by Sean Cameron
“Game over indeed, boys,” came the raspy voice of an old man. Between an entourage of heavies, a short man in his seventies stepped forward with the clip and clop of his brown chukka boats. It was Terry Palmer. “Game over indeed.”
SEVENTEEN
The bags were removed from Rex and Eddie’s heads. They were in an old disused warehouse, one of Palmer’s many enterprises. Palmer walked up in his trademark boots, old dry mud flaked from them as he got close. With each step he thumped his cane against the ground, causing the metal-plated bottom to chime.
“Do you know my name?” Palmer said. Rex and Eddie paused, wondering if it was a trick question. “Well, do you?”
“Terry Palmer,” Eddie said.
“Do you know what they call me?”
“Bootsy.”
“Do you know why they call me Bootsy?”
Rex popped his head up. “I know. It’s because you leave muddy footprints in The Octagon Shopping Centre.”
“You what?”
“Rex, be quiet.”
“It’s him, he’s the muddy footprints at The Octagon.”
“Rex, drop it.”
“Where were you on the morning of Tuesday last week? Shopping I bet.”
“I don’t answer to you, boy.”
“Show me the bottom of your boot,” Rex said. “I bet it’s the same print.”
Palmer thumped his cane against the ground. “You listen to me. When you see the bottom of my boot, it’ll be the last thing you see before I stomp your brains out. You understand?”
“Never mind,” Rex said. “This isn’t the right time.”
Eddie breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now, do you know why they call me Bootsy?”
“Oh, I think I know,” Rex said, excited to answer. If his hands weren’t tied he’d have raised one.
Palmer pointed at Rex. “Not you.”
“Is it because you always wear them,” Eddie said. “Even at your wedding.”
“It’s because when someone is of no use to me, I give them the boot. Are you boys of use to me?”
Rex and Eddie thought it over and shrugged their shoulders.
“I want you to tell me where you kept the backup copies of Lawrence’s manuscript.”
“There, uh, isn’t one,” Eddie said.
“I see you’ve chosen to play this out to its logical conclusion,” Palmer said. He turned to his men. “Get out the nail gun.”
Eddie shuffled in his chair. “Why? What?”
“You want to play games, I’ve got the toys.”
“I’m not playing, tell him Rex.”
“We’re not playing.”
“Where are the copies?”
“There aren’t any.”
Rex nodded. “It’s true.”
“My boys searched every bit of paper in the Laser Flux office and we didn’t find it. Where did you put it?”
“Nowhere, we didn’t have one.”
“What did you go back there for then?”
“It’s the only place we could think where a copy might exist. But we didn’t put one there.”
“I ain’t buying it. You’ve got more than one copy. And it didn’t go down in the fire.”
Rex’s phone rang. Palmer put his hand in Rex’s pocket and grabbed the phone. He showed the calling number to Rex; Rex knew it was his nan. Palmer picked it up.
“Hello, Rex Milton’s phone … Rex is a bit tied up at the moment … Will he be home late? I wouldn’t expect him anytime soon.”
Rex wiggled in his seat with panic. Palmer saw he’d rattled Rex and continued the call.
“You want him to know, your prescription is ready for collection … I can have someone pick that up for you, darling. What’s your address?”
Rex hopped in his chair as a henchman covered his mouth.
“Lovely. Eight Perrin Street? I’ll see if I can get one of my boys to do it for you … Of course, they’ll go to the pharmacy first.” Terry looked at Rex and shook his head.
“And it’s to pick up Quinapril? Is that the orange one?” he asked with interest. “Yeah, I take that one too … But I have to take the anti-dizziness one with it. The blue ones … No I tried the yellow and it didn’t work … You should ask your doctor to change.”
The Henchmen’s faces glazed over, like they’d heard his medication talk far too many times.
“Anyway, I got to go love. Goodbye.” Palmer hung up the phone. “Your nan says her prescription's ready. If you don’t start talking, you can pick it up,” he raised his voice, “while you get the doctor to fix the amount of holes I’m gonna leave in you.”
