‘And did you rip him off?’
‘Only a bit.’
‘How much of a bit?’
‘By about seventy thousand.’
‘Quid?’
‘No,’ said Roger. ‘Right-handed rubber gloves.’
How He Talked
Oh, our Roger was here last night,
You know Roger,
Roger by nature,
Roger by dodger,
Friend to the poor,
And a crutch to his mother,
Who lost all her coinage,
One way or another.
He stayed for an hour,
He drew and he chalked,
Made maps out of flour,
How he talked,
How he talked.
I said, nice to see you,
He said, he was glad,
Roger by nature,
Roger the lad.
The king of the gypsies,
A rogue with a rug,
A gay desperado,
A penitent thug.
He tipped me the wink,
He smiled as he walked,
We went for a drink,
How he talked,
How he talked.
15
Lex Talionis — The Law of Retaliation
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Roger. ‘So I’m a stealth fox/dog/horse/human hybrid, but we don’t choose our parents, do we?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I suppose we don’t.’
‘I’m quite a rarity as it happens. You won’t find many blokes like me about.’
‘That’s hardly surprising. Bestiality is not exactly an everyday thing.’
‘Come off it,’ said Roger.
‘What?’
‘Haven’t you ever wondered why so many dogs look like their owners?’
‘You’re not saying—’
‘There’s a lot of splashing about going on in the gene pool nowadays. They’re breeding pigs with human genes in them to use for heart transplants. So a bloke is transplanted with one of these hearts, he’s got some pig in him then, hasn’t he? And who’s to say where that will lead in a generation or two?’
‘So you reckon that eventually all the species on earth could intermingle.’
‘Every one that can. It will be the next step up the evolutionary ladder.’
‘What a load of old toot.’
‘Please yourself. But I’m telling you the truth. Surely you’ve noticed how people’s attitudes have changed towards animals? And I don’t mean just their fondness for dogs and cats. What about all those protests about live sheep exports? And all that “Save the whale and protect endangered species”? Mankind never cared about anything like that before. But every year that goes by, people become closer and closer to animals. Hell, they even have CDs of singing dolphins. And more and more people are turning vegetarian, why do you think that is?’
I shrugged.
‘Perhaps they’ve already got a bit of sheep in them.’ Roger ran a long and pointy tongue about his lips. ‘Makes you think,’ he said. ‘But listen, do you want me to help get you out of here, or what?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said.
‘Okay. I’ll do it, but in return you must do something for me.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I need a mate.’
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘I’ll be your mate.’
‘Not that kind of mate, you prat. I need a mate to mate with. One of my own.’
‘I thought you considered all humanity fair game, as it were.’
Roger shook his head. ‘I don’t want to join. I’m an outsider and I intend to remain one. I’m not joining any pack, I want to mate with one of my own, and that’s that.’
‘Well, how would I know where to look?’
‘You’re a detective, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘I’ve got a photo. Of my mate.’
‘You have?’
Roger fished it from his pocket and handed it to me. ‘She’s an estate agent. Most of my kind go into professions like that, used-car selling, the law, she was great at what she did, but then she went missing.’
I examined the photo. ‘Stuff me,’ I said.
‘If you think it will help,’ said Roger.
‘No, I mean, I’ve seen this woman. She was dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform. She walloped me. I think she’s in the pay of Billy Barnes.’
‘Right.’ Roger snatched back the photo and tucked it away. ‘Then we’re in this thing together. Are you up to escaping?’
‘Yes I am.’
‘Then let’s do it.’
I was very impressed by the way Roger did it. I didn’t see quite how he did it, but did it he did.
‘How did you do that?’ I asked, once we were out in the car park.
‘It’s what I do best,’ Roger said. ‘That and eating chickens, of course. Can’t seem to break loose of that habit. Show me a hen house and I just go berserk. Rush in there, ripping and chewing, feathers everywhere and—’
‘Quite,’ I said. ‘But I’d rather not know.’
‘Sorry. So, which car do you fancy?’
‘You’re thinking of stealing a car?’
Roger shrugged. ‘Unless you have a better idea.’
‘No, it’s fine with me, after all I’m a convicted murderer. What’s a bit of grand theft auto?’
‘Small change,’ said Roger. ‘So which one do you fancy?’
I pointed. ‘That one,’ I said. ‘The electric blue 1958 Cadillac Eldorado, with the big fins.’
‘Just the jobbie.’
Again I didn’t see quite how he did it, but Roger got the engine running and the soft top down. He sat at the wheel and I sat down beside him.
‘So,’ he said, ‘which way?’
‘Brentford, I suppose. That’s where I last saw Billy Barnes and your foxy lady.’
‘So which way’s Brentford?’
‘I don’t know, which town are we in?’
Roger shrugged once more. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said.
‘Well just drive out of the car park and we’ll find out.’
‘Fair enough.’
