‘What would you like, earth filth?’ they ask simultaneously.
‘Got a Stillson wrench?’ asks Ginger. ‘Me uvver one’s spannered and shite, ain’t it.’
‘Er yes.’ The aliens conflab for a second and then one of them stands up, presses a button on its chest and a Stillson wrench pops out of thin air.
Ginger gives it a good heft and then nods.
‘Like it. Give us half an hour. Transport the scrotey old minger into me pot luck corner and we’ll see about skiffling the trifle.’
‘Spaceship—repair bay,’ I say to the aliens.
The roof of the shack opens up and the spaceship levitates down into the work area. Huge steel clamps heave out and pull it into place.
Seconds later Ginger’s up to his arms in grease, the underside of the ship open, tearing out trails of wires and muttering about the shoddy workmanship of your average alien vessel.
‘The problem is, guv, you just can’t get the parts these days,’ he says to me. ‘They’re all bleedin’ knock-offs, innay?’
I hunker down next to him.
‘Ginger, I need some info on someone called Kieran—no last name.’
He scoots out from beneath the spaceship and fixes me with a steady gaze.
‘Okay then, old boy.’ All pretence of the loveable cockney rogue drops from his voice. ‘The man’s a dashed brute, but a phenomenal boxer. He’s a cad, a swine, a swindler, a rogue and a gadabout but, by god, he’s the most inspiring man I’ve ever had dealings with.’
‘Go on.’
‘He’s got some sort of bally fortress at the end of the road, old chap.’ Ginger wipes his hands on an oily rag and stares me square in the eye. ‘I did some work for him setting up—bounder told me he was putting some sort of doomsday device together. Total hogwash, of course—just some sort of dashed portable toilet. But the funny thing is, he has this way of completely hoodwinking you into his way of thinking. What’s the interest in him?’
‘Preston hired me to take him in.’
‘That old tranny.’ Ginger chuckles. ‘Bit of a queer sort. Bats on the wrong side of the pavilion, if you know what I mean.’
‘Is there any way I can get in without attracting attention.’
Ginger pulls out a fork from his trouser pocket and hands it to me.
‘Try this on the front door.’
‘Will it get me in?’
‘No, but it’ll keep the bally thing jammed tight while you get in through the storm drain.’ Ginger gets up and pats the spaceship. ‘Don’t expect to go in topside, either. I designed the defences. This little number will be blown out of the sky before you’ve had time to pull your socks up. Just look for the storm drain with the green tag on it. That’ll take you straight to the main complex. After that you’re on your own.’
‘Thanks, Ginger.’ I shake his hand.
‘The pleasure’s all mine,’ he says, and then looks over my shoulder at the aliens. ‘Oh well, back to the show for the tourists.’
Ginger walks around me and straight over to the aliens.
‘Luvva duck, me old cockney sparra cor blimey strikes a lights,’ he says, slapping each of them on the shoulder. ‘Fixed up like a kipper before the lampshade has time to make a biscuit.’
‘All ready to go,’ I translate. The aliens nod.
‘Well done, earth scum. Now we are ready to depart your puny planet and travel back to our own galaxy. Madre De Dios! The Klaxons!’
An explosion tears the front doors off the shack.
FORTY TWO
The aliens run like scared women into the back of the shack as the shattered, burning remains of the doors fall down around our ears.
Sue’s on it like a shot, peering around the wreckage of the threshold with the Uzi held high and ready. She signals a no-show and I pop out the cannon and head towards the entrance.
Nothing. Empty space. Sand. Dirt. Nothing for miles.
‘Stick ’em up, mister.’ The voice is high and squeaky. I look down and there’s the Klaxon—just under a foot tall, small and plump, wrapped in a camouflage cape.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘You’re the problem, earth twat,’ the Klaxon squeaks, and pokes me in the leg with his raygun.
I bend down and pick him up. He kicks and squirms for a few seconds and tries to take my head off with a few badly aimed shots, but Sue steps forward and takes the gun off him.
‘Okay, small fry, give us the low-down,’ I say, and give him a shake for good measure.
‘This how you get your kicks?’ the Klaxon shrieks. ‘Picking on midgets!’