“I know what this looks like,” Eddie said. “That we’re lying, and you need to torture us to get the truth, but we’re telling you the truth right now.”
Palmer’s nostrils flared. “What kind of idiot doesn't make copies?”
“Us idiots,” Eddie said. “Please, this is our first case.”
Rex shook his head. “We don’t know the rules.”
Palmer stepped closer and examined them. He stood up straight and sighed.
“I believe you,” he said. Rex and Eddie relaxed. “But I can’t have people think I’ve gone soft. Get to work fellas.”
Two heavies grabbed the backs of their chairs and dragged the pair closer to the power sockets. The chairs screeched along the warehouse floor, metal against concrete.
“And next time,” Palmer shouted, “bring the battery-powered nail gun. I hate that noise. I’ll be back in a minute.” Palmer walked through the double doors.
The taller heavy with an egg-shaped head plugged in the nail gun. “Who wants to go first?”
“I’ll go first,” Rex said.
He pointed the gun at Rex’s foot.
“No, it should be me,” Eddie said. The egghead aimed the nail gun at Eddie’s foot.
“That’s very kind of you, but I should have made the copies.”
“That’s true, but I still insist I go first.”
The egghead moved the gun between Rex and Eddie as they spoke.
“No, me. Because I got you to start up the detective agency.”
“That’s also true, but you’re my best friend, and I insist I go first.”
Rex nodded. “OK, then. You can go first.”
The egghead settled the gun in Eddie’s direction.
“Wait, what?”
“You insisted.”
“Yeah, because it was the honourable thing to do.”
“Yes, you're very honourable.” Rex turned to the egghead. “He’s the most honourable man I know.”
“Well, I didn’t think that would be the last word on the matter.”
“We should hurry this up,” Rex said to the egghead. “You’re making him anxious.”
“I take it back, Rex should go first.”
“But you said, you’d go first. You can’t take that back.”
“You took yours back.”
“No, you took mine. I just agreed with you.”
The egghead let the nail gun hover over Eddie’s foot as they argued.
“Hey, why are you resting that thing on me.”
***
Jim Jams woke from a power-nap induced by fifteen minutes of yoga stretches and a lavender tea. He checked his phone and found a message from Rex. The text read, Gonna raid laser flux for evidence. Should get some good shooting in too if you’re interested.
Jim Jams was interested. He’d have to take a bus to Laser Flux, but he’d get to be the hero that came in at the last minute. He packed his supplies: a bottle of Scotch, five cigarettes, a packet of Tic Tacs, his Caffe Nero rewards card, and a Yorkie chocolate bar for emergencies.
Outside Laser Flux, Jim Jams saw two goons escort Rex and Eddie into a black SUV with bags on their heads. He recognised the pair by their walks. Eddie took hesitant steps, but Rex maintained his dainty skip, even when strong-armed with a bag on his head.
Jim Jams found the Morris Minor parked outside. He hot-wired the
car and followed the black SUV into the countryside. For a while, he thought he saw a moped gang in the rear-mirror follow him. Although he normally fasted in the mid-afternoon, Jim Jams decided he had paranoia brought on by a sugar crash and ate the emergency Yorkie.
The Black SUV pulled up outside a warehouse in Snodling. Jim Jams watched the two goons drag Rex and Eddie inside. He approached the warehouse on foot and snuck along the building’s side. On the corner, he found a small bathroom window ajar. He hopped up to grab the ledge and lifted himself up, which was rather easy thanks to his yoga regime.
Jim Jams pushed his head and chest through the window. Before he could drop into the bathroom, the door swung open and Terry Palmer entered. Jim Jams kicked his legs out to pin himself in place while his full torso hung into the men’s room. The old man walked straight past the hovering head of Jim Jams and relieved himself at the urinal. Jim Jams waited in silence as the old man peed. Palmer's troubled prostate made him grunt and growl, which Jim Jams found quite off-putting.
