‘You’re here, babe, right where you’re standing.’ The hippy chokes on a lungful of smoke and hammers himself in the chest for what seems like a small age. ‘Come on through and meet the gang.’
He beckons us and disappears through the doorway. There’s nowhere to go but forwards, so we follow him.
The next room is a psychedelic blast of sheer insanity. The walls are a swirl of colours and paint spatters, like some insane Pollock has gone a step too far. Every square inch of the floor is covered in throw rugs and beanbags and every one has a hippy on it. The air is acrid with the stench of dope.
‘What are your names, cats?’ splutters the hippy.
‘I’ll ask the questions,’ I tell him. Something isn’t right about this set-up. How could so many hippies co-exist in one environment with so much dope. After all, someone has to order the pizzas. ‘Who runs this joint?’
‘You want a joint, man?’ croaks a voice from the crowd. ‘We got tonnes.’
‘We all run it, man,’ says the hippy. ‘We’re an autonomous collective. We, like, exist purely as a whole unit. All our problems are well, we don’t have problems, man, because we’re so stoned all the time.’
‘Cooking, cleaning—all that kind of thing. Who does it?’ This whole charade is starting to smell like last night’s headlines.
‘Oh, right, I get it.’ The hippy starts nodding his head vigorously. He chokes down another monster sized toke of his joint and then coughs out a plume of smoke. ‘The directors.’
‘What, like company directors?’
‘No way, man. Don’t get heavy.’ The hippy waves away the cloud of smoke and walks over to the end of the room. ‘Take a look, man.’ He pushes open a door.
The room is full of fat, bearded people in glasses, every one of them arguing.
‘Goddammit, Coppola, it’s a Pepperoni you asshole,’ yells a small, bespectacled bearded man.
‘Screw you, Spielberg! I’m the pizza king here, asshole!’ screams a hairy fat guy.
‘Film directors, man,’ smiles the hippy. ‘Like, we figured they all liked taking charge of things so much they could take over that kind of thing here.’ He spares the sparring room a quick glance. ‘Only problem is we can’t get them to stop arguing, so not much ends up getting done.’
‘Bummer,’ says Sue.
‘Total bummer. It’s making me tense to the max, daddio,’ chuckles the hippy, and then racks on another puff of the devil weed. ‘Or it would be if I wasn’t smoking this.’ And he is overcome by fits of giggles that send him collapsing to the floor.
I grab Sue by the hand. ‘Come on. There’s gotta be a way out of here.’
There is. The floor opens up beneath us.
SEVENTY THREE
We crash through the ceiling of the diner where we met Preston and land in a tangled heap. Sue doesn’t look worried.
‘Fury, you did it!’ shouts Preston, and starts towards us with his popgun drawn. I reach for mine and he aims for my least vulnerable part. ‘Stow it, Fury,’ he snaps, all smiles gone. ‘I don’t care if it’s on purpose or by mistake. The woman’s mine. Now back off slowly and I won’t feel the need to fill you full of lead.’
I back up, hands raised. ‘Can I smoke?’
‘You can do whatever feels necessary,’ says Preston. ‘Just keep your hands off the gun.’
I snap out a Havana and spark a match. ‘Looks like the journey’s over, honey. It’s been a ride.’
Sue’s on her feet and in Preston’s grasp quick-time. She looks back at me, concerned. ‘Say it ain’t so, Joe.’
‘The game’s up.’ I take a puff on the cigar. ‘I’d like to help you out, but the man has a gun on me.’
‘That’s right, Joe.’ Preston edges the barrel towards me. ‘One false move and I’ll put a hole in you.’
‘Take the girl, Preston,’ I say, with a dismissive wave of my hand. ‘Just one thing. Why do you want her back so badly?’
‘She’s the key to Kieran,’ he says, and there’s a gleam in his eye that’s full of insane glory.
‘There’s a lot of keys to Kieran,’ I mutter. ‘He’s got more holes than Bonnie and Clyde.’
‘It was nice knowing you, Joe,’ nods Preston with a smile. ‘But this is one private dick who doesn’t close his case.’ And he aims the gun at me.
