The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag

by Robert Rankin

  Barnes himself looked upon all that he had made and found it pleasant to behold. He was off today to approve the finishing touches that had been put to the newly constructed world capital of Barnes. Millions had toiled to create this super city with its mirror-glass towers and golden cupolas. Millions drawn from around the world. The finest architects, artisans and craftsmen. Because only the very best now remained and all these worked, as all men did, for Billy Barnes alone.

  ‘Turn right here,’ ordered Billy.

  His chauffeur, a gaunt and grey-faced woman who had once been an estate agent, turned the wheel between her fragile fingers, and the long long limo cruised along Barnes Plaza, bound for the palace of he the world adored.

  ‘I’m going to take a nap,’ said Billy. ‘So drive slowly and when we get there don’t let anyone bother me until I wake up.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the chauffeur. ‘Whatever pleases you.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to be here,’ said Roger Vulpes. ‘But how am I here? How did you get me out of the hospital?’

  ‘I thought you out,’ I said. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Very nice of you. Who’s this old duffer?’

  The old duffer let fly a gob of phlegm, but Roger nimbly ducked it.

  ‘Captain Quinn,’ said the ancient mariner.

  ‘Quinn?’ I asked.

  ‘Captain Jonathan Quinn, whaler, adventurer and novelist.’

  ‘Johnny Quinn?’

  ‘You heard of me then, boy?’

  ‘Of course. I read your stuff back in the Sixties.’

  ‘You lying little prat.’

  ‘Any chance of a beer?’ asked Roger. ‘I’ve had a rough day. Thought I’d made it out of the hospital on my feathered wings. But the further I flew, the nearer I got back to the car park. My arms are dead tired, I can tell you.’

  ‘He’s a prat too, your mate, ain’t he.’

  ‘I quite like him,’ I said, and went off to get Roger a beer.

  I returned to find him deep in conversation with the captain.

  ‘Did you know,’ asked Roger, as I handed him his beer, ‘that Captain Quinn here was once lost off the Florida Keys in an open boat? His oars had blown over the side in a hurricane and he thought his end had come. So being the pious man he is he prayed to the Lord and—’

  ‘A swordfish saw burst right up through the bottom of the boat.’

  The old boy grinned a toothless grin. ‘You liked that one, didn’t you?’ he said.

  I sat down at the table and stared at the old boy. ‘Dad?’ I said. ‘Are you my dad?’

  The old boy winked. ‘I might just be. Or I might just be telling you a tall story.’

  I shook my head. ‘I think I’m sick of tall stories,’ I said.

  ‘They’re not always so tall as you think. Take your mate Roger here, the stealth fox/dog/horse/ human hybrid. Now could that really happen, I ask you?’

  ‘Probably not,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean, probably not?’ Roger plucked at his ginger whiskers. ‘Don’t tell me I don’t exist.’

  ‘Of course you exist, boy. Everything exists. Everything exists and does not exist. Simultaneously. An old whaling pal of mine Hugo Rune used to say, “Everything that can happen will happen, and everything that can’t happen will happen too, if you’re prepared to wait.” But he was drunk at the time and he’d lost the plot.’

  ‘Roger,’ I said, ‘I have to ask you a favour. Do you think you could get yourself into your girlfriend’s dreams?’

  Roger pulled some more upon his whiskers. ‘Whatever are you on about?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a plan to defeat Billy Barnes. A cunning plan. Here, let me whisper.’

  And I whispered.

  The crowd about the World Leader’s car also whispered. They knew better than to cheer without permission. They waited patiently until the glossy black window slid down and the gloved hand waved out at them.

  And then they cheered and cheered. And as Billy Barnes stepped from the car they cheered and cheered some more.

  He looked so right, did Billy. He fitted those clothes and that car. He suited them and they suited him.

  Billy waved without conviction, allowed himself to be lifted into the papal chair (a gift from the grateful Pope), and was carried by four liveried Nubians up the twenty-three gentle steps to the marble plaza before the palace.

