by Adam Carter
“He shot him,” Castle said.
“I was told. You see, the thing is Richard can’t tell reality from fiction any more. This may well be just another of his books so far as he’s concerned. He’s not certain he’s in there even now, I can’t believe he thinks he’s there. If only we could convince him this is really happening, I think he would just turn himself in.”
“That can’t be a plan,” Castle said. “Tell him he’s really here and he’ll surrender?”
“It’s worth a try,” Howser said. “We can relay some of this to Corsac inside.”
“You have contact?” Foster asked.
“Audio,” Howser said, tapping her ear. “We can get a message through.”
“Then tell him to be careful,” Foster warned. “Richard is unstable and he’ll shoot if he thinks he needs to. He’s not a bad person, but he does need help. If we can all stay calm in this, we should be able to sort this out without anyone else getting hurt.”
“Fine,” Howser said. “Any more suggestions?”
“Don’t let Elizabeth anywhere near him. If he talks to her again he’ll only get angry. Especially if she lies to him. Richard can’t take being lied to. Literally. He can’t sort lies from the truth and tends to take everything in, but the instant he’s told something contradictory to what he knows, he panics. And when he panics, he lashes out.”
“Right,” Howser said. “We’ll make sure we ...”
“Sergeant!” Castle said and they all looked at the screen depicting the image from their cameraman. It showed Starke still holding his hostage, and Liz moving slowly towards him, hands outstretched.
“Ah hell,” Howser said. “Someone up there really doesn’t like us.”
“Rich?” Liz didn’t know what to say, knew only she had to do something. What she wanted to do was sit tight and wait it out, wait for the police to do their job and sort the whole mess for them. But Corsac lay dying and Liz knew if she didn’t do something soon, he wouldn’t make it out alive. “Richard?”
“Liz!” Starke said, as though seeing her for the first time. “It’s all right, I’ve come to get you out of here.”
“There’s a door, Rich. If I wanted to get out, I could just walk out.”
“I know, but I ...”
“You have to let a paramedic through.” She knew not to use the D word. “That man you shot is going to die unless you let someone treat him. And if he dies you’re going to be arrested for murder, do you understand that?”
“Of course I understand that. But I’m doing this for you, Liz. I’m doing this so we can be together.”
“Together? There is no together for us, Rich. We split up, it’s what couples do.”
“But why?”
“Because ... because it wasn’t working out.”
“Yes it was, Liz. We were good together, what happened?”
“Richard, you couldn’t even remember my mother’s name. In front of her.”
“Well she shouldn’t have had such a stupid name then.”
“Alison?”
“I was close.”
Beneath his arm, Louise whimpered again and Starke tightened his grip. Liz looked uncomfortable. “That’s not going to help anything, Rich. You have to let her go.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You have to let her go and let a paramedic in.”
“The show must go on, Liz.”
“Why? That’s the part I don’t get out of any of this.” Actually there was a lot she didn’t get, but one thing at a time. “Why do you want to carry on with this? It’s Christmas Day, Richard. Don’t you have anything better to be doing with yourself on Christmas Day?”
“The show must go on, Liz. Now, break-time’s over. It’s time to get back to work.”
“At least have a paramedic come in, fix him up and then leave.”
“No.”
“If you don’t get Jack fixed up, he won’t be able to finish the show. He’ll die before he’s finished. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Starke was suddenly uncertain. She could see a multitude of emotions working their way through his mind, a myriad of thoughts. “Why are you here, Liz?”
“Because it’s a job. Because it made me famous.”
“Why aren’t you with me?”
“Because we didn’t work out.”
Starke shook his head, filtering all the information.
“Liz,” a voice said through her earpiece. “Liz, this is Sergeant Howser. Do not engage Richard Starke. Take the earliest opportunity to walk away. He’s a smart guy and if he figures out you were only ever after his money he’s not going to be happy.”
