These Foolish Things: The Complete Boxset

by J Battle

  ‘Hello,‘ I said. I’ve tried saying ‘hi’, or ‘Chandler speaking,’ or even, once, just saying ‘speak,’ but none of them are really me, so I just say ‘hello.’

  ‘Hi, Philly boy. Long time no speak. What have you been doing with yourself, or should that be to yourself?’

  It had been nearly a year since I last heard that voice, but it still made a chill run up my back.

  ‘Hello…Devon,‘ I replied, really pleased that I hadn’t called him Mister.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Er, are you still there?’ I gave in first; I always give in first.

  ‘Yeah; I’m still here.’

  ‘And…what do you want?’ You don’t know Mr. Devon, so you don’t know how hard it is to be so blunt to him. Imagine being caught doing something unmentionable at school, being taken to the strictest headmaster there has ever been, ever, and saying to him ‘what do you want?’

  ‘Let’s start with when you are going to pay me the money you owe me?’

  ‘But I…’ I was trying to tell him that I didn’t owe him any money; that I’d paid it all back when I had my little windfall last year, but, is it just me? Do you sometimes get the feeling that something you were absolute sure you’d done, that maybe you didn’t and it was just a dream?

  ‘Last week, you bet on the big match, and lost.’

  Now I had him. I was sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that I hadn’t made a bet with him last week, and certainly not on the match; he’d never have given me decent odds against the Reds.

  ‘I think you’re mistaken, Devon,’ I said, feeling a rush of macho.

  ‘You had that girl place your bet for you; she was a bit young but she had all of your codes. Said she was your niece. Nice little girl; very giggly.’

  I didn’t have a niece, and if I did, I’m pretty sure that I wouldn't have her placing bets for me with him.

  Feeling a little sick, I asked the obvious question. ‘Did she leave her name?’

  ‘Yes; what was it now? Oh yes, it was Millie, wasn’t it?’

  Everything made sense to me then, as though as great big massive cartoon style anvil had been dropped on my head.

  Chapter 10 - Now, I'm a little tense

  Is this really happening? Am I really about to do this?

  I've asked Neville to go over what I have to do three times now, and he's getting a little tetchy.

  ‘What about a quick joke, before we go? Just in case… you know.’

  'We should go now. I have his exact position, using Roger 2's eyes, I can see that he has arrived at our last hiding place.'

  ‘How is R2D2?’

  'Well, his eyes are working; nothing much else.'

  ‘And you can see through his eyes?’

  'Yes, I have remote viewing capabilities, but you don't really need to know this, do you, Phil? You're just putting off taking action.'

  ‘Yes; it's one of my more endearing traits.’

  'If you say so, Phil. Are you ready? I'm going to start the countdown now; three, two…’

  ‘Can't you start at 10?’

  'One.'

  There's no time to feel anything; a second ago I was there, and now I'm here, and so is the big guy.

  I'm right behind him and I'm supposed to run over and plant the green foil hat on his head; it's as simple as that. But I can't move my feet.

  I know that as soon as I take a step, I'll make a noise and he'll turn around and shoot me, and that'll be it; no more me.

  'The longer you stand there doing nothing, the more chance that he'll turn and kill you. At least if you are already moving, you might beat him to the draw, so to speak.'

  ‘Beat him to the draw? He's got a high-tech ray-gun, and I've got a hat!’

  'But you have the element of surprise.'

  OK; I’m going to do it; I'm going to do it now. Any minute now. It's a good job we don't have background music; it would be banging away now; I can hear the Jaws theme ringing in my head as I take my first hesitant step.

  Then my next. Oh no, he's started to turn! I can see the side of his face, and the end of his gun.

  It's me or him; no more hesitation, just action.

  I'm leaping forward and up; both my feet are off the ground, and I'm reaching for the shot.

  'Take that sucker!' I yell as the hat lands square on his head.

