‘We’ve reached an agreement,’ he says. ‘You help us fight the monks and we’ll take you back to the road. It’s either that or we slit your gizzards right here and now.’
‘Is there a third option?’ I ask.
‘No,’ says Hawkins, and the door slams shut.
Time passes and I watch through the porthole as dusk falls. And in the distance the monastery approaches through the night. It’s lit by torches, and a deep, low chanting is coming from inside the walls. I recognise it.
FORTY NINE
The tomb of the ancient warrior. Except it isn’t a tomb. It’s a huge edifice built to withstand the swords of a hundred thousand warriors, and it stretches up into the sky. And these pirate jokers haven’t got a clue what they’re in for. Hawkins drags us up to the bow of the ship and points at the building.
‘Splice the main brace and do something nautical!’ yells one of the pirates. ‘If we pull this off we’ll live like kings!’
A yell goes up from the crew. Hawkins leans close to me. ‘I’m going to cut you loose, but there’s something you have to do for me.’
‘Fire away.’
‘In the basement stands a rank, terrible demon. Dispose of it and I’ll reward you beyond your wildest dreams. I know you have power over such creatures. Legend has spoken of it.’
‘Whatever you say, Hawkins.’ And the ropes are off and the cannon is back in my hand.
The edifice looms up out of the darkness and the walls are lined with a thousand armed guards. The odds are stacked against us, but anyone who can beat off a busload of nuns is worth their weight in bullets.
‘Attack!’ screams Hawkins, and the land galleon ploughs into the monastery and tears a hole through the wall. The pirates stream over the sides and into the building and it’s every man for himself.
But I’m staying out of this one. This isn’t my fight. Bodies are falling left, right and centre as I stroll through the carnage, taking time to admire some of the ancient architecture. I strike a match on the beard of a passing warrior.
‘We should be fighting!’ Sue looks panicked.
‘We’ve got no disagreement with these people.’ I wave her off. ‘We’ve got a basement to go to.’
Behind us pirates clash with armed guards, gunshots go off, bodies flail and the blood flies. I open the basement door and a huge winding column of steps leads us down into the smoky darkness. Halfway down I see the head. All smoke and fire. Blazing red eyes. A demon as big as the building.
‘Hi, Bob,’ I say. ‘Somebody wants you dead.’
‘They always do,’ sighs Bob. ‘Can you believe the racket they’re making.’
‘The joker in charge wants me to banish you back to the netherworld. I think he’s barking up the wrong reality.’
Bob shifts around to face me and the building trembles. ‘I didn’t get a chance to thank you.’
‘It’s not necessary,’ I tell him. ‘Did you get your balls back?’
‘A little bruised,’ says Bob with a half smile. ‘That was one hell of a kick you gave Steps. I never should have let him trick me. One moment he’s whispering sweet glory into your ear and the next he’s got your balls.’ Bob shakes his head. ‘Bad state of affairs.’
‘He shrink ’em?’
Bob nods. ‘Shrank them, took them, glued them on and used their power for his own.’ Bob smiles. ‘But that’s okay. I’ve got them back now. These suckers aren’t going anywhere.’
‘Where’s Chicago?’ I ask.
‘Right behind you, tough guy.’ I turn and Chicago’s there with a smile. ‘We got some bother. Want to help us out? We can pull a switch.’
‘Forget the switch, Chicago. Just let Bob loose on them.’
‘I have forsaken all violence,’ says Bob.
‘Flip a coin?’ I suggest, and he does, and I win.
FIFTY
Hawkins is on the deck as the battle rages before him. I walk up to him with Sue in tow.
‘Problem solved, Hawkins. Basically, you need to get the hell out of here or you and your crew will end up on the wrong side of dead.’
But he isn’t listening. He strides to the front of the galleon. ‘All bow down to our gods and there shall be peace!’ And suddenly there’s a cowled figure beside him, face hidden by shadow. It’s Chicago.
‘We can all live in harmony together as one,’ comes the voice from the cowl.
‘Not by our ways, cowled dog,’ snarls Hawkins. ‘Ye all be worthless to me. I’ll see you walk the plank before I see our two religious beliefs join hands.’