Liz scowled, wanted to say aloud that wasn’t the only reason, but couldn’t well do that without revealing to Starke that she was wired.
“So you were with me,” Starke said slowly, thinking it through even as he spoke, “and then you came here. For the fame and the ... money?”
Liz laughed half-heartedly. “I’m not paid that much.”
“And you were with me when ... Do you know, I had a visit from Uncle Pete the other day.”
“Uh, that’s nice.” Now Liz was confused. Uncle Pete had been dead for a while now.
“He told me you were no good for me, told me to forget you.”
“He did? How swell of him.”
“Money.”
“Money?”
“That’s what it all boils down to, isn’t it?”
“Liz,” Howser said, “get him talking about something else.”
“Trying,” Liz said, placing a finger to her ear, then froze when she realised her mistake.
“What’s that?” Starke said, snatching out with the hand he was using to hold Louise. He tore the earpiece from her and looked at it. “It’s a radio isn’t it? Isn’t it!”
“Yes!” Liz shouted back, her entire body tense now with fear. “My director’s on the other end. It’s a ... it’s a show, remember?”
Starke looked about quickly. “And you. You have one as well?” he said to Corsac. “Take it out of his ear,” he told Liz.
“Rich, I think we can talk this ...”
“No!” He brought the shotgun up quickly, striking her across the face and sending an arc of blood through the air. Liz fell and scrabbled backwards. Starke gripped Louise tightly once more and pointed the gun at Liz. “Take the radio out.”
Liz did as she was told, tossing Corsac’s earpiece across to Starke. He stamped it into the ground with a satisfactory crunch. Liz stared in true fear as he stayed there for several moments, the gun levelled upon her. Finally he pulled the gun away and placed it against Louise’s back once more. “The show must go on,” he said, looking back to Corsac. “Break-time’s over. Finish the performance.”
*
“Damn,” Castle said backstage. “Now we’ve lost communication.”
“Look on the bright side,” Howser said. “At least Liz succeeded in getting him to talk about something else. We have no corpses yet, Castle.”
“Yeah,” Castle said, his eyes locked upon the screen, upon his star host in particular. “But I’m afraid that’s just a matter of time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Saw a sign the other day. The sign read ‘Warning, this sign may have sharp edges’. Think about it. Wish I was making that one up, but if you don’t believe me you can Google it.” Corsac was kind of hoping Starke may have gone off to do just that, but Starke’s attention was focused upon other matters. Corsac really couldn’t understand what telling a few jokes was going to achieve, but if it would get Louise and Sam out of danger, he was willing to try it.
“Something else for you to think about,” Corsac continued. “Was in an office building once, I forget the floor number. Over the speakers someone said, ‘If you can’t hear this announcement, please contact your line manager.’ Now, is it just me, or is that dumb?
“Speaking of work, a friend of mine just the other day was talking about how he hated missing his train on the w
ay home. He said missing his train was like having a late night out. Sad state of affairs if someone can honestly say that, let me tell you.”
“Was that true?” Starke asked.
Corsac blinked. “Sorry?”
“Was that true?”
“Kid, you don’t interrupt a comedian to ask them whether their stories are true.”
Starke shifted the gun slightly and Louise yelped. “Was it true?”
“Most things comedians say are true,” Corsac told him, fully aware of the situation. “We stand on stage and either recount things which we’ve seen or heard say, or else we stand there moaning about the state of the country. Anything which annoys us comes out and we call it comedy. The fact that people are laughing at whatever we find distasteful or damning only makes it worse, but we still do it.”
“Why? Why continue to do something you know everyone is going to laugh at? If you don’t want them to laugh at it, why say it at all?”
“Because people listen to comedy, they take it in. If I was on telly giving everyone my political opinion, everyone would either turn off or just ask themselves who do I think I am standing there like that? It’s up to politicians to change the world, surely, not comedians.”
“And that’s why they censor comedians?” Starke guessed.