‘Only alien midgets,’ I tell him. ‘As far as I’m concerned you’re messing with my case. I’ve been through the wringer over the last few hours and right now my patience is at an end. If you’ve got no beef with me then take a hike and bother some other gumshoe. If you have, state your case and we’ll see if you can crawl your way out of a trashcan. Now spill the beans, stumpy.’
‘Earthling bellend,’ the Klaxon shrieks, ‘I have no “beef” with you. Only them!’ And he points a finger at the aliens.
I set the Klaxon down. ‘Then we’ve got no problem,’ I tell him.
The aliens snap their fingers and suddenly there’s nothing but dust in the air. The Klaxon races outside into the summer heat, shimmers and disappears. I turn to Sue.
‘Am I getting old or did I just imagine that?’
‘Not unless we’re both losing our minds.’ But it’s not a problem, as the shark’s been fixed and the aliens have gone, and we’re back on the road with a wave to Ginger.
‘That was the single most unusual experience of my life,’ says Sue, trailing her hand in the wind.
‘Stick around,’ I tell her, and the tractor beam hits us and we’re up in the air and flying.
FORTY THREE
The Klaxons have us by the proverbial balls, and the view isn’t pretty from up here. We’re getting higher and higher and the ground’s getting smaller.
‘We need to plug what’s holding us up,’ I tell Sue. ‘Keep an eye on the wheel.’
I let go and pull out the cannon, aiming straight up at the blue light that’s shining down on us. But the Klaxons hang a right and their spaceship swings round, the tractor beam throwing us wide, screaming through the air without support and the ground coming up fast.
And what’s worse, there’s too much wind to light my smoke.
I turn and pop a shot into space where the ship once was, and now it’s over us again. The tractor beam latches on to us and we’re spinning and flying through the air. This is worse than being married.
‘I’ve got an idea.’ Sue aims the Uzi straight up and starts firing at the ship. The bullets punch through the thin metal surface and smoke starts belching from what could be the engine.
‘Lucky shot,’ I tell her. ‘But we’re a mountain high in the air with nothing but hard earth beneath us. Whichever way you look at it, we could be in trouble.’
The Klaxons’ spaceship stutters and sparks and the blue beam holding us up cuts out, and we’re falling hard and fast. The craft explodes and a small capsule spirals down. Propellers pop out of the top, and the capsule starts buzzing about the car as we fall.
‘Take a pot-shot, honey,’ I say to Sue as I settle back into the driving seat. The ground’s getting closer by the second. This is going to be messy. ‘Might as well take out the space munchkin.’
She does, and the capsule sparks and explodes.
Just then another beam snatches us and we’re floating again. This time more sedately.
‘We have saved you, earthling filth,’ booms the voice of Alien No. 1. ‘In a matter of seconds we will land you safely on your earth soil to carry on your—’
And that’s it. A beam splits their spaceship in half and it blossoms into a fireball. I look down to find the Klaxon hanging on the driver’s door with an evil grin on its face and an ugly looking weapon in its hand.
‘Game over, earth knob,’ it manages, be
fore I slam a fist into its pint sized head and send it hurtling into the abyss below.
‘The jig is up.’ Sue sits back in the seat with her arms along the backrest. ‘We could have done with taking out Kieran.’
‘You win some you lose some,’ I mutter. Above us the Klaxon pops open an emergency chute on its backpack. Should have figured.
Except we don’t hit the ground.
FORTY FOUR
We land on a soft airbag. I look over the side of the shark and we’re on some sort of galleon. A huge, two hundred foot ship with sails and masts, riding on six massive wheels and powered by a huge turbo engine at the back. A couple of salty sea dog types walk suspiciously up to the car, swords and handguns drawn.
‘Take me to your leader,’ I mutter, and seconds later we’re on the main deck staring into the eyes of some rugged shiny-toothed pirate, but without the eye patch.
‘You the monkey in charge around here?’ I snap open a cheroot and take a puff on the flame. ‘You going anywhere near Kieran’s compound? I assume you’ve heard of him, since every other joker in these parts seems to have a fixation on the loser.’