  He's still turning, and so is the gun. It hasn't worked; any minute now I'll be toast, so I'm going to…

  'Oh, hello there, Mr. Chandler. I didn't see you standing there behind me. I'm mortified to think that I may have caused some harm to you, before we've even been properly introduced. Did I hurt anyone?'

  'Just Roger, and Roger,' I reply helpfully. Maybe I'm being a little spiteful, but he did shoot at me; you saw him; you're a witness.

  'Oh dear. I'm so sorry. It's not like me at all; I hardly ever go berserk, these days.'

  'They were just robots; you didn't harm a living thing,' I say; relenting.

  'Oh, well that's just fine, then. What's this on my head?'

  He's reaching up.

  'No! Stop!' I shout. 'You mustn't take it off.'

  'Of course, I'm so sorry. It's stopping me from falling victim to the undue influence of the Kleptrip, isn't it? I should really leave it in place.'

  Together we begin to walk towards his space-ship.

  'My name is, in its shortened version, Le- Pultrude-Dis-Ing, but, if you'd like to, you may call me Ing.'

  'Nice to meet you, Ing. And you can just call me Phil.'

  To be honest, it is nice to meet him, properly, now he's not trying to kill me.

  'What was it like, being controlled by that Klep thing?'

  'Well, it was strange, and not at all unpleasant, apart from shooting at you; I didn't like that bit, but overall, there was something quite nice about doing things you'd never normally do, being without inhibitions, if you like. And I've never got to fire this gun before; not in anger, really. I've had it for years; cost me an actual fortune as well, so that was nice.'

  We've arrived at his ship and he offers for me to go first.

  I'm inside now, and quite frankly, I'm disappointed. His ship looks the business from the outside, but inside, well it's just a room. A round room with no seating and no dials; not even a single flashing light.

  'Lovely,' I said, when he joined me.

  'Thank you, Phil. Minimalism is very big where I come from.'

  'Where is that anyway? Have you travelled far?'

  'You would know it as (he says some long unfamiliar word that I don’t really listen to – my NF will fill in something suitable later).'(Yeah – that’s going to happen! NF)

  I think he's mistaking me for someone who knows the least bit about cosmology. But I nod sagely anyway. I get lots of good comments about my sage nodding.

  'So, tell me, Ing. What's this all about?' I lean against a wall as there's nowhere to sit.

  Ing sort of squats and I wonder if I should leave the room and give him a little privacy, then a seat rises from the floor of the room and now he's sitting comfortably.

  I shrug and think, I can do that, so I squat next to him, and squat, and wait, and wait.

  'I'm sorry, Phil, but the ship doesn't recognize you as a person.'

  I get that a lot.

  **********

  'What is your assessment of the current situation?'

  Millie studied her teddy, propped up in her lap.

  'Mostly as planned, I believe. At some stage I'll probably look again at abducting his parents, but he's bankrupted and stressed, and the next stages, involving his sister and his business premises, are almost ready to go, so yes. It's all good.'

  Teddy lifted one wrist and displayed his watch.

  'If you will look at dial number one, you'll see the average balance of the Universe, at the moment. As you can see, it is a little in the red at the moment, so I think you should slow down a little until the balance between red and black is more even.'
>
  ‘And the second dial?’

  ‘That is tied to Philip Humphrey Chandler, it is also in the red.’

  ‘But I have more scope with him, don’t I? As long as the average is close to balance?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And the third dial; what does that do?’

  ‘It tells me the time.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ replied Millie, not really paying attention. ’Argu is due to perform tonight, isn’t he? And he promises a new, ground breaking joke, I believe.’

  ‘That is the case.’

  ‘So, if I anticipated the swing towards the black we always get from his jokes, then there is no need for me to hold back; I can move on to the next stage of the plan, can’t I?’

  Teddy bears can’t shrug, they can only swing their arms and legs, and swivel their heads, so Teddy swiveled his head in a shruggish sort of way.

  ‘I don’t suppose the auditors will complain, as long as we return to balance.’

  Millie giggled and clutched her Teddy to her chest as she skipped around the room.

