish accent I’d ever heard; yes, even worse than Tom Cruise’s in Far and Away–and I should know, my grandfather was prime Irish bacon.
‘Ah sure now, will ye not come in and try a Guinness. ‘Tis only the best in the town, brought in specially, direct from the brewery in Dublin. There’s a free plate of crubeens thrown in for good measure. You won’t see the like anywhere else.’ As he spoke he did a little jig that caused the rather large silver buckles on his black shoes to clang like a set of enormous bells.
The rest of his outfit was just as subtle as his shoes. Bright white socks stretched up to just below the knees, where they were met by bright green plus fours that were kept up by a large black belt. White frills that seemed to explode from a shirt so white it hurt to look at it fronted an equally lurid green jacket. An obviously fake ginger beard and curly wig covered most of his grey-skinned face like a bright orange fungus. On his head he wore a long black hat with yet another shiny buckle. It looked like someone had rammed a bucket upside-down on his head.
He was possibly the least convincing leprechaun in history but he was also just the man I needed to talk to. Despite the ludicrous outfit he was very sturdily built. In fact, he was the type of guy who could deliver a hefty punch to your midriff while, owing to his size, every attempt you made to hit him back just went over his head.
He still hadn’t noticed me as I approached him carefully and tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Evening Benny,’ I said cheerfully.
He spun around and for a split second his face dropped as he recognised me. Like the true pro he vainly aspired to be, he immediately recovered and began his Irish shtick again but his first reaction had given him away.
‘Begorrah Mr Pigg, is it yourself that’s in it. And out on a fine night like this too. Sure why not drop in and try a pint of the black stuff. ‘Tis the best in town.’ As he spoke he made to move towards me. This time I was somewhat better prepared and, as I quickly stepped back, I nodded to two large shapes that had just as quickly, but a lot more silently, moved up behind him. As he tried to land a punch on me a large hand grabbed his neck from behind and suddenly jerked him backwards and upwards. He dangled in midair, legs kicking so fast he looked like he was pedalling an invisible bicycle. The hand held his head level with my eyes and squeezed ever so slightly. Benny’s face began to turn an interesting shade of bright red as his neck began to constrict under the pressure.
‘Now, Benny,’ I said cheerfully, ‘perhaps we can discuss your recent forays into robbery and GBH.’
‘I…don’t…know…what…you…mean,’ he managed to choke out. By now his face was turning from red to purple and I watched with fascination (and no small degree of pleasure I must shamefully admit).
‘Ah, but how remiss of me,’ I said. ‘I’m forgetting my manners. Before we start, allow me to introduce my colleagues, Mr Lewis and Mr Carroll. They’re ogres.’ Considering their size, strength and skin colour it was probably stating the obvious, but I wanted to see Benny sweat and show him that I meant business. My ‘colleagues’ were each over eight feet tall with skin that almost matched Benny’s jacket in hue. Their impressively muscular frames were barely contained by the immaculate evening suits they had squeezed into. They were definitely the type of guys (or creatures) that you needed when there was a possibility of any unpleasantness, as they tended to be a very effective deterrent–as they were now proving.
‘Now that the introductions are over, perhaps we can get down to business,’ I said to Benny. ‘Let me put some perspective on this for you, Justin case you’re confused.’
As Benny wasn’t the sharpest tack in the box I figured I’d better spell it out for him. Before I could start, however, I noticed that his face was now bright blue. Perhaps the ogres were being a trifle too eager.
‘Mr Lewis, perhaps a little less pressure.’
Lewis grunted and relaxed his hand slightly. Benny’s face returned to its previous shade of purple.
‘OK, Benny,’ I said, ‘let’s begin. Once upon a time there was a gnome named Benny. Not too bright but always on the lookout for an opportunity, he made a living as a dodgy leprechaun impersonator trying to get gullible customers into the local Irish bar. And, by the way, you need to work on that accent. Are you with me so far?’
He nodded, his head barely moving.
‘Good. Now, our friend Benny probably got an offer from someone to help him acquire a valuable antique from a local businessman. It certainly wasn’t Benny’s idea, what with him not being too bright and all, but the offer was impressive enough to encourage him. How am I doing so far?’
Benny gave another little nod.
‘This is called detecting, Benny. It’s what I do. I examine the clues and determine what’s going on. This then allows me to follow a specific line of inquiry. This specific line of inquiry has, most fortuitously,
brought me to you.
‘In this instance, your mysterious client clearly needed someone with some subterranean delving skills and who would also do what he was told, no questions asked, as long as the price was right.
‘Unfortunately he picked you,’ I continued. ‘You may be a great digger, which of course pointed me in the right direction, but you were a trifle careless at the scene of the crime.’ I reached into my pocket and removed a small envelope. Inside was the green thread I’d found on the tree outside Aladdin’s. ‘You appear to have picked up a minor tear on your sleeve and, look, the thread I happen to have here matches almost perfectly. What a coincidence, eh?’
There was another gurgle that could have meant anything from ‘What great detective work. You’ve certainly rumbled me. I confess’ to ‘I’m slowly choking to death here, could you ask your moron to reduce the pressure on my neck somewhat.’
I chose to interpret it as the latter, although I certainly wouldn’t describe Lewis as a moron–at least not to his face. Another nod and Lewis eased his grip slightly more.
‘Now I know that you aren’t working alone, not only because you haven’t got the smarts to pull this off on your own, but even you couldn’t drive a car into the enchanted forest, crash it rather spectacularly and then get back here to play little green man with the tourists so quickly. Nice trick by the way, getting one of your idiot cronies to use the camera to see where he was going because he was too small to look over the wheel. I take it you didn’t come up with that idea either?’ The response was another faint shake of the head.