“I don’t know why they censor comedians,” Corsac admitted. “I only know why comedians refuse to be censored. And that’s because we have in this country a freedom of speech and if we don’t like the way something’s done we have every right to say it out loud, and to as many people as we possibly can.”
Starke absorbed this a moment. “I see. Carry on.”
Corsac eyed him warily but did not argue. “OK, so something which annoys me is the thank-you state this country’s come to. Used to be if you opened a door for someone they’d say thank you. Polite, respectful. Nowadays just doesn’t happen and you’re almost shocked when someone does thank you. Stupid thing is you’re so shocked you almost feel you have to thank them back in return. Then they’d thank you, you’d thank them again, ad infinitum.
“Best thing I always find to say in those situations, where someone hasn’t said thank you, is to say you’re welcome. If they ask why you’ve said that, you can tell them since you held the door open for them you assumed they said thank you but that you didn’t hear them. So naturally you had to say you’re welcome anyway. Most times they just stare at you blankly, but there’s not really much they can say since everyone around knows they were in the wrong.
“Try it next time yourselves. Works a treat.
“And is there anyone else here who thinks the term ‘magic trick’ to be an oxymoron? Nope? Just me, then.
“Soap,” Corsac said after only a brief pause. “Soap comes in cakes, right? Why? Why on earth would they decide that soap comes in cakes? You’re trying to teach your kids new words, and of course one of the words they want to know is cake because kids like cake. Kids associate cake with something nice to eat. So they learn soap comes in cakes and what do they do? They eat it. Then we think ‘Oh, they always put things in their mouth at that age.’ Well, that may be so, but it doesn’t help when you tell the kid it’s a cake!
“And bar sounds so much better. A bar of soap. Won’t have any kids mistaking a bar of soap for a cake at all.” He paused. “Course, would put kids off chocolate for life.”
Corsac wished he was still in contact with Castle and the police. He had no idea how they were going to get information in to them, but guessed the police would break in soon enough. He knew as soon as they had a clear shot on Starke they would take it. They wouldn’t endanger Louise unnecessarily but Corsac knew even police shooters weren’t infallible. They’d told him to try something, but he had no idea what. He wished he could remember, but he had other concerns at that moment and had forgotten. He was desperately trying to remember, but it just wasn’t coming. He glanced across to where the cameraman was still filming and presumably broadcasting the entire incident. That meant the police could still see what was happening, but remained powerless to talk to them about it.
Thankfully, Corsac still had a brain filled with sketches. He’d long ago run out of anything he was going to be using on the show, but his mind was like a conveyor belt: constantly bringing new thoughts to the fore. He knew he could carry on indefinitely if he needed to. He was hoping it would all be over soon, however, for he was losing blood fast and guessed he would expire long before his jokes.
“So there I was in a DIY shop,” Corsac said. “Was buying some cement, huge bags. You know the ones, you must have used them yourself. When you want something done around the house, you look into the cost of having it done properly and think ‘I could do that’. So you go down B & Q and you buy yourself a bag or two of cement. Fifteen quid it came to, what I was buying. Couldn’t carry it myself and I don’t have a car, so I asked them to deliver it.” He paused, looking around at his audience. “Twenty quid. Twenty quid to deliver it. What? I says, how can it cost twenty quid to delivery fifteen pounds’ worth of stuff? Standard delivery charge, she says. Standard charge is more than what I’m buying.
“So, I’m doing some quick totalling in my head. I’m buying the stuff myself because I’m trying to save money. (Trying to prove to the wife I’m not useless while I’m at it.) So I’m trying to save money and I’m having to fork out an extra twenty quid to do so. So I think about it some more, and while I’m thinking I’m looking around the shop. And I see a wheelbarrow. How much is that? I ask. Eighteen quid. Fine!
“So I buy a wheelbarrow and save on the delivery charge completely. May work out pretty much the same, but no one likes giving away money, do they? Then the problem was convincing myself I actually needed a wheelbarrow.