  ‘It’s going to be so much fun; I can’t wait.’

  Chapter 11 - Then again…

  (Well, you’ve read 10 chapters so far, and well done for sticking with it. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time; I know I have.

  I’m getting a little Phil fatigue so I’m going to take a little break and let you know what’s been happening to me.

  Over a pint, or six, Phil convinced me that we should take control of our destinies and self-publish these books; Indie Publishing he called it. I should have said no; at least I was getting paid by our conventional publishers. But I didn’t say no, so now I don’t get paid unless you buy this book, and the first one, In Favour of Fools; didn’t I mention that?

  If you buy all of our books, I’ll eat tonight. It’s as simple as that.

  Just thought I’d mention it; I’m not trying to guilt trip you or anything. If I had kids, I could show you a picture, but I haven’t, so back to the story… N.F.)

  ‘So, do I get paid?’ It seemed a reasonable question. After all, I was broke and I've even had to get the old coffee machine up and running. I have to say that it's not very shiny, or quick, and there are no flashy displays, but it does make a nice cup of coffee.

  'We were hoping for a somewhat more altruistic response.'

  ‘Does that mean you expected me to risk life and limb for nothing? Think again Neville.’

  'It wouldn’t be for nothing; it would be for the benefit of Mankind as a whole.'

  ‘Sounds like an empty wallet and a hungry belly to me.’

  'Perhaps some modest level of payment could be arranged, but we do have a tight budget.'

  ‘I'd like an advance.’

  'When?'

  ‘Now would be nice.’

  'When we return from our first trip, we'll see what can be done.'

  ‘That doesn't sound very definite to me, and what do you mean by first trip? How many are you planning?’

  'We thought that it would be advisable to take a couple of test trips first, before you embark on your first mission.'

  I didn't say anything for a few moments as I tried to work out what was best for me. Obviously the benefit of Mankind as a whole is very close to my heart, but don't judge me too harshly if I put myself first; somebody has to.

  If I could earn some extra money from these squirting adventures with Neville, maybe I could keep the business going and perhaps eat on a more regular basis; which would be good.

  But I'd have to squirt to alien worlds where my slender delicate body might be regarded as the peak of culinary good taste; which would be bad.

  I didn't know what I should do and Julie was out, again, and Sam would probably advise me to hide in my bathroom with him.

  And I don't suppose you've got anything helpful to suggest, have you, in your cosy little world, in your comfy chair, wrapped in your quilt, taking vicarious delight in all the bad things that happen to me? It's not nice, and it's nothing to be proud of; I'm just saying; that's all.

  'I'm going to make my decision tomorrow.' I announced.

  'Why tomorrow?'

  'Today's Tuesday; I don't make decisions on Tuesdays. There's far too much of the week left over to regret those decisions. At least if I make a decision on a Wednesday, there's only Thursday left to rue the decision.'

  'What about Friday?'

  'It's the weekend, man!'

  **********

  He watched the audience from behind the curtain. The warm-up act had gone down well; a little too well to be honest, but never mind that.

  Argu was about to try out his newest joke on his devoted public and he was more than a little concerned that it might be a little too experimental for them, even though they were sophisticated and worldly, and they worshipped him. But a joker was only ever as good as his last joke, so his frills tossed with tension.

  Taking a deep breath and counting to seven, he brushed the curtain to one side and sauntered on stage, pretending ignorance of the presence of the eager thousands.

  Someone laughed and he spun to face the sound, expressing shock that he was not alone. The audience settled in delighted anticipation.

  From a large rectangular box in the centre of the stage he pulled out a slender crystal vase. He held it up to the light so all could see.

  'A present from my life partner number three's second parent, fortune bless her thirteen talons,' he said, echoing one of his oldest and most adored jokes.

  He placed the vase on one of the stands that formed a semi-circle around him.

  Then he delved inside the box again and withdrew a small gold glass.

  'For my after-performance drink; I'll probably need a drink after this.'

  Soon the box was empty and behind him was an ark of fragile beautiful objects.

