Authors: Mick Farren
‘You’ll see. Hello, room service? Listen, send up a couple of bottles of champagne - how the hell should I know what kind? The best kind, and a couple of pounds of strawberries, right, oh - and a large cut glass bowl. Yeah, right.’
He hung up. Liza looked disappointed.
‘Is that the best you can do? Just start drinking again?’
The Minstrel Boy smiled at her crookedly.
‘Who said anything about drinking?’
‘But I thought …’
‘You want to use your imagination.’
He mimicked the girl’s Litz accent. She looked annoyed.
‘So what else can you do with champagne?’
The Minstrel Boy grinned broadly.
‘First of all you take the glass bowl, you put the strawberries in it. Then you pour in the champagne, and mush it all together, until you’ve got this bowlful of expensive goo.’
‘And what do you do with it?’
The Minstrel Boy’s grin broadened.
‘We take off our clothes, spread the mush all over each other’s bodies, and then we lick it off again.’
Liza smiled.
‘Sounds delicious, if messy.’
The Minstrel Boy shrugged.
‘The hotel takes care of the mess.’
She began to drift round the room, looking at the things that the Minstrel Boy had left strewn about. Before getting drunk, he had been on a buying spree. She picked up a hand-carved guitar.
‘Do you play this?’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head.
‘Uh-uh, I just drop them from great heights and watch them break.’
‘You’re a funny bastard.’
She picked up his belt of knives.
‘What are these?’
A hard edge came into his voice.
‘Put those down.’
Liza dropped them. She said nothing. She wandered around for a little while longer, and then walked slowly and slightly dramatically towards the Minstrel Boy. He sensed it might be the start of a display. He liked displays. He thought of himself as something of a connoisseur.
‘I’m glad you can be obscene.’
The Minstrel Boy frowned.
‘Obscene?’
‘The strawberries and champagne.’
‘Aah.’
Liza put both her hands to the back of her neck.
‘We could start being obscene right now.’
The dress undid itself and dropped to the floor. Liza stood in front of him, naked except for her boots.
‘Do you like what you see?’
The Minstrel Boy nodded.
‘Sure, love it.’
The girl looked a little put out. She squatted crosslegged at his feet.
‘Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?’
‘In a moment.’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘Use your imagination.’
The girl slowly stretched out her legs on either side of the Minstrel Boy’s feet. Slowly she lay back on the ground. The Minstrel Boy raised one of his boots and covered her pubic hair with it. He noticed that she had it dyed the same blue as the hair on her head. He moved his foot with a circular motion, gradually increasing the pressure. Liza gave a soft laugh.
‘You’ve got an odd imagination.’
The Minstrel Boy raised an eyebrow.
‘Who, me?’
He was just stretching out a hand to touch her when there was a knock on the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Room service.’
He didn’t bother to look round. He just went on teasing the girl with his foot. He ignored the sound of the door opening. Then hands grabbed him roughly round the neck.
‘What the hell …?’
It all seemed to happen at once. The Minstrel Boy was struck hard across the face. The chair toppled over on its side and he fell with it. He saw three men standing over him. Liza screamed and jumped to her feet. One of the men grabbed her by the wrist. Another kicked at the Minstrel Boy. As he rolled over he saw a fourth man dragging an unconscious bellhop into the room. Liza went on screaming. The man holding her, a thickset individual in a grey fedora, slapped her hard across the face.
‘Shut your mouth, honey.’
Liza continued to struggle.
‘Take your goddamn hands off me.’
She found a heavy, vicious needle gun pressed beneath her chin. The man hissed at her from between clenched teeth.
‘Make another sound and I’ll rip your face off.’
Liza stood very still. One of the other men was systematically kicking the Minstrel Boy. He glanced at the one in the fedora.
‘Do we kill him now, Monk?’
Monk shook his head.
‘No, I want to see if he knows where his partner is. That’s the one that scores the prize.’
The chair was set back on its feet. The Minstrel Boy was hauled into it. One of the men, a small sallow one with a livid scar on his cheek, ripped the cord out of the phone, The Minstrel Boy’s arms were dragged back behind the chair, and his thumbs were tied together with a length of wire. Liza was also tied up. Another length of flex secured her wrists, and a third strapped her ankles together. Still naked, she was left in a corner as the four hoods directed all their attention towards the Minstrel Boy.