Roger drove us out of the car park and we found ourselves travelling through a modern-looking town that could have been anywhere. A branch of Next, a branch of Gap, a branch of the Body Shop. Roger followed the one-way system...
And soon...
‘We’re back in the car park,’ I said.
‘Should I try another way?’
‘I think so, yes.’
Roger drove us out once more. He took a left turn this time, and soon we were passing a branch of Next, a branch of Gap and a branch of the Body Shop. And then we were back on the one-way system and back in the car park.
‘You prat,’ I said to Roger. ‘Let me drive.’
And so I drove. Out of the car park, second turn on the right, past the branch of Next, past the branch of Gap...
‘What the devil is this?’ I asked as I drove back into the car park.
‘Always the same,’ said Roger. ‘I was hoping you might have been different.’
‘I might?’
‘Well, I’ve tried all the other inmates. But no sod seems to know how to get out of this town.’
‘We’ll walk,’ I said.
‘Tried it.’
‘You’ve tried walking?’
‘Dozens of times, but it’s always the same, no matter how far I walk, I always end up here. That’s why they’re so lax on security I suppose, no-one can go anywhere.’
‘That is absurd. If you keep on walking you must get somewhere.’
‘Not from here,’ said Roger. ‘I think it’s like some kind of Mobius strip. No matter which way you go you always end up in the same place.’
‘We’ll walk,’ I said.
And we did.
We walked for hours, this way and that way and round about. But no matter where we walked or how far we walked, we always ended up right back at the hospital.
It must have been around the twelfth time when we returned to find Nurse Cecil waiting for us.
‘Your lunch is getting cold,’ he said. So we went in for lunch.
‘Will you be having another go later?’ Nurse Cecil asked. ‘I could make you up some sandwiches and a flask of coffee if you want.’
‘Most amusing,’ I said, but I wasn’t amused.
‘Feathered wings,’ said Roger, ‘we might try feathered wings.’
After lunch (mine was porridge, Roger’s was T-bone steak and chips), I sat in the recreation room pondering my lot. Certain thoughts entered my head and I kept them there. The morning had been like one of those terrible dreams where you’re desperately trying to get somewhere but you can’t. You miss the bus and the train and your feet don’t work properly and you wake up in a right old state flapping your hands about and going ‘No, no, no.’
There obviously had to be some way of escaping from this hospital and this nightmare town. But obviously it wasn’t the obvious way.
Which left...
My behaviour all the next week was exemplary. I mopped floors and smiled politely at the male nurses and the doctors, I even shared a joke or two with Cecil. I watched Roger as he came and went, but I never ventured out again into the car park.
The doctor said I was making progress. Well, he didn’t actually say it, but—
‘Tell me about the Necronet,’ the doctor said.
‘What can I tell you?’ I asked. ‘In theory it is a virtual world created by computer technology. The personalities and memories of people can be downloaded into it. The world in there would appear as real to them as the world out here.’
‘And you believe that you entered this virtual world?’
‘The way to a man’s belief is through confusion and absurdity,’ I said. ‘Jacques Vallée said that. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought over the last week.’
‘And what conclusions have you come to?’
I shrugged in my straitjacket. Well, take the security video for instance. That would appear to show me murdering the young businessman. I could argue that there are numerous ways it might have been faked, but it is doubtful that anyone would believe me.’
‘The question is surely what you believe.’
‘I should believe the evidence of my own eyes. Even if it conflicts with what I remember.’
‘Or think you remember.’
‘Exactly. And there we have the problem. Is my memory accurate? Perhaps I did kill the young man, but I’ve blanked it from my memory. It’s possible.’
‘More than possible,’ said the doctor.
‘Indeed. My problem appears to be in establishing what is actually real and what isn’t. You see within the Necronet I had a digital memory, I could call up any past experience and instantly replay it, be right in the place it happened. Solid and real. I no longer have a digital memory, therefore I must conclude that I am back in reality. That this hospital is in the real world.’
‘Very good.’
‘And yet, when I tried to escape from the hospital last week I found that no matter where I went I came right round in a circle and ended up here.’
‘This town is a planner’s nightmare,’ said the doctor.
I nodded. ‘Nightmare,’ I said. ‘My thoughts entirely. Or like one of those computer games where you’re in a maze and unless you can work out the secret passwords, and get the energy and stuff, you just go round and round in circles for ever.’
‘A rather unfortunate analogy,’ said the doctor. ‘Considering your circumstances.’
‘I agree, because if I was still inside the computer simulation, I would have the digital memory.’
‘Exactly,’ said the doctor.
‘Unless...
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless my digital memory was being suppressed.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the doctor, reaching towards the little button on his desk.
‘No please, bear with me just one minute. Imagine this scenario. Imagine that I never left the Necronet. That this is not the real world and not a real hospital.’