  Two small, eight-limbed creatures scurried on stage and carried the empty box to the wings.

  Argu watched them go.

  There was a moment's silence, and then he looked up at his audience.

  'Hi there, ' he said, his delivery relaxed and intimate. 'Can I ask that no recording instruments are used during the next part of the show? If I mess up, I'd rather not be reminded of the fact.'

  A chuckle rippled through the crowd. Argu mess up? Never.

  Argu began to wander back and forward across the stage, regaling his hushed audience with snippets of chat and rhymes, with an occasional reference to a particular member of the audience who appeared interesting, funny or especially ugly.

  As he turned to retrace his steps his eyes would fix for a second on the floor of the stage, and then he’d move on.

  ‘Excuse me, dear audience, but there’s something not quite right with the floor,' he said, at last, coming to a stop. 'Allow me a moment to examine it; it wouldn’t do for me to take a tumble, would it?’

  The crowd roared, all too well aware of the famous and unsurpassed folly of his nananana joke.

  Argu bent his rotund body and looked with all five eyes at the offending floor.

  A drum began to roll, slowly at first, but getting quicker all the time, to warn his fans that the New Joke was almost here.

  He reached down and began to pick at the floor. With a theatrical groan, he straightened and pulled a segment of the floor up with him. It was something over three metres in length and half a metre wide.

  With surprising dexterity for one of his size, the piece of wood was slipped on to one shoulder.

  He turned slightly, sending the crystal vase crashing to the ground.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he mouthed silently to the audience, and then he turned to check on the damage.

  The end of the piece of wood behind him swung around and knocked another valuable and fragile object off its perch.

  Argu spun again, causing more havoc with each movement.

  Soon all of the stands were empty and the floor was littered with the remnants of glass and crystal.

  Argu turned to face
his audience and lowered his plank to the floor. He’d been so engrossed in getting the sequence just right that he hadn’t noticed the crowd’s reaction.

  Not until he’d finished and turned to accept their riotous applause.

  The audience looked up at him, then at each other, then back at him, in total silence.

  Argu bowed low, as if to give them a little nudge that they had a part to play in tonight’s proceedings.

  Someone in the back clapped twice, and then stopped, as if embarrassed for him. Another, near the front, stood up and gave a half-hearted cheer.

  And that was it.

  Argu bowed again.

  ‘Thank you so much for your time, and have a safe journey…’

  His manager walked on to the stage and guided him off.

  ‘You’re just too far ahead of your time, that’s all,’ he whispered as he led him behind the curtain. ‘One day they’ll recognize The Plank as a true work of genius, believe me.’

  Argu was too shell-shocked to make a comment.

  Behind him, he couldn’t help hearing the buzzing of the crowd as they gleefully discussed his failure. They had come to enjoy his greatness; they’d accept his feet of clay.

  Chapter 12 - Then…the Blueprint!

  'So, Mr. Bliss,' I said in my best professional, I-know-what-I'm-doing voice. 'What can I do for you, this fine morning?'

  He leant forward in my chair and placed a less than spotless hand on my desk, and I began to wonder where Sam kept the detergents.

  'I want you to, y'know, find out who…something I found used to belong to.'

  'Very admirable,' I said.

  'What?' His red face screwed up and his wayward left eye seemed to be examining the light fixture on the wall behind me.

  'Giving something you found back to its rightful owner.'

  'I ain't giving nothing back, and I'm the rightful owner. Finders is keepers, as they say.'

  'OK. Well that's entirely your decision Mr. Bliss. Can you let me know what it is we are talking about?'

  Now, he'd started out about 8 on the shiftyness scale, but my question shot him up to 12. He squirmed in a most unpleasant way on my chair and I worried whether our domestic detergents would be up to the job of making it suitable again for human use. He looked from side to side, his eyes not entirely in synch. Then he leaned even closer, and I leaned back; it was a little early in the morning for my delicate stomach to be assaulted by his leader of the pack bad breath.