‘Not on my watch, buddy,’ says the pirate in straight edge Californian. ‘We’re totally pirates.’
‘That’s nice,’ chips in Sue. ‘We need to get off this rig.’
‘Bain’t none of that, missy,’ chirrups a salty sea dog with a cutlass and an eyepatch, who’s standing behind her. ‘We aims to gizzard yer on the yard-arm.’
‘Cut the crap, Long John,’ I growl, turning on him. ‘We’ve been through an earful of accents and we want out.’ I whip the popgun out and aim straight for the captain’s head. ‘Now turn this war wagon around or I ventilate your captain.’
‘Aha.’ The captain smiles nervously and tentatively moves the barrel of the gun away from his face. ‘That’s totally radical, dude, but we’ve got, like, this total voyage to go on. Y’know, pillaging and suchlike. We’re on a one way course, man.’
‘Open to negotiation?’ It’s a small hope but anything’s worth a try.
‘We’ve got a headwind up, dude,’ says the captain. ‘Soon as it falls we’ll drop you off. Hang loose, man.’
It’s like being trapped in Hell, but without the laughs. The ship’s full of scurvy old coves and laid back surfer dudes.
Sue snatches a few strands of info from the crew and fills in the story. ‘They’ve got a feud running with the monks over the next mountain range,’ she tells me. ‘Something about a clash of theologies. I don’t know the details, but their religions don’t mix and they’ve decided to settle their differences with sword and gun. You ask me they’re out of their minds, but what do I know?’
‘And we’re along for the ride, sister.’ I glance around at the shark as the pirates lower the car off the crash mat we landed on. The captain comes over and throws an arm around my shoulders. ‘Totally join us for breakfast, dude.’ So we do.
FORTY FIVE
It’s a good spread, and Sue tucks in like it’s going out of fashion. I take a snifter of whisky and pour a few shots down to take the edge off the reality.
‘I’d like you to touch base with my hombre, Hawkins,’ says the captain, as an austere looking man walks into the cabin. He drags a chair out and sits down.
‘I hear you fell from the sky,’ he says, and I nod. ‘Do you have any powers or magic you could trade with us?’
‘No,’ I say flatly, and knock back another shot. ‘You live on a pirate ship that runs on wheels, Hawkins. Trust me, you don’t need any help from us.’
‘I believe you met a monk in another land,’ says Hawkins. I can feel his eyes watching me, studying.
‘We met more nuns than monks.’ And this causes a stir. The captain’s up on his feet with his hand on his single shot blunderbuss.
‘Sit down, Tarnation,’ coaxes Hawkins.
Tarnation sits with a mumbled ‘Dude.’
‘Tell us what you know of the nuns, for they are of much interest to us.’ Hawkins sits exaggeratedly forwards.
‘Your story, sister,’ I nod to Sue.
‘There’s not much to tell,’ says Sue, and she appears more reluctant than usual. ‘They took me when I was young and had nowhere to go. They taught me in the arts of pottery and to believe in everlasting life. When I was old enough to think for myself, I hijacked a bishop and used his life to bargain my way out of trouble. Ever since then they’ve been after me.’
‘Interesting,’ notes Hawkins. ‘But lies.’
The door bursts open and a salty sea dog runs in.
‘Sir, the nuns are starboard bound, by god,’ he coughs, with the fear of Hell in his eyes. ‘We’re all doomed, I tell ’ee!’
‘Grab her!’ yells Hawkins, and the sea dog is on Sue before I can pull the popgun out. When I look up the captain has the blunderbuss levelled straight at my head.
‘We’ll bargain with these two,’ says Hawkins.
FORTY SIX
We’re on the starboard bow facing an open topped double-decker London bus full of nuns who are baying for our blood.
A handful of sea dogs, tending towards over-salty, have us by the arms, waving cutlasses and firearms in the air and generally making a mess of things. The captain stands firm with Hawkins, but neither of them look comfortable.
‘We have your charge!’ shouts Hawkins at the Lead Nun. ‘What will you bargain for her?’
‘The opportunity not to tear your guts out and wear them as a vest!’ yells the Lead Nun. ‘You have no bargaining power with us, Pirate. You’re godless heathens and you’ll burn in the eternity of Hell. Even more so if you don’t hand the bitch over!’