Palmer finished up and headed to the sink. Jim Jams noticed his own reflection in the mirror and straightened his back. He lifted his whole upper body with just the strength of his core. If he dropped even a little, Palmer would see him. The old man gave his hands a good scrub and looked in the mirror. In the reflection's upper right corner he noticed a twinkle. It was a medallion hanging from Jim Jams's gold necklace. Palmer turned and glared at Jim Jams.
Jim Jams backed out of the window in a panic. His rocking hips knocked the handle holding the window open; the window fell and pinned him in.
Palmer twisted the handle of his cane and spun it a few times. He pulled the handle up, revealing a sword hidden inside the cane. Palmer pointed it at Jim Jams’s gut, and walked forward. Jim Jams jumped, pushed, pulled, but he was wedged in. Palmer pushed the blade through Jim Jams belly like a skewer.
Jim Jams let out a high pitch scream.
EIGHTEEN
The egghead pointed the nail gun at Eddie’s foot and placed his finger on the trigger when Jim Jams’s scream echoed through the warehouse floor. The egghead and the short heavy marched to the bathroom to check on their boss. For a brief few moments, Rex and Eddie were alone.
Eddie wriggled his chair. “Rex, can you move?”
“A little.”
“Rock closer to me.”
As the pair rocked back and forth, the chairs crawled a few millimetres at a time.
“We need to untie ourselves,” Eddie said.
“How?”
The pair viewed the nail gun. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but they had to work with what they had. Both rocked their chairs until they fell on their side. Eddie kicked back against the wall and grabbed the nail gun.
“Point your back to my back,” Eddie said. “I’ll get close and shoot the nail at the rope between your hands. It should cut the rope. Then you can untie me.”
“What if you miss?” Rex said.
Both knew the answer: one of Rex’s hands would be nailed to the chair, or his arse.
Eddie forced an assuring smile. “I won’t. It’ll be easy.”
Rex and Eddie moved back-to-back as Eddie tried to position the nail gun. He pulled the nail gun closer, but the power cable had no slack.
“Give me the gun,” Rex said. “I’m closer.”
“I can make it work. We just need to rock closer to the wall.”
“Eddie, it’s fine. I’ll shoot your ropes, and we’ll be good to go.”
Eddie ignored Rex and tried to push the chair closer.
“They’re gonna walk back in any second.”
“Fine.” Eddie slid the nail gun over. “You’re sure you can do this?”
“Of course.”
As they were both back-to-back, Rex felt the gun and ropes in search of a sweet spot between Eddie’s wrists.
“Here?”
“Left a little.”
“Here?”
Beads of sweat rolled down Eddie’s forehead. “I can feel it there … still feel it … that’s good, no wait. OK, go ahead.”
They both closed their eyes and held their breath. Rex fired the nail.
***
“Ahhh!” Jim Jams screamed as Palmer pulled the blade out of his belly.
The egghead and the short heavy burst in.
“Get him,” Palmer shouted. The two henchmen yanked Jim Jams by the arms into the men’s room.
Jim Jams expected to be more upset at the sight of his blood leaking on the floor. He was surprised it didn’t hurt all that much. The thin blade only touched the nerve endings of his skin while his insides didn’t feel a thing. He wondered if doing yoga on the bus beforehand helped him keep calm.
“Who are you?” Palmer demanded.
“Jim Jams.”
“What?"
“Jim Jams.”
“What are you saying to me?” Palmer turned to the heavies. “I don’t understand what anyone under thirty says any more.”
“I’m thirty-two,” Jim Jams said.
“You better grow up then. Dressed like a Village People pirate, I don’t get it. Take him in with the others.”
***
Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. The nail clearly shot through the ropes and partly sliced it.
Rex edged closer. “I’ll cut the rope this time. Ready, Eddie?”
“No, wait. I can break free.”
“‘Cause I’ve got plenty more nails?”
“No.”
Eddie pulled a hand free from the ropes. He tugged hard enough to give him a rope burn. With both hands able, he freed himself and untied Rex’s feet.
The sharp thunk of Palmer’s cane hitting the floor grew louder.