A sense of something almost like calm settled over him. There was nothing he could do except sit there and take it. All he could hope for was to come up with what they wanted as quickly as possible. That was the only way he could see to avoid getting hurt. He watched the four hoods as they gathered round him. The one called Monk leaned forward and breathed into his face.
‘Okay, where’s your partner?’
‘What partner?’
Smash! The one called Monk punched him hard in the face. They all stood round and waited while his head cleared. Monk grinned down at him.
‘Okay. Let’s try it again. Where’s your partner?’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Smash! The Minstrel Boy was aware of a warm sensation, a trickle of blood running down from the side of his mouth. The telephone cord had cut off all feeling from his thumbs.
‘Your partner?’
‘Listen …’
Smash!
As the Minstrel Boy’s senses came back to him, he decided to try another tack.
‘If you told me what partner you were talking about, I might be able to help you.’
‘Jeb Stuart Ho. You know Jeb Stuart Ho?’
‘He’s not my partner.’
Smash!
The Minstrel Boy’s head reeled. There had to be some way out of this.
‘He wasn’t my partner.’
Monk drew back his fist. The Minstrel Boy thought quickly.
‘He wasn’t my partner. I was just working for him.’
Monk sneered.
‘Working as what?’
‘A guide.’
‘A guide?’
The Minstrel Boy took a deep breath.
‘I’m one of the ones who know where they are.’
The four men fell silent. Two of them took a step back. The legend of the guides seemed to stop them in their tracks. Monk was the first to recover.
‘You worked for Jeb Stuart Ho?’
The Minstrel Boy nodded painfully.
‘Sure.’
‘And you guided him here?’
‘Right.’
‘So where is he?’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head.
‘I just don’t know.’
Monk turned savagely to his three sidekicks.
‘Work him over for a while. He might remember something.’
The Minstrel Boy began to struggle as they moved towards him. His voice almost reached a scream.
‘Hold it, hold it.’
Monk looked down at him. He motioned to the other two.
‘Wait a bit. Maybe he’s going to tell us something.’
The Minstrel Boy sagged in the chair.
‘I don’t know exactly where he is, but I might be able to find out.’
‘How?’
‘How do I know you won’t kill me once I’ve found out what you want to know?’
Monk grinned.
‘You don’t.’
‘So why should I do it for you?’
Monk gestured to the other three hoods. They started towards the Minstrel Boy. Monk held up his hand and they halted. His smile was ugly.
‘You can do it the easy way, or you can do it the hard way. It’s your choice.’
The Minstrel Boy nodded.
‘I’ve always preferred the easy way.’
‘Okay. How do we find him?’
‘Do I have to stay tied up?’
‘How do we find him?’
‘You don’t find him.’
Monk drew back his fist. The Minstrel Boy went quickly on.
‘I find him.’
Monk’s eyes narrowed.
‘What are you trying to pull?’
‘I’ve got a credit card on his account. The bank will know the last location he used his card.’
‘So where’s the card?’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head.
‘It’s not as easy as that. They’ll want to be able to identify me on a vision link before they give out the information. I’m the only one who can do it. You’ll have to untie me, and clean me up a bit.’
The Minstrel Boy even managed a lopsided bruised grin.
‘You’ll even have to take me down to the lobby.’
He nodded towards the service phone with its ripped out handset.
‘Your gorillas don’t think ahead.’
Monk looked at the other three. They all said nothing for a while. Then he shrugged reluctantly.
‘Maybe he’s telling the truth.’
The one with the scar looked sideways at the Minstrel Boy.
‘And maybe he’s just playing for time. I figure we should work him over a bit more - just so we can be sure.’
‘That’s what you figure, Wormo?’
The hood with the scar nodded. Monk grabbed him by the front of his jacket.
‘Leave the figuring to me, okay? When you start trying to figure, your nasty inclinations usually get in the way.’
He pushed him away.
‘Now untie him, and take him into the bathroom and get him cleaned up.’
