by Gareth Wiles
‘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.
‘Help meee,’ Dr. Bullings cried out on the plane, as Mr Monkey managed to free one paw and was attempting to garrotte his opponent with the wire out of the floor.
Surprisingly he succeeded, and Dr. Bullings went all limp and died. The puppet now freed himself from the chair. How to get out? When you’re thirty thousand feet in the air, there isn’t much chance of escape. He picked up a gun from Dr. Bullings’ body and bounced over to the door in which the dead medic had made his entrance not so long ago.
He wandered about the plane for some time, his polyester legs dangling with freedom, until he came to a large golden door. There was a large button next to the door, so he pressed it and the door slid open. Behind it was the posh dining area of this obviously luxury plane. A man was sitting on a swivel chair with his back to Mr Monkey.
‘We’ve been expecting you,’ the man murmured.
‘What do you mean, we? There is only you and myself in here,’ Mr Monkey replied.
‘Forgive me,’ replied the man confidently, ‘but I don’t get many visitors dropping in for a chat. Let me introduce myself. I am your worst enemy… I am Liam Perrin!’ he announced, spinning around in the chair just in time for Mr Monkey to see his mouth close. It was a large mouth, surrounded by an elaborate ginger goatee beard. Gel had helped fashion either tip of the moustache into decorative twirls. Atop the man’s narrow head sat an abundance of golden curls, though his hair was shaved at the sides.
The puppet looked startled at first, then pointed the gun at him. ‘The Worm! I should have guessed it would be you. Still doing The Clown’s dirty work.’ He grunted in a monkeyish way, even though he was technically a puppet of an orang-utan. Orang-utans aren’t monkeys, but it wasn’t wise to try to explain this to Mr Monkey. He wasn’t a gibbon either. ‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’ The Worm asked with a big smirk.
‘The Clown, you slippery invertebrate,’ he demanded angrily.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he replied in a calm manner.
‘Don’t play sweet with me.’
‘Would I do that, especially to a man with an unloaded gun?’ The Worm quickly pulled out a gun and Mr Monkey tried to shoot him, but no bullets came out. ‘What a shame, Brendan. Such a young life to end before his time is up.’
‘I’m a puppet, I’m timeless.’
‘Timeless, yet fodder for someone else’s hand and voice.’
‘Liam,’ Mr Monkey whispered sweetly, ‘if you don’t mind me asking, well seeing as you are going to kill me; how exactly have you and Colin The Clown remained hidden for so long until now?’ he queried, in a calm sensible manner.
‘Well I’d like to think that you went to hell with peace of mind, so I’ll tell you.’ The Worm smirked as Mr Monkey looked surprised to be getting something out of him so easily. A little too easily. ‘The problem arouse when an old lady, very ill lady at that, took me in from an institute I ended up at. She pretended she was my mother and seeing that I had amnesia took advantage of me. I lived with her and Colin lived with his real life wife and daughter. Your section couldn’t track us down, and you thought Colin’s family was dead so that didn’t provide any new lines of inquiry.’
‘What a bittersweet tale of woe,’ Mr Monkey mocked.
‘Yes, well both Colin and I have regained our memories now and we are after you… or should I say were after you. Colin told me to keep you alive until we landed, but I can’t wait that long,’ he cackled.
‘That Dr. Bullings put up quite a fight just before,’ Mr Monkey giggled. ‘I soon dispatched him.’
‘I just sent him in to soften you up.’
‘He must have forgotten the fabric softener,’ Mr Monkey chuckled.
‘A man of that size is very respected. I picked him up in my old neighbourhood. In fact he’s the last piece in the puzzle, or jig-saw shall we say,’ The Worm carried on with yet more smirking.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was just an innocent man, brainwashed by The Clown and me. We are such master criminals,’ he explained with mirth, as he scratched his nose with the barrel of the gun. ‘We have been dabbling in science, you see.’
Mr Monkey leapt at The Worm as soon as the gun was pointing awa
y from him. The gun was thrown into the air as they both battled for it. The Worm was fairly wriggly, slipping from the puppet’s admittedly flimsy grasp, and he managed to gain the upper hand. He threw Mr Monkey onto the table where his coffee was, this surprisingly allowing him to make a grab for the gun. Sadly, The Worm kicked it out of the way. There was an open door near to Mr Monkey, so he seized the opportunity and jumped through it and into another corridor. The door locked behind him and he rested for a moment, looking around.
There was a pair of double doors marked ‘Cargo Hold’, which were locked. Looking around for an instrument in which to open the doors with force, a fire extinguisher caught his eye. He picked it up and soon found himself smashing the doors to pieces and entering a very packed room. He looked around for a few moments until he came to his luggage – a briefcase and wrapped parcel. How thoughtful of The Clown and The Worm to bring his belongings along for the ride too.
‘Hold it right there Mr,’ a husky voice announced behind him. He dropped his briefcase but kept hold of the parcel, slowly turning to face this person. It was a woman, pointing a gun at his furry head.
‘Hello Mrs…’ Mr Monkey gestured.
‘Miss. My name is Kelly Salifield,’ she replied with unease. ‘Give me your parcel.’
‘What a nice offer from a pretty lady,’ Mr Monkey laughed. For this, she whacked him across the head with the gun.
‘Open it,’ she ordered.
‘Is that a demand or a come-on?’ he asked with absolute honesty.
‘Just open it,’ she yelled.
He slowly unravelled the neatly wrapped brown box, keeping eye contact with Miss Salifield, and removed the contents of the parcel. It was a red ball.
‘What’s that?’ Miss Salifield demanded.
‘A present from home,’ Mr Monkey giggled as he threw the small red ball at her. She dropped the gun and caught it with both hands, looking up just in time to see the mischievous puppet protrude one of his purple button eyes and dive behind a large crate of luggage as the red ball exploded, blowing Miss Salifield’s hands clean off in the process. She fell to the floor, screaming. Mr Monkey took out yet another red ball and threw it down hard onto the floor of the plane near to the screaming woman. It exploded and made a hole in the plane, causing everything to gush around in a whirlpool. The puppet grabbed hold of his briefcase and hit the cargo door button. The back hatch began to open as the plane dipped down, drastically dropping its height as it neared the ground. The frantic puppet spotted a car near to the hatch. He sat in the driver’s seat and placed his briefcase in the passenger’s side. There came a groan from the back seat of the car. He turned around to see a stunning young blonde woman lying across the two seats with her arms and feet bound together. Her mouth was gagged. He turned his whole body around to face the girl, removing the gag.