‘We outnumber you ten to one!’ yells Hawkins, but there’s fear in his eyes. I guess he’s never been threatened by a nun with an AK47 before.
‘Your threats mean nothing but wasted air to us, Pirate!’ bellows the Lead Nun, and she fires a few rounds into the side of the land galleon. Sea dogs scatter like the wind. ‘Now hand her over before I tear you a new rectal passage and use your eyeballs as a pair of love blobs for my dog.’
‘We have no choice,’ whispers Hawkins to the captain, but I’m not standing for this.
‘You’ve got every choice, Hawkins,’ I snap, and he and the captain look at me in shame. ‘You going to let a bus full of theologistic wimple knockers tell you how to live your life? I figured you for a shipful of heels the moment I smelled you.’
‘You’re going to bitch slap the monks because you clash in your religions, dammit!’ yells Sue. ‘What’s the difference between the nuns and the monks? None! Now get your balls between your teeth and show these people just what being a pirate’s all about.’
‘Your words are sweet but those guns are aimed at our heads,’ says Hawkins. ‘And right now they’re more persuasive than the bargaining skills of a lady, no matter how refined.’
There are two ways to resolve a dilemma like this. You either give up or fight your way out. And I’m all out of patience for these spineless sea dogs.
‘You’re a disgrace,’ I snarl at Hawkins, and then jerk an elbow back into the sea dog who’s holding me. He doubles up and I’m out with the cannon in a flash. ‘Eat leaden death, penguin scum,’ I shout, and blast the Lead Nun off the top deck of the double decker.
FORTY SEVEN
It’s like a switch goes off in the pirates’ heads. They yell and scream and cry ‘victory’ as the nuns start to spray the land galleon with bullets.
The man at the wheel spins a hard right and the galleon creaks and groans and swerves into the bus with a grinding crunch. Hawkins snaps out a blunderbuss and pops off smoke and flame at the bus. A nun goes down clutching her chest.
‘Good shooting, Tex,’ I tell him, and run across the deck to one of the cannons, hefting a ball into it and spinning it towards the bus.
I yank the firing string and the cannon belches fire, and the ball blasts a hole in the top deck. Nuns scatter into the air. It’s like watching a monochrome whirlwind in action.<
br />
But the nuns are feisty. Years of ruler abuse and abstinence has bred a tribe strong enough to take on the world and still feel resentful. A cascade of AK fire tears up the starboard side of the galleon and sends splinters flying.
‘Hawkins, get over here!’ I yell, and Hawkins comes, blasting a nun off the bus as he runs.
‘Your woman talks a good talk, but you walk the walk of a true hero,’ he tells me.
‘Thanks, but can it. We got a bus full of nuns to offload.’
I grab one side of the cannon and Hawkins grabs the other. A few of the sea dogs spot this and start to help, and in seconds we’ve got the cannon held high.
‘Throw!’ I yell, and they do it automatically before they can think about it. The cannon sails down and hits the ground, and the bus ploughs in to it. London Transport is no match for two tons of solid steel and wood. The cannon splinters, but the barrel holds and the bus starts to tip.
Penguins bail out over the sides as the double decker groans and goes over, landing with a shattering roar on the desert floor. The pirates cheer as a few remaining nuns fire off pot shots at the departing galleon.
‘Suck my cloister, bitches!’ yells the captain, then he turns to me with a smile. ‘You have shown courage, my friend. But what can we do for you as repayment?’
‘Take us back to the road,’ I tell him. ‘Set us on our way.’
‘Alas, we cannot,’ says Hawkins, with genuine regret. Then, ‘Clap them in irons.’
FORTY EIGHT
We’re chained up below decks and Sue’s not looking happy. ‘We should have gone with the nuns,’ she moans. ‘We would have had a better chance.’
‘I wouldn’t trust those nuns with a Bible,’ I tell her. ‘Now keep tight and quiet and I’ll get us out of here.’
The cell door opens and Hawkins walks in with a big smile on his face.
Joe Fury and the Hard Death Page 6