‘Fair enough,’ shrugs the figure, then it turns to me. ‘Coming with us, Joe?’
‘Stand me a smoke and something wet and I’ll fill in the details.’
‘No problem,’ nods Chicago, and a gigantic clawed hand punches out from the ground under the galleon. Chicago snaps his fingers and the next moment we’re on the battlements as the pirate galleon gets pulled down into the earth. I see Hawkins shaking a fist at me and yelling something incomprehensible as he’s sucked down to Hell.
‘These morons’ll never learn,’ laughs Chicago. ‘Smoke?’
I snap one of my own alight and he leads me down the hallway.
‘I’ve got a problem,’ he tells me. ‘Only you can solve it. We’ve got something big, mean and ugly in the top tower and it’s refusing to budge.’
‘Just send Bob in to sort it out,’ I suggest.
‘Bob won’t go near it.’ Chicago turns a corner and stops at the bottom of a flight of steps that lead up towards a bright, shining light. ‘Says if he goes anywhere near it the world ends, and the son-of-a-bitch won’t listen to me. I don’t believe him. I just think he’s afraid. I know what’s up there, and it’s more powerful than anything the ruler of Hell could deal with. Maybe even more powerful than Kieran.’
‘Let me guess. It’s God up there.’
‘Worse than that.’ Chicago shoots me a doleful look. ‘It’s Norman Mailer. And he’s brought Hemingway and Huston for a party.’ This is worse than I thought.
FIFTY ONE
Sue wants to come, but I tell her to keep back and wait for me with the Uzi. If they come down the stairs then we’ll need all the help we can get. As I walk up the steps I spare a glance back at the monastery laid out below. The whole place is tooled up and ready for action, but I know it’s not enough. Guns can’t stop these people.
As I get near the top of the staircase the light gets brighter and the noise grows louder. I don’t bother knocking, I just kick the door open.
Mailer’s the first to spot me. He laughs and throws me a bottle of whisky. Good stuff.
‘Joe Fury,’ he says, and takes a puff from his enormous cigar. ‘As I live and breathe. Still fighting against the American Dream?’
‘That was always your bag, Mailer,’ I tell him. Huston’s playing around with his monkey and Hemingway’s dousing his throat with a good kick of rum. ‘What the hell are you old farts doing sparking out in the same place?’
‘We came to offer you advice, my boy,’ says Huston. ‘We’ve been keeping a close eye on your travels and we know the kind of difficulty you’ve been up against.’
‘If it’s that difficult, ditch the afterlife and lend me a hand.’ I settle back into a wickerwork chair and light up the Cuban Hemingway hands me. ‘With the four of us in there we could knock this hustler into shape.’
‘If only that were so, my boy,’ says Huston. ‘If only. But we’re out of action, I’m afraid. Our time has passed and we can only offer you support and advice.’
‘No offence, but that’s about as much use as an empty bottle.’ I drain the whisky and throw it aside. Mailer hands me another.
‘Chicago tried to pull some strings with the Forces of Nature, but nothing gives, Fury.’ Mailer looks sad and angry. ‘I couldn’t reason with them either, so I took a pop at them. Nothing the Forces of Nature hate more than getting a right hook in the kisser.’
‘Let’s face it, Fury,’ says Hemingway. ‘With our reputations we
couldn’t scrape shit from a barrel as a favour to Nature. So we’re stuck on the sidelines.’
‘No sweat, Papa.’ I raise the bottle in salute. ‘Just good to see you again. I got a major concern, though. What can you tell me about the dame?’
‘Don’t trust her,’ snaps Mailer. ‘She doesn’t quote on our radar. We don’t know where she’s from or what she’s done.’
‘Don’t over-react, Mailer,’ says Huston, and he turns to me. ‘It’s true, we don’t know a thing about her. We know her past is a mystery, and we know it’s mixed up tight with Kieran.’
‘Spare me the newsflash, Huston,’ I tell him.
‘Now, I know you know this, but you should also consider how much we don’t know about her.’ Huston taps the side of his head for emphasis. ‘If she doesn’t turn up on our radar then she’s neither good nor bad. You understand me, boy?’
‘How come?’