Sue sparks into action. Well, she tries to, but Preston’s too quick. Before she can stamp on his foot and turn his gonads into puree with her fingernails he twists her arm up behind her and wrenches it hard. And she’s down on her knees.
‘I’m no mug, Suzanne,’ he says, leaning close to her, and I see my chance. I finger the Havana and zero in on a spot on his hand. Burning tip. Human flesh. Not a good combination. And I’ve got just one chance.
‘Get off my back,’ shouts Sue, and the wall behind them explodes.
SEVENTY FOUR
It’s Professor Spanner, and he’s riding the weirdest machine I’ve ever seen. It’s about the size of a small truck, with all kinds of death dealers sprouting from the front—knives, rotary saws, flame-throwers.
The Prof doesn’t look happy. His eyes are gleaming with hatred and anger. And he’s staring straight at me.
‘You doggen shaggen!’ he screams at me. ‘You let my hippies out!’
Sue wrenches herself out of Preston’s stunned grip and they split, Sue going one way and Preston the other as the death machine crashes through the diner towards us.
‘I didn’t touch your hippies, Prof,’ I say, whipping out the popgun and nailing a buzzing rotary saw.
‘They jumped through zer hole in der floor, you dumbkopf!’ he screams, gunning the engine.
‘Drop the accent, Prof,’ I shout. ‘You’re a fraud.’ And I aim with a squint and fire clear and true. The bullet snatches off the Prof’s face at the ear. Underneath there’s nothing but a ninja mask.
The machine lurches forward and suddenly I’m up against the wall, the saws inches from my face.
‘No one dares unmask the Naked Avenger!’ booms the voice from the mask, and he suddenly jerks and slumps forwards over the controls of the machine, revealing one of the hippies behind him with a huge syringe.
‘Man, what a dose,’ chuckles the hippy.
‘Nice work, freak,’ I say, and swing the cannon around to aim for Preston. But it’s too late. He disappears out over the rubble and he’s nothing but a memory.
The hippy jumps down from the machine and offers me a doobie. I decline.
‘Nice job, man,’ he says through the smoke. ‘We were, like, wandering around because the door was wide open and then saw this, like, groovy hole in the floor, so we took the ultimate trip, man.’ He looks around. ‘Where are we?’
‘Right where I need you.’
‘Get that machine out of there!’ yells a voice, and I look across to see one of the fat, beardy directors stalking around like a mini-dictator. ‘I will have no death-dealing devices on my goddamn set!’
‘Can it, short stuff,’ I growl, and the director runs off to a corner to hide. I turn to the hippy. ‘You’re gonna have a lot of trouble with those guys around.’
‘Hey, we need them, man.’ The hippy smiles. ‘Scorsese! I, like, could do with a pizza, man.’
One of the directors nods and rushes off to the phone.
‘How’d you get that kind of control?’ I ask.
The hippy holds up a small bag of white powder. ‘Keeps them happy.’
I make my farewells and clamber over the rubble to where Sue’s standing.
‘Looks like I missed out on the second half of the message.’ I tell her.
‘Are you sure about that?’ she says, and points off into the distance.
Out there, carved on the side of a distant mountain, is the word ‘out.’
Sue unravels the other half of the message and holds it up for me to see. ‘Remember the first part?’
‘Damn.’ The whole note reads ‘look out.’
That’s when the H-bomb hits. Right on to
p of us.
SEVENTY FIVE
A large white sphere surrounds us in an instant, and we’re sitting in padded chairs gazing at the raging fire that curls in slow motion around us.
The opposite half of the sphere is in darkness, and there’s something moving in it. I can guess who. ‘Kieran,’ I say.
‘Yes.’ The tone is low and indistinct, sounding like it’s made up of many voices.
‘What party trick are you pulling now?’
‘It’s not a trick,’ says the darkness that is Kieran. No features, just a vague form. ‘Just an example.’
‘Of what,’ I snap, ‘how much of a cheap magician you are?’
‘This isn’t hypnosis or illusion,’ replies Kieran. ‘It’s a warning. Just an example of the power I can wield. Just an example of what I can do. To you.’
‘Nice try, smart guy,’ I tell him. ‘Give up the charade and introduce yourself like a man.’