  His hand went gently wave, wave, wave. His thoughts were all his own.

  Up on the plaza, foreign ambassadors, heads of state, movie stars and neophytes bowed respectfully. The papal chair descended, Billy rose and smiled and nodded all around.

  A woman, naked but for shoes with six-inch heels, proffered an envelope on a silver salver. Billy took the envelope, tore it open, unfolded a letter and read it.

  And then a look of fury appeared on his face, and he pushed through the adoring crowd and swept into the palace.

  Naked women stood in attendance. Billy offered them not even a glance as he marched into his private office.

  Rich with regal trappings, golden bits and bobs and knickery-knackery: opulence a-go-go.

  A dark young woman of unsurpassed beauty and no clothes whatever looked up from her desk.

  ‘What of this?’ Billy flung down the letter. ‘What of this? Tell me!’

  The dark young woman gaped at the letter. Her mouth opened and stayed open.

  ‘A letter,’ said Billy. ‘Someone has sent me a letter. Printed. Words upon a page. And I touched it. I didn’t think. I just took the envelope and opened it and touched the paper. If I hadn’t had my gloves on I might have become infected.’

  ‘What is it?’ The young woman pointed. But didn’t touch. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It says “GOTCHA!” And it’s signed “The Children of the Revolution”.’

  ‘The Children of the Revolution? What revolution?’

  ‘What revolution?’ Billy calmed himself. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you would not know. But incredible as it might sound, there are some people left upon this planet who do not love me.’

  ‘No,’ said the woman. ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘Well there are. And they would like to assassinate me.’

  The woman shook her head. Fiercely. Again and again.

  ‘Stop doing that.’

  The woman stopped.

  ‘I’ll weed them out,’ said Billy. ‘I’ll find them and I’ll weed them out.’ He looked the woman up and down. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’

  The woman nodded a swirl of dark hair.

  ‘You’d like to please me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir, I would.’

  Billy unzipped his trousers. ‘Come pray to me, ‘he said.

  ‘You dirty scumbag!’

  Billy turned at the voice. A young man in military fatigues, an Uzi automatic in his hands, stood glaring at him.

  Billy hastily refastened his flies. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Nobody,’ said the young man. ‘An absolute nobody.’

  ‘Then get the f*ck out of my palace.’

  ‘No way.’ The young man shook his head. ‘Your time is up, Barnes. The Children of the Revolution demand your head on a salver. We demand the right to be free. Free from your slavery.’

  ‘B*******!’ said Billy. ‘There’s no such thing as freedom. No-one is free.’

  The young man shook his head once more. ‘You haven’t brainwashed everyone. There’s still a few of us left. And you’re looking at the last face you’ll ever see. You’re a dead man, Barnes.’ The young man raised his gun.

  ‘No, wait!’ Billy raised his hands. ‘No. Let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can discuss matters.’

  ‘What is there to discuss? How you and Necrosoft turned the world’s people into zombies? How millions have been downloaded into the Necronet, their bodies disposed of, their records erased? How you’ve risen to power, climbed to the top of the heap? A heap of human skulls.’

  ‘Emotive talk.’ Billy f
luttered his fingers, then thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I have done more to make this world a better place than any man before me in history. See how people smile, how happy they are.’

  ‘You’re a piece of dung, Barnes.’

  The young man squeezed upon his trigger.

  Two shots rang out.

  The young man clutched at the twin holes in his chest, fell bleeding to the floor, and died.

  Billy pulled the smoking Derringer from his pocket and examined his punctured trouser wear.

  ‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘My favourite suit ruined. It’s a good job I have an identical five in the wardrobe. Get someone to haul away this rubbish and swab the floor. But not right this minute.’ And Billy set once more to unzipping his fly.

  ‘You dirty scumbag, Barnes.’

  What is this, déjà vu?’ Billy turned again.

  The young man was on his feet. You can’t kill freedom,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, please,’ said Billy. ‘Spare me the clichés. But how did you do that? I thought I put two bullets in your chest.’