‘We hear things where we are,’ says Huston. ‘Whispers, words, a few rumours and the odd spark of speculation. None of it’s concrete as individual items, but they all tie up once they’re put together. No facts, though. Facts are not to be trusted. Instinct is.’
‘That dame’s saved my ass more than once,’ I tell them, but somehow I understand they already know this. ‘The option of ditching her is non-existent. Now what do you know about Kieran that could help the case?’
‘Don’t touch him,’ says Mailer. ‘Everyone who touches him falls under his spell. Why do you think he gets his fingers in so many pies?’
‘He knows everyone and anyone,’ says Hemingway. ‘He’s everywhere. You think of a scheme and he’s already done it. He lives in every lifetime and every moment in somebody’s life. At least, that’s what he likes to think.’
‘And there we have our weakness,’ says Huston with a smile. ‘His ego could be the end of him. Now, I don’t know how or why or when or where, but somehow his destiny could be tied up with the size of his ego. You see a grand-standing ego like his and it adds weight to a man’s soul. It ties him down. Our collective egos could bring down a mountain—Kieran likes to think he is the mountain. Do you see what I’m saying, Fury?’
‘Cut out the cryptic shenanigans and we might be talking.’ I slip a pack of Cubans into my top pocket and spin the cap on a fresh whisky. ‘I need something concrete.’
‘But that’s the problem,’ says Huston. ‘That’s what we can’t explain. There is nothing concrete. Just rumours. Whispers. Hearsay.’
‘Puncture the ego and you could be in business,’ says Mailer. ‘But we hear through the grapevine that he’s got something big in the pipeline, so you can’t hang around.’
‘Immovability,’ says Huston with a smile. ‘Just remember that. Immovability.’
I drink long and hard from the whisky and throw it back to Huston. ‘Thanks, old man.’
‘Now go,’ he says, and I leave the three of them laughing, drinking and smoking.
The door slams behind me. Their words don’t mean much, but they’ve sparked off a few plans in my head.
Then someone hits me from behind and the world goes black. And when I wake up I’m in Paris.
FIFTY TWO
I get up and spot Sue on a chair by a table that’s propping up a few margaritas. We’re by the Seine, and Sue’s dolled up in a light gown and a sun hat, wearing shades.
She smiles warmly and picks up a margarita.
‘Come on, Joe, join me,’ she says. ‘Take the breeze off your feet.’
I stagger over and sit down, feeling the back of my neck. There’s a lump.
‘How’d this happen?’ I ask her, and she shrugs.
‘Who cares. The drinks are free.’
I sip a drink. Doesn’t taste like a Mickey Finn. I down the whole thing to be sure and wait. Nothing unusual.
‘You just woke up and this was this, yeah?’ Somehow I don’t buy into it.
Sue smiles behind the sunglasses and looks out over the Seine. ‘It is a beautiful day, Joe Fury. Somehow the shallow existence of life seems such a treasure. We could while away the rest of our eternity in such mediocre pleasure.’
‘What the hell are you talking about, doll?’ I mutter. ‘They drug you?’
‘Ah, Joe Fury, you talk such a funny way.’ And Sue giggles. And something about it sends chills down my spine. ‘We are merely the future of our family’s regret. We must laugh when we can. And we must cry when we can’t.’
‘They take the Uzi off you?’ But she’s not paying attention.
‘The past is not important to us, Mr Fury,’ she laughs playfully. ‘The past is full of regrets which can only hold us back. I want to run and sing and dance with the life I hold inside of me. Come with me, Fury. Come with me to the ends of the earth and never look back.’
‘Snap out of it, toots,’ I tell her. ‘You’re raving like a madwoman.’
‘Madness is merely a state of mind,’ she dribbles, and this is enough for me. I get up and start walking for the nearest alley. Something fishy about this whole charade.
I reach the alleyway and it’s flat. Cardboard. We’re on some kind of film set and somehow they’ve taken the guts out of Sue.
‘Sue, get over here and stop drinking that poison!’ She giggles, kicks her feet, and scampers over.
‘This life is so outré,’ she says, and slumps playfully against my arm.
‘Take a step back, doll, this could be nasty.’ And I pull back a fist and slam it straight through Paris.
