Necrophenia (35 page)

And in that maelstrom, with the very elements lashing all around me, I knew that I was done. That I was lost, that I had lost. And now all would be gone. All life, all love, all everything.

And that terrible blade came down. And then fell to the rooftop beside me and bounced down over the edge. And I looked up from my fearful cower and viewed the Homunculus. And he was clutching at his chest.

And blood was flowing from his chest.

From a nice neat hole within it.

And I saw him turn. And then I heard two shots ring out above the fury of the storm. And the Homunculus turned back and gawped at me. And this time he had a hole in his forehead.

And he lurched at me. And then he swayed, right there upon the very edge of the rooftop.

And yes, I confess it – I gave him a little push.

I leaped up and kicked his bum.

And down he went and down. Through the elemental turmoil, down and down. And far below he struck the roof of Mornington Crescent East (discontinued usage) and he passed right through that roof and he struck the concourse below. And then bounced down the stairway, onto the platform, off the platform and into the hole that I had dynamited in the tracks.

And down to the City of Begrem.

And that in itself was a long way down.

And if, as is so often the case, there was any chance at all, in the way of super-villains, that he had somehow survived the gunshots to the head and chest and the fall to Mornington Crescent and then down to Begrem, this chance of survival was denied him by the lady in the golden straw hat, who had been awaiting the fulfilment of the prophecy in The Book of All Knowledge (and Selected Lyrics) regarding the second being that descends into Begrem.

The bad one.

That this bad one must be hacked all to pieces.

And the lady in the golden straw hat had her big golden knife all sharpened and ready.

And followed that prophecy, gorily, right to the letter.

And I looked up at my deliverer.

And I said, ‘You took your time.’

And Lazlo Woodbine looked down upon me and said, ‘Could you use a hand?’

And he helped me back to the high-domed conservatory. And he slammed shut the door. And he released the golden girlie. And then he set about sewing my left ear back on and also my right thumb, and I do have to say that although it hurt like the very Devil, he made a damn fine job of both.

‘As long as no one ever notices that I have a thumb sewn on where my left ear should be, I think we’ll be fine,’ I said.

And oh how we laughed.

‘And thank you,’ I said. ‘Mr Woodbine, thank you for saving my life.’

‘No sweat, kid,’ said Lazlo Woodbine. ‘And you can call me Laz.’

‘Well, Laz,’ I said, ‘once again, thank you. I just wish that you’d got here a bit earlier.’ And I tapped at my resewn parts.

‘But I did, kid,’ said the great detective. ‘I got here a while back. But you had to have your moment. Get the truth out of that thoroughgoing swine. For your autobiography. It will probably be written up a bit differently in the forthcoming Lazlo Woodbine thriller, but no matter about that. Only thing is, I can’t figure just how I got here. Last thing I remember is being at Papa Crossbar’s Voodoo Pushbike Scullery and then falling into that whirling black pit of oblivion that we nineteen-fifties genre detectives so often do. And then I’m suddenly here.’

‘You have me to thank for that,’ I said.

‘And how?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I said, ‘and it has to do with a theory invented by a man named The Flange that things are where they should be, because they should be where they are. He tried to create the perfect sitting room for Jesus in order to bring about the Second Coming, but he failed. Before him, the members of the Cult of Jon Frum tried it. But tonight I achieved it through the Tyler Technique. The theory is that given the absolutely correct circumstances and situation, what is sought will come to pass. And in a situation where the world was at peril from the ultimate super-villain and there was a final rooftop confrontation (with a storm) going on, who could be there to sort things out other than Lazlo Woodbine? I just hoped that the magic would work. I figured it out earlier in the super-villain’s office. The idea came to me that if I could just get him up onto the rooftop, you would appear. It was a long shot, but I believed in it and it worked.’

‘Well, here’s looking at you, kid,’ said Lazlo.

‘And that’s not really your line, is it?’ I said.

‘But hey,’ said Laz, ‘I’m not even working in the first person. How good am I to you?’

And he shook me by the hand.

And I returned this handshake and felt very good about everything.

And then the golden girlie threw her arms about Lazlo Woodbine’s neck and started kissing him.

Which I did not feel very good about.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘I don’t have to be a virgin any more.’

‘What?’ said Lazlo.

‘Nothing,’ said I.

And Lazlo Woodbine smiled. ‘So all’s well that ends well,’ he said. ‘And I suggest we take ourselves off to Fangio’s Bar and celebrate this victory. And then you can settle your bill. Remembering, of course, that I am paid by the day. And I’m thinking, how long is it since I fell into that pit of whirling blackness in Fangio’s? Because frankly, kid, you don’t look quite so young as you once did.’