  ‘I’m your Nemesis, Billy. You can’t kill me.’

  ‘I’m prepared to give it a try.’ Billy’s hands were back in his pocket.

  The young revolutionary shot Billy’s left kneecap off.

  Billy Barnes awoke with a start.

  In the back of his limo with the crowd gathered quietly around.

  The chauffeur glanced at him in the driving mirror. ‘Are you all right, sir?’ she asked. ‘You look a little pale.’

  ‘Just a dream,’ said Billy. ‘It was just a bad dream.’

  Boastful Morgan

  ‘I’ve got mushrooms in my shed,’ said Boastful Morgan,

  ‘That are easily the size of dustbin lids.

  And I cook them in a huge enamel Saucepan.’

  He told tales like that to all the local kids.

  Morgan’s brain was full of shipwrecks,

  And whalers with harpoons,

  With their odd Samoan tattoos,

  And their parrots and baboons.

  Morgan’s ears were full of music,

  And of soldiers marching by,

  And the sounds of seagulls singing,

  From their perches in the sky.

  Morgan’s eyes were full of diamonds,

  And the treasures of Peru,

  With the gold of Montezuma,

  And the Inca riches too.

  Morgan’s mouth was full of stories,

  Of the many lands he’d seen,

  Of the fabled Cyclopeans,

  And of Dublin in the green.

  ‘I’ve got spiders in my loft,’ said Boastful Morgan,

  ‘With legs as thick as any fellow’s arm.

  I play to them upon my Hammond organ,

  But I’m moving soon to live upon a farm.’

  22

  You can’t be rational about life.

  DORIS LESSING

  ‘What happened there?’

  ‘You mucked it up,’ said Roger.

  ‘I mucked it up? What do you mean I mucked it up?’

  ‘You shot him in the kneecap, so he woke up.’

  ‘It was your idea to shoot him in the kneecap, not mine.’

  ‘Look,’ said Roger, ‘I did my stuff, right? I got into my girlfriend’s dream. My poor fiancée’s dream, and I asked her what Barnes dreams about. And she said that he’d told her he always dreams about his glorious palace that’s staffed by naked women. She described it to me. I described it to you. He dreamed it and you were waiting for him. It was a great plan.’

  ‘But it didn’t work.’

  ‘Just because it didn’t work doesn’t mean it wasn’t a great plan.’

  ‘But if he’s going to wake up every time I shoot him, I’ll never be able to force him to put me back in my body.’

  ‘There are some small holes in this great plan,’ said Roger. ‘We will just have to try again.’

  That very night Billy Barnes dreamed once more about his palace. This time two revolutionaries threw a sack over his head and belaboured him with stout sticks.

  Billy Barnes woke up with a start.

  The next night Billy had his palace dream again. On this occasion, one of his naked female staff (who was really a revolutionary in a rubber skin suit) slipped a narcotic into Billy’s champagne. Billy passed out and found himself dreaming that he was in his palace where a revolutionary grabbed him and threw a sack over his head and— Billy Barnes woke up with a start from both dreams.

  On the third night Billy Barnes did not dream about his palace.

  ‘I don’t think he’s coming,’ said Roger.

  ‘Nor me,’ I said.

  ‘So what shall we do?’

  I cast an eye over the naked female staff. ‘Well...’

  On the fourth night Roger said, ‘The game’s up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve been rumbled.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve just come from my fiancée’s latest dream. She says that Billy’s spent the last two days going through computer files. He’s matched your face to the revolutionary in his dreams. He knows who you are.’

  ‘He should have recognized me straight away. He’s got my body in a suitcase under his bed.’

  ‘Apparently it’s not that recognizable,’ said Roger.

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘But you’re rumbled. And apparently he’s taking steps.’

  ‘What steps?’

  ‘Quite big ones, according to my fiancée. For one thing, he’s called on the services of some old bloke to teach him lucid dreaming.’