FIFTY THREE
Paris falls around us, crashing down to reveal nothing but a deep, dark dungeon stretching out into the infinite.
‘If this is Paris, then we’re up the creek,’ I mutter.
‘It is but the darkness in my soul,’ chitters Sue, and starts to totter off. I lay a hand on her shoulder and she stops.
‘Better let me make the tracks, sister,’ I tell her. ‘Even if they took my cannon I still got these.’ I whip out a Cuban and snap a light to the end of it. ‘Let’s go.’
I take a few steps into the dungeon and come up sharp against a solid object. I rap on it and it’s the darkness painted onto balsa wood.
I give the wood a shove and the walls fall down, and we’re knee deep in the jungle with birdcalls and sunlight blazing down through the thick canopy overhead.
‘This is some kind of joke,’ I say to myself, because nothing’s sinking through Sue’s skull as she flits and giggles through the cardboard grass.
She scampers up to a plastic fawn and slams headfirst into a cardboard tree, which topples into the background. The next layer falls to present the fires of Hell rendered in glorious balsa.
After a drag on the Cuban I stride forward and knock a fist through Hell. Next we get New York in the 1830’s. After that a distant blue planet full of crystal trees. After that some guy with a cigarette on the go is yakking at a guy called Blakey by some balsa wood buses. I punch through wall after wall and scenario after scenario, until finally I crash through into a stark white room.
A low hum fills the room. Sue finally puts a gag on the philosophising. And a steel wall slams shut behind us where the balsa wood displays once stood.
‘Congratulations, Mister Fury,’ booms a deep, sonorous voice. ‘You have finally reached the object of your destiny. Now look upon my works, ye mighty, and fear me!’
FIFTY FOUR
Except there’s nothing. Empty space and clean white walls. No doors—just a sheet of cloth hanging against the far wall.
‘Okay, wiseguy,’ I say. ‘What’s the big idea?’
‘You wanted a meeting with me, Mr Fury, and here I am.’
‘All I see is an OCD room. I don’t see anyone.’
‘All that matters is that I can see you,’ says the voice, and I twig who it is.
‘Kieran?’
‘That’s right,’ booms the voice of Kieran, and the sound of galloping horses fills the air. It’s meant to be psychologically disorientating but it’s nothing but cheap parlour tricks to me.
‘I’m not open to bribes, Mr Fury,’ booms the voice of Kieran. ‘But I am open to intellectual debate.’
I finger the popgun under my jacket. ‘There’s plenty of time for talk. Let’s grab a snifter and chat about how we can resolve this matter. I can appreciate you don’t want to be taken in, so let’s talk.’
‘We are.’
‘Face to face.’ This is getting us nowhere. I snap a glance at Sue and she nods. Back to normal.
‘What are the basic tenets of existence?’ booms the voice. I’ve had enough of this.
‘Your call, toots.’ Sue nods at me and steps forward into the middle of the room, ready to take on the intellectualisation. I start scouring the walls for any signs of an escape. Hidden lever, switch—anything. I tear back the cloth on the far wall. Smooth surface and nothing else.
‘The basic tenets of existence are “shut your ass and get your fat face down here, pig fucker!”’ She’s got moxy, but it’s not the right answer.
‘Always a disappointment, Suzanne,’ the voice mocks. ‘So smart and yet so dumb.’
‘Kiss my hairy ass, dickface!’ She’s really getting into it, and it’s keeping his highness distracted. ‘You’re about as intellectual as a kick in the maracas. You can’t fool me.’
‘I took so much time and effort with you, Suzanne.’ But somehow the voice doesn’t sound too bothered. ‘You could have been in line to take over my position once the ultimate plan had been officiated.’
‘Always talking a bagful of air, aren’t we, Kieran?’ She’s defiant. Whatever he’s done to her, I’d hate to be his testicles once she gets a hold of them. ‘Let’s try some smarts, Kieran. What are the basic building blocks of life?’
‘A random camel in a telephone factory!’ The volume suddenly ramps up and the air booms and shrieks with monkey sounds. He’s back on the old mental wavelength again, and I can’t find a way out.
Joe Fury and the Hard Death Page 7