“Speaking of shops,” he said, “the ones I really hate – and I’m not going to name any because I just said I hate them – but the ones I really hate are the catalogue shops. You know the ones I mean. Huge places inside, could fit so many shelves in there. But what do you find instead? Rows and rows of catalogues, all open to different pages. And plenty of standing room, and nothing else. Because they know you’re gonna have to do a lot of standing while you’re waiting. Some even have a seating area, which is really ridiculous.
“I honestly just don’t get catalogue shops, though. For one thing you have to queue up twice. And I hate queuing. Probably should be used to it, we Brits invented it, but I hate queuing. Can’t stand it.
“So there you are in the shop and you think ‘Right, not many in here, I’ll buy my thing today’ and you queue the first time and you pay for it. Then you have to queue the second time, which always takes forever. Always takes forever because they know they’ve got you. You can’t at this stage just think ‘Crikey, I’ve had two birthdays since I came in here, I’m off. Come back tomorrow’. Can’t do it, because you’ve already paid for it. And everyone’s stuff always comes before yours, guaranteed. No matter if they came into the shop half an hour after you, their stuff always comes first. And when your thing does come, it sits on the shelf for half an hour while they pick up everything else and call out the numbers. Half the stuff they call out, the person’s not there. Probably already upped and left, but your thing just carries on sitting there.
“And what’s with not having the stock out on display? That’s the part I don’t get. I mean, they have the stuff on-site, right? They have it underground, in some form of vast unseen complex, hidden from human eyes. No one’s allowed in, picture it as a sort of ghost shop. Tumbleweed rolling by. Gunfights at dawn, workers racing around on trolleys. Who knows what goes on down there, since we’re not allowed to see it?
“Your stuff takes forever to arrive, so they may well be doing anything down there.
“And sometimes the catalogue tells you the product ‘comes in six varieties: one supplied’ so you don’t get the one you wanted, so what do you have to do?
“That’s right, get in a third queue.
“And there goes your Saturday.”
“That’s true, actually,” Starke said.
“I know it’s true,” Corsac told him. “I wouldn’t be moaning about it otherwise. Now here’s something to consider. When people say ‘two in a row’ that’s fine. But sometimes people say ‘twice in a row’ which really doesn’t make any sense. If it was once in a row it wouldn’t be in a row, it’d just be standing there, so you have to have two for it to be in a row. So physically placing two things in a row makes sense, but if you do something twice in a row, it’s actually you doing it once in a row.
“Think about that one, it does make sense, I’m sure.” Corsac just wasn’t sure it had made sense the way he had said it. He felt Sam beside him pressing a blood-soaked bandage tightly against his wound, but he was feeling light-headed. He knew he didn’t have long left before he collapsed into unconsciousness but he needed to keep Starke occupied. He needed to save Louise and he didn’t care how he had to do it.
“Homage,” Corsac said as though he had been talking about that all along. “If someone copies something and people like it they call it an homage (or a homage if you want to pronounce the H). If no one likes it they call it a rip-off. Just when does an homage become a rip-off? Just how many people have to dislike something before it can be a rip-off? The difference being, of course, rip-offs can be sued upon.
“And don’t even get me started on the fine line that is a parody.
“Talking about different ways of taking something, you ever notice how the news these days always puts its own opinion across? Even the weather. We’re told it’s a bad day if it’s raining but a lovely day if it’s fifty degrees. Well maybe I like the rain. Can’t I just be told the weather, rather than be given the forecaster’s opinion of it?
“Same with the proper news. We’re told when to feel sorry for people and when to think people deserve what they get. Best example is there was a victim one time, knife victim I think. An eighteen-year-old boy was stabbed. Next week, an eighteen-year-old man was arrested. Same age, but one’s a boy and one’s a man. It’s like they’re trying to impress upon us that we should feel sorrier for the victim by telling us he was a boy.”