The shadow shifts imperceptibly. ‘I am much more than a man, Mr Fury. I am the way forward for all humanity. I am the all-seeing eye and the spider in the web.’
‘What is this? Improv theatre?’ I take out a cigar and spark the end. ‘What’s stopping me pulling out the popgun and plugging you right here, Einstein?’
‘Everything.’ And the raging fireball around us suddenly retracts, sucked into the depths of the shadow’s hands until it’s nothing but a pinprick of light. Kieran closes his palms and it disappears. ‘I have the power of destruction. I am the end of all things. I am what’s—’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ I wave him away through a cloud of smoke. ‘You’re also a first class bore. I’ve got a cannon in my pocket that says this game is over. Now come quietly like a good stooge and maybe I won’t have to get rough.’
‘You don’t seem to understand the situation you are in, Mr Fury. You are playing with the very forces of nature, and you will lose.’
‘And you’re playing with the forces of cliché, wise guy.’ But I keep the popgun in my jacket. Something tells me this isn’t the right time to push it. ‘What’s with the ninja disguised as the Prof? You can’t do the dirty work yourself?’
‘The ninja is not my doing,’ says the shadow that is Kieran. ‘There are more forces after the girl than you can possibly imagine.’
‘Okay, end of discussion.’ I get up off the chair and start towards the shadow. ‘Time to say hello to papa.’
But the white sphere disappears, and so does the shadow that’s Kieran. I turn to Sue. ‘What the hell was that all about?’
‘He’s playing with you,’ says Sue. ‘It’s his stock in trade. He’ll screw around with your mind and reel you in like a fish. Before you know it you’ll be putty in his hands. He’s just softening you up for the kill.’
‘The man’s a grade “A” moron,’ I say, and then notice the phalanx of ninjas behind Sue, all with their katanas out. It’s not a pretty sight. ‘Head up, toots,’ I say, pulling out the gun. ‘Looks like we’ve got trouble.’
SEVENTY SIX
‘Jesus, almost wasted a good stoogie,’ I say, as I finish off the Havana. We’re sitting atop a pile of unconscious ninjas. It’s surprising what a good pair of fists and a bit of moxy can do. ‘Where did he drag these idiots up from?’
‘I think it’s the nuns,’ says Sue.
‘Nuns or no nuns, we’re taking that sucker in.’ I stub the cigar out on a ninja and climb down the pile to the shark. ‘Coming?’
‘It’s the only way to travel.’ Sue climbs down and joins me in the front of the car. One stomp on the gas later we’re streaming forwards to our destiny. I only hope they serve a good shot of whisky at the end of it.
SEVENTY SEVEN
You don’t expect to see a huge towering gothic castle in the middle of the desert. Especially not one with a ‘Welcome’ sign outside of it. But these days I’d gotten used to that kind of thing.
‘I’m feeling peckish, toots. Fancy a bite?’
Sue nods and we pull in to the front of the castle. I already know this is going to be trouble, but when a man has to eat nothing can get in his way. There’s a fat, sweating man at the front door of the castle dressed in a loud suit and holding a microphone.
‘Aye up, ladies and bastids!’ he says. ‘Looks like we got a couple of ripe ones here.’ He holds out his hand as an introduction and we ignore it.
‘Which way to the bar?’ I ask.
‘Aye, lad, my mother in law’s so fat she’s quite bloody big. Because she eats tons of food. And she likes chocolate a lot.’ The fat man looks confused for a second.
‘You should be on stage,’ I mutter, and we enter the castle.
‘My mother in law’s so fat,’ says the fat man, ‘she should probably be a comedian.’
We make our way through cobwebbed halls towards the sound of a small crowd. A door with a sign saying ‘Free Entry and Food’ leads the way into a vast, cavernous night-club.
The patrons are scattered listlessly around the room. They all look hollow-eyed and brain-dead. At the front of the room, on the stage, a man in a glittery tux and glasses is going through the usual.
‘Eh, politicians, eh?’ says the comedian. ‘Can’t trust them, can you? They all lie. But then you know that anyway. So it’s not funny.’ He taps the mic. ‘I know this thing’s on, I’m just trying to get a cheap laugh out of the fact that I’m so crap.’
‘I hope they’re not paying this guy.’ I say, and hit the bar.