“He’s coming,” Rex said.
Eddie pulled Rex’s chair up and covered his feet with the loose rope.
Rex looked confused. “What are you doing?”
Eddie settled back into his own chair and hid his hands behind it.
Palmer entered while his heavies dragged Jim Jams.
“This one of your friends?”
Rex nodded while Eddie bounced his head to suggest “sort of.”
“Who else knows you’re here?”
“No-one,” Eddie said.
“Nail his balls to the chair.”
The egghead pointed the nail gun at Eddie’s crotch. Eddie leaped up from the chair a second before the nail was fired. The nail embedded in the chair a foot below his crotch. Every man in the warehouse shuddered.
Eddie grabbed the chair and hit the egghead’s skull with it. Rex jumped to his feet with his hands still tied to the chair, and charged at the short heavy. The heavy pulled a gun as Rex knocked him to the ground. Rex stomped on the man’s hand until he dropped the gun and kicked the weapon towards Jim Jams.
The egghead laid unconscious, but Eddie hit him with the chair a few more times for good measure, and pulled a gun from the henchman’s inner jacket. Jim Jams and Eddie both pointed their guns at Palmer.
“Am I supposed to be scared?” he said.
“How come I don’t have a weapon?” Rex asked, while loosening himself from the chair.
“You’re fine,” Eddie said.
“How am I fine? I got a baddy right here.” Rex pointed at the short heavy.
“Here.” Eddie threw him the nail gun. Rex grabbed the nail gun at the handle, and accidentally fired a nail into Eddie’s shin.
Eddie let out a bloody scream.
“Sorry, Eddie.”
“You idiot.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“That really hurts, Rex.”
“Again I’m sorry. But I bet it distracts from your blisters?”
“Rex. Don’t.”
Palmer looked over to Jim Jams. “Are they always like this?”
Jim Jams shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Rex said.
“How?”
Rex pointed the nail gun at the short heavy’s thigh and fired. The heavy screamed and wail
ed.
Eddie gawked. “What did you do that for?”
“To make things even.”
“How is that even?”
“Well, I made it a draw. One all.”
“Except my nail is a home goal.”
“I’m sorry, OK,” Rex yelled. He shot another nail. Everyone flinched. The nail landed a few inches from Palmer’s foot. “My bad.”
Palmer raised his hands. “Someone get that thing off him.”
“Jim Jams, take the nail gun.”
“But, Eddie,” Rex said.
“Quiet, Rex. Jim Jams is in charge of the nail gun from now on.”
“I’m a bit busy bleeding through my favourite shirt, thank you very much,” Jim Jams said.
“Fine, you can hold the nail gun as long as it’s not plugged in.”
“What if the baddy moves?” Rex said.
“You’ve already nailed his leg to the floor.”
“He’s got hands.”
Eddie waved his gun. “Excuse me, henchman. Are you going to move?”
The short heavy shook his head rapidly.
Palmer swiped the sword from his cane.
Eddie pointed his gun back at Palmer. “Really?”
Palmer chucked the sword on the floor. “How about we settle this like men?” He raised his fists.
“Um, I think I’ll stick with the gun, thanks.”
***
Officer Sumner scratched his head with the end of his pen. In his mid-forties, Sumner was a friendly man with bright eyes and laughter lines. As a local policeman, he usually dealt with village issues like a dispute between two neighbours regarding an overgrown hedge. Now he stood in a warehouse questioning two baby-faced private detectives as his colleagues cuffed the notorious Terry Palmer and his two bodyguards.
Officer Sumner checked his notes. “So the charges are two counts of murder, two counts of kidnapping, police corruption, attempted murder, arson, two counts of grievous bodily harm?”
“Two?” Jim Jams asked while being put on an ambulance stretcher.
“Yeah,” Rex said with shifty eyes. “They shot Eddie in the leg with a nail gun.”
“Oh, right,” Jim Jams said as the ambulance driver pushed him to the warehouse exit.
“We’re going to get you a blood transfusion,” the driver told Jim Jams.