And he left that rooftop with the golden girlie on his arm.

And I went, ‘Oh dear me.’

And followed him.

I wrote, at the very beginning of this book, that I almost saved Mankind. And, as you can see, I almost did.

I’m certainly not going to take all of the credit. Lazlo Woodbine did the actual shooting in the head of my demon brother, Keith. But I played my part, and my part was special.

If you read the final Lazlo Woodbine thriller, you will note that Laz takes all of the credit. But I don’t mind about that, because in exchange for me agreeing to let him take all of the credit, he agreed to retire.

And so he did, to the Sussex Downs, to keep bees. And of course he did go out on the high point of his career, having saved Mankind and everything. And so, having done his stuff, Lazlo Woodbine moved on into myth.

Leaving me to carry on where he left off and perhaps even prove myself to be the greatest private eye that ever there was.

And as Laz was retiring, and as I had already bought the franchise and everything, I moved into his office and put a new sign up on the door-

SOME CALL ME TYLER PSYCHIC DETECTIVE

I haven’t had any cases yet, but hey, it’s only been a week and I have had other things to do. Like visit the hospital, for instance, after I discovered that Laz had amusingly sewn my left ear back on upside down.

And then there was last night’s reunion, which I mentioned in the first chapter of this book. In truth it was a bit more than just a reunion – it was my stag night.

Because I’m getting married today. To the golden girlie from Begrem (where we will be spending our honeymoon).

I’m rather excited about getting married. I’m particularly excited about the prospect of finally having sex. Even though I’m approaching my seventieth birthday. I reckon I’m still up for it.

Regarding Begrem, I have decided not to open it up to the tourist trade, nor to avail myself of the riches therein. It felt rather wrong, somehow, and as there have been sufficient wrongs done, I don’t want to add any more of my own.

And, of course, there was the matter of the head of the CIA going missing. And where he might have ended up. Or down. Questions were asked, but answers weren’t furnished and that one remains open on the files.

And regarding all those walking-dead folk. What became of them? Well, they’ll all die again in their own good time and their souls will go off to wherever they should go.

Which, I suppose, means that this is the end of my tale.

Which seems a bit of a shame, really, but you have to end it somewhere. And I, like Laz, am going out on a high. But it is certainly not over for me. In fact, my career as Some Call Me Tyler, Psychic Detective is only just beginning.

And if there is any justice in this world, you will soon be reading my exciting adventures and how I solve the most obtuse conundrums and thwart the diabolical plans of criminal masterminds using my extra-special power and the Tyler Technique.

And so, let me leave you with the words of… the George:

It’s turned out nice again.

[1]
This term was originally coined by a reporter from the Daily Mirror who toured with the band during the 1970s, when eating disorders first became fashionable. And the Kynges were at the forefront of this trend.

[2]
The technique for adapting the beer-bottle top to badge-wear is now lost in the Mists of Time. Those who remember it, remember it, and these few souls remain cool.

[3]
And they would.

[4]
You see? The George Formby anagram, Orgy of Begrem.

[5]
I don’t think this is altogether true, is it? (Ed.)

[6]
Sequined all over. His mum had made it for him.

[7]
Which had arrived through our letter box by mistake, it being meant for Captain Blood, the retired freebooter who lived next door.

[8]
So, some things never change.

[9]
Traditional.

[10]
This, it is to be believed, was the first time this joke was ever used.

[11]
And this was never used.

[12]
And they do.

[13]
As opposed to one that is only occasional.

[14]
Positively the last time.

[15]
This is not entirely true. In fact, it is not true at all.

[16]
The organist was Richie Havens. (Ed.)

[17]
Should the reader yearn to know the full story of Courage Croydon, the best reference book would be Sir John Rimmer’s Croydon’s Croydon: The Man, the Myth and the Sacred Geomancy of the Roundabout system.

[18]
Third wedding Anniversaries are ‘cheese’. And are not easy to get anniversary cards for. As opposed to those silver, gold and diamond. But strange, at times, are the ways of Man.

[19]
Still reckoned to be the most comfortable recliner of all time.

[20]
Which rather impressed me at the time because dogging had yet to become an English national pastime.

[21]
That’s probably enough Cons, now, thank you. (Ed.) Hey, buddy, don’t footnote Woodbine – I ain’t a footnoted kind of guy.

[22]
Allegedly. But hey, come on!

[23]
Elvis was in fact a natural blond, although not a lot of people know that.

[24]
Everything makes sense when you give it sufficient thought. Doesn’t it?

Document ID: fbd-a32de2-56dc-4e40-9798-529b-77e1-891e37

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