It’s long, sleek, and black as midnight. The barman glides up. He’s wearing a cape and it’s hard not to stare at his fangs.
‘What can I get you?’ he hisses. ‘Bloody Mary? A Screaming Bloody Death? A Cup Full of Blood? Or a mojito?’
‘Two mojitos,’ I tell him. ‘Got any food?’
‘Oh, plenty,’ he says, and glances towards the stage. He slopes off wringing his hands and chuckling to himself.
‘Get me some steaks?’ I yell after him, and he freezes for a second before turning to face me with a leer.
‘Would you like them raw or …’ A pause. ‘Or, er, not raw?’
‘Well done—two of them.’ I turn and face the stage as the comedian walks off to no applause. He’s replaced by another middle aged man in a shiny suit who starts banging out a witless song on an out-of-tune piano.
‘I’m getting a good idea what’s in store for us here,’ says Sue, and she checks the Uzi. ‘Locked and loaded.’
The bartender slopes back, chucking the drinks down in front of us.
‘What’s the damage?’ I ask.
‘Your personality!’ he hisses. Sue jams the Uzi into his face and he shuts up quick and sharp.
‘Take me to your leader, asshole,’ she says, and the barman nods and scuttles off. We follow.
The room he leads us to is full of priceless ornaments and furniture, all centred around a man the size of a small orbiting planet who’s spread out on a huge bed. His stomach spills over the sides.
‘Come in, my friends,’ bloats the man, wiggling his sausage-like fingers at a couch. ‘Take the weight off your mucklucks.’
‘We’re just looking for food,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of set up you got here. Bad comedians. Bad singers. Bad vibes. You rip the talent out of people and suck it in for yourself, right?’
‘Ah,’ says the man. ‘You have an uncanny gift for spotting the obvious.’
‘I also have a gift for putting your nose out of joint with this,’ I say, whipping out the cannon. ‘Just feed us the meat, fats, and cut the melodrama.’
The man looks shocked and his face falls. ‘You disappoint me. I could have done with some proper entertainment. The acts we book these days are so limp and lifeless. We need fresh meat, dammit!’ He tries to rise out of the bed, but just writhes around like a beached whale for a few seconds.
‘Try a proper promoter,’ I say. ‘Now, we need something with substance, so cough up the goods.’
‘Such a disappointment,’ the man mutters again, a
nd his stomach buckles and bulges, then unzips down the front, revealing a spindly mullet-haired man inside. ‘Let’s go to the dining room.’
SEVENTY EIGHT
It’s well laid out and we tear through the steaks like they’re going out of fashion.
‘Nice work,’ I say to the man, as he picks at a salad. ‘Now what’s going on in this joint? Last I heard vampires fed off blood.’
‘We’re not vampires,’ says the man. ‘Well, not technically. Just a troupe of out of work actors, comedians and travelling toilet salesmen who wanted to set up a place we could call our home. The fact that we happen to suck the talent out of people is just one of those things. In reality we’re fakes. Look.’ He raps on the wall. It sounds like cardboard. ‘Even the building’s a fake.’
‘Why go to all this trouble?’ asks Sue as she wipes juice off her lip.
‘Because we have no choice,’ says the man. ‘My name’s Reginald. I’m a stand-up comedian by trade, and a magician by choice.’ He snaps out a stuffed dove from his pocket and beats it on the table for good measure.
No one laughs.
‘See, we’re doomed.’ He hangs his head. ‘We’re trying to find the essence of entertainment. What truly makes someone funny, or talented, or—as one of my esteemed colleagues once put it—“not shit”.’
‘Try hard work and a sense of humour,’ I tell him, and stand up. ‘We’ve got places to go and people to deal with, so we’ll take a hike.’
‘We need your help, Fury,’ pleads the man. ‘Your reputation travels far and wide. We need to find out what’s blocking us from sucking the best bits of talent out of the people who come here. We can help you. We know you’re on a quest to take down Kieran.’
‘Don’t tell me he set you up in this gin joint,’ I mutter.
‘No, not a bit of it.’ The man shakes his head. ‘We did play a few nights for him once, but he robbed us of everything we deemed worthy.’
Joe Fury and the Hard Death Page 10