  ‘Uncle Brian,’ I said. ‘I’ll bet it’s my own Uncle Brian.’

  ‘I finally off-loaded my consignment of right-handed rubber gloves onto a bloke called Brian, you don’t suppose it’s the same—’

  ‘I do. But go on, you said, “For one thing...” ’

  ‘Oh yeah. For another thing he’s going to delete your file. Erase you from the Necronet.’

  ‘He’ll have to catch me first.’

  ‘Apparently not. It’s some new software development, linked to DNA. From the DNA in your body they get what is called a “signature”. It’s quite unique, well DNA is, isn’t it? They feed this signature into the mother computer and it will be able to trace your whereabouts in the Necronet. And once they’ve located you, then zap, they press the erase button.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘No no no!’

  ‘Difficult times for you,’ said Roger. ‘Wish there was something I could do to help.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find something.’

  ‘Look,’ said Roger. ‘I’m doing my best. I want this Barnes as much as you do. Oh, there was one other thing my fiancée said.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She said that once you’ve been located, Billy Barnes is intending temporarily to download himself, come in here and give you a serious kicking.’

  ‘Oh ******* hell.’

  ‘Very vindictive chap, Barnes. Very sadistic. Likes to take care of the serious kicking side of business himself whenever possible.’

  ‘Then I’m done for. What am I going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that. But there was one more thing. I hadn’t quite finished.’

  ‘There’s more?’

  ‘Just a wee bit more. After Necrosoft have located you and the downloaded Billy has given you a serious kicking, they’re going to upload you back into your body again.’

  ‘But that’s what I want. That’s perfect.’

  Roger shook his head.

  ‘You’re shaking your head,’ I said.

  ‘I am, I’m afraid. My fiancée said that Billy intends to make “an example” of you. Something along the lines of a public execution, William Wallace style. Hanging, drawing, disembowelling—’

  ‘SH******************************T!’

  ‘Shirt,’ said Billy, and a nameless woman helped him into it. She was nameless, she was naked, for th
at’s the way Billy liked his staff to be. ‘It’s strange,’ he said to his chauffeur; she was dressed, as Billy found her bruises unappealing in the morning. ‘It’s strange the way things go. Some might say that my sins have returned to haunt me. I would say that I merely have a bit of unfinished business elsewhere.’

  The chauffeur nodded. But she didn’t speak.

  ‘The last loose end,’ said Billy. ‘The last little fly in the ointment. The manner of his death, broadcast live worldwide, should make a point to those few non-conformists that remain. You know, I find it incredible to believe that there can still be some ungrateful scum left on this planet who do not love me. Imagine that. Can you imagine that?’

  ‘I can imagine that,’ said the chauffeur. ‘If you want me to, I can imagine that.’

  ‘Of course you can. But don’t. I forbid you to imagine it. Such thoughts would be far too distressful for you. Underpants!’

  A naked woman knelt to put on the royal Y-fronts.

  Billy smiled. ‘And while you’re down there...’ he said.

  ‘Blow him up?’ said Roger. ‘How are you going to blow him up?’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘I’ve been in the Necronet long enough to know how things work. He’ll be a stranger here after all. When he comes to give me the kicking, I could blow him up. Nuke him. Blast him to atoms. I could, surely.’

  ‘Wouldn’t work,’ said Roger. ‘He won’t just walk into a trap. He’s clever, this Barnes. Cleverer than you.’

  ‘He’s not that clever.’

  ‘He is you know.’

  ‘Not!’

  ‘Is!’

  ‘Not!’

  Hugo Rune, who is extremely clever, once said that if you turn America on its side, everything that’s not screwed down rolls to California. It is thought that he stole the line from Frank Lloyd Wright, whose views on America are widely recorded.

  But the point is well made and the World Headquarters of Necrosoft now occupied fifty acres of land just outside San Francisco. The birthplace of Henry Doors.

  Henry was there to greet Billy Barnes and his chauffeur. The chauffeur was dragging a suitcase with airholes in the top.