Wormo reluctantly did as he was told. When the Minstrel Boy emerged from the bathroom, Monk pointed the needle gun at his chest.
‘We’re going down to the lobby now.’
He snapped his fingers at Wormo.
‘Give me that coat off the bed.’
Wormo picked up a fur coat off a chair. It was one that the Minstrel Boy had bought during his spending spree. Monk draped it over his arm so it hid the gun.
‘This’ll be pointed at your back all the time. If you try anything I’ll cut you in half.’
The Minstrel Boy nodded. They started towards the door. Wormo was the only one who hesitated. Monk half turned.
‘What’s your problem?’
‘What about the girl and the bellhop?’
‘Leave them. The cleaners’ll find them.’
Wormo licked his lips.
‘Can’t I have them? The girl at least. I’ll take care of her and catch up with you later.’
He looked at Monk expectantly.
Monk shrugged.
‘Stay here and do what you want. You’ll be finished with the job, that’s all.’
Wormo looked disappointedly back at Liza, hesitated for a moment and then reluctantly followed the others. He spotted the Minstrel Boy’s belt of knives. He picked them up.
‘Can I take these?’
Monk nodded impatiently.
‘Take what you want but grab it fast.’
The Minstrel Boy’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. With Monk right behind him he started walking towards the lift.
In one corner of the hotel foyer were a cluster of com-booths. The Minstrel Boy and his escort came out of the lift. Nobody seemed to pay them any attention. They crossed the foyer, threading their way between the flowering plants, glass tables and Bauhaus chairs. They attracted no interest at all. The Minstrel Boy looked round. He wondered what would happen if he tried to run. Monk was right behind him. He imagined the stream of steel needles slicing into his back. His skin crawled and he felt sick. He kept on walking.
The Minstrel Boy seated himself in one of the plastic blisters. Monk positioned himself in the entrance so he could see and hear everything. The gun under the coat was still pointed at him. The Minstrel Boy took the credit card from his pocket. He punched out the coordinates of the bank. A stiff-collared clerk appeared on the screen.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I wish to know the location of Jeb Stuart Ho. I hold a temporary card on his account.’
‘Place the card in the transmission slot and your hand on the scanner.’
The Minstrel Boy did as he was told and the screen clouded. Monk leaned over and hissed at him.
‘What’s going on? Is this some kind of double cross?’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head.
‘Just wait.’
The screen cleared and the card dropped from the receiver slot. The clerk smiled a thin smile.
‘You’re in luck, sir. Brother Ho has just paid for a meal at Fidel’s Burgers on Authority Plaza.’
The screen went blank. The Minstrel Boy looked up at Monk.
‘There’s your man.’
Monk nodded grimly.
‘That only leaves the question of what we do with you.’
Jeb Stuart Ho took one bite out of the Vegie-Wonder and put it down. The brotherhood were not meat eaters. He had passed Fidel’s Regular, Super and the Triple Deck Scrumbo, and picked out the Vegie-Wonder. It was advertised in the menu as a ‘non-meat vegetarian whole-food delight’. It was nasty. The so-called vegetables were sheets of recycled cellulose, die-stamped into crude leaf shapes and dyed a garish green. Jeb Stuart Ho suspected that the burgers were made of the same material, only dyed brown.
He pushed away his meal and looked through the plate glass front of Fidel’s Burgers. He had walked through to Authority Plaza after going to the Orchid House. The guardians had told him A.A. Catto had left. He had been hungry, but the main reason he had come into the place was to attempt to think about his next move. Even this was denied him. Hard metallic music blared from speakers all over the hamburger joint, and jagged patterns of light danced on the walls. The other customers in the place seemed to be munching contentedly.
Jeb Stuart Ho shook his head and took his credit card from the pay slot. He stood up and made his way out of Fidel’s Burgers. The pavement was almost deserted. In the centre of the square was a particularly ugly fountain. Lit by searchlights, stylized heroic figures supported a huge marble bowl from which water cascaded over them. The only thing Jeb Stuart Ho could imagine it symbolized was blind stupidity. Apart from a few drunks who staggered round the statue’s base, the centre of the square was equally quiet. It seemed an ideal place to stop and think.