‘What a pity,’ said the doctor. ‘And you have been behaving yourself so well. I thought the tablets were really beginning to help.’
‘I stopped taking the tablets,’ I said. ‘I haven’t taken them for the last week.’
The doctor shook his head sadly, and his finger pressed upon the button.
‘I believe that the tablets are memory suppressants,’ I continued. ‘Little silicone chips with programmes that deny me access to my own memories. I believe that if I had my digital memory back, all I would have to do to escape from this place would be to think my way out of it. Imagine myself somewhere else, somewhere I used to be, and I’d be out. Gone. In the twinkling of an eye.’
The office door opened and Nurse Cecil loomed.
‘Kindly take the gentleman back to his room,’ said the doctor. ‘And double his dosage from now on.’
Nurse Cecil stood with an idiot grin on his face.
‘What gentleman?’ he asked.
Run of the Place
They’d given Old Arthur the run of the place,
And you should have seen the smile on his face,
As he walked in his dressing gown, staring in space,
As he whistled the Warsaw Concerto.
They’d given Old Arthur a new woollen hat,
He looked pleased as Punch as he went out in that,
With his book of the prophets and raggedy cat,
That he knew as Louisa Alberto.
They’d given Old Arthur a picture of Bog,
Which he kept on the shelf with his seed catalogue,
Some small paper mice and a nice china dog,
That would snuffle your ankles and smell you.
They’d given Old Arthur the key to the gate,
Which was not all that shrewd, as I’ll tell if you’ll wait.
For he wandered outside and was killed by a truck,
Which quite spoiled his day, I can tell you.
16
Be reasonable. Demand the impossible.
SITUATIONIST GRAFFITO
The followers of the John Frum Cargo Cult sat upon their homemade airstrip and stared into the azure sky.
‘John Frum, he come,’ said one. ‘Bring cargo, all be rich.’
‘Soon, now,’ said another. ‘Real soon, now.’
‘I’ve been expecting him for quite some time,’ said a native with a hat.
‘Expecting who?’ asked a fourth, a surly fellow with a human finger bone through his nose.
The first three natives looked up at him in awe.
‘John Frum,’ they said. ‘John Frum.’
‘Oh, him. He’ll be along. Just you wait.’
And so they waited.
And the next day they waited again.
As they did for the next two days.
And the next.
One native said, ‘It won’t be long now.’
‘Another said, ‘I shouldn’t think so.’
Another one said, ‘Where’s the bloke with the hat gone?’
About a week later one of them said, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if John Frum came at any time now.’
‘Nor would I,’ said another. ‘Has anyone seen the bloke with the bone lately?’
About three weeks after that, on a fine sunny morning, John Frum did come back. But, disappointed that there was no-one around to welcome him, he went away again, leaving a note which said that he would definitely return at a later date.
‘There,’ said a native. ‘I told you he’d come back.’
‘And he could come back again at any time now,’ said another.
A native with a bald head pointed to the sky. ‘Isn’t that him?’ he said.
But it wasn’t.
And so they decided to wait.
I came ashore on the east side of the island. The sea was as warm and blue as I had imagined it to be.
I reme
mbered, as a child, having read Arthur Thickett’s book on the Melanesian cargo cults John Frum He Come: An Anthropological Study of Cargo Culture, and enjoying it very much. In fact I could now recall every single word of that book, as I could with all the others I had read in my life. Over fifteen thousand books. Fifteen thousand four hundred and thirty-seven, to be precise. And not a Johnny Quinn among them.
I wasn’t angry any more, but I was determined. Determined to escape from the Necronet and bring Billy Barnes to justice.
‘Anger is one of the sinews of the soul,’ wrote Thomas Fuller in his book The Holy State and the Profane State. On page fifty-three actually, which was the last page I got up to, before getting bored and turning instead to The Beano. But I’m sure he was right, it was one of them. My father once said, ‘If you’re not angry, you’re not alive,’ and I can remember exactly when he said it. So I was a little bit angry, but not so much as to let it cloud my judgement.
True, I was still trapped in the Necronet, but here I was not quite the prat I had been outside in the real world. Here I could recall the consequences of every action I had ever taken. So, surely, here I could never make the same mistake twice.
I sloshed up the beach, took off my shirt and spread it on the sand to dry. And then I took off the rest of my clothes and sat naked, soaking up the sun.
It was pretty blissful.
But was it safe?
I had taken considerable care with my choice of destination before I thought my way out of the hospital. I wanted somewhere really obscure, the least most obvious of all the least most obvious, least most obvious places they’d expect me to choose. Somewhere they couldn’t track me to. I decided upon this island because although I’d read the book about it and taken in all the detail and description of the place, I didn’t actually know exactly where it was. I couldn’t have found it on a map, because I’d never seen it on a map. I had to be safe here. For a while at least. And from here I could plot my escape.
The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag Page 15