The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (11 page)

‘Have
to stop you there,’ said Cornelius. ‘Something is happening up ahead. I do hope
it’s not a police roadblock.’

‘You
never did tell me how you broke out of the cell,’ said Tuppe. ‘I assumed, by
the evidence of your person, that some degree of unpleasantness occurred.’

‘There
was a difference of opinion,’ Cornelius explained. ‘The constables held to the
view that I should remain incarcerated; I, however, did not. They heard me
picking the lock and lay in wait, but I had taken the precaution of removing a
section of the iron bedframe, to wield in a clublike fashion, should the
necessity arise.’

‘Which
it did.’

‘A
contest of martial skills ensued. The final score was Escapees 2:

Constables
Nil. But
something
is occurring up ahead.’ And
something
was.

They
were on the A3 and the traffic was all coming to a standstill. The cause for
this was not immediately apparent, but is it ever? Possibly two lanes were going
into one. This usually causes motorists to go into a state of terminal idiocy
and jam themselves fast. Why they do it is anyone’s guess, but inevitably they
do.

But
then possibly it wasn’t that. Possibly it had something to do with the not
altogether distant pall of smoke that was rising into the otherwise clear blue
sky.

‘Someone’s
crashed,’ said Cornelius. ‘Which is horrid at best.’

‘Should
we get out and see if we can help?’

‘I was
going to suggest that, Tuppe. Do either of you know any first aid?’ Cornelius
asked the hitchhikers.

‘None
at all,’ was the reply.

‘Leave
the keys in the car,’ said Louise, ‘then if the traffic starts to move, we’ll
catch you up.’

‘Good
idea,’ Cornelius left the keys, Tuppe waved his farewells and the two struck
off for the cause of the hold-up.

It
wasn’t too many cars ahead.

‘You
know what that looks like to me?’ said Tuppe, viewing the wreckage.

‘Go
on,’ said Cornelius.

‘Flying
saucer,’ said Tuppe.

‘It
does though, doesn’t it?’

‘It
does.’

And it
did.

And it
was.

It was
one of those lightweight scoutship jobbies constructed, no doubt, from metals
unknown upon this planet. And it bore an uncanny resemblance to the one which
the US Airforce still insist is
not
housed in Hangar 27 at Muroc Air Base,
Muroc Dry Lake, California.
[5]

And
here it was, crashed on the A3.

A
number of folk were gathered around it. These were of the cars at the forefront
of the tailback. So to speak.

There
was a portly young man in a brown three-piece double-breaster. A leisurewear
cultist with a lean-and-hungry look and a lady in a straw hat who stood
knitting a grey sock.

Not
perhaps everyone’s natural choice of a welcoming committee set to greet a
traveller from a distant star. But there you go.

This
welcoming committee was gathered about a three-foot-sixish sort of body, decked
out in a nifty-looking uniform with gold epaulettes and braided cuffs. He had a
large nose fastened to a far larger head, grey in colour, Mekon in design.

The
welcoming committee was shouting. Loudly.

‘Shift
it!’ shouted the leisurewear cultist. Making fists and bobbing up and down upon
air-filled soles.

‘I’ve
got an appointment!’ shouted the portly double-breaster, tapping a plump
forefinger onto what the bloke who sold it to him in a pub had neglected to
mention was a
fake
Rolex.

‘I’m
not in any hurry!’ shouted the lady in the straw hat. ‘But I just like
shouting.’

The
off-worlder was trying to get a word in edgeways.
!’
he remarked.

‘That’s
easy for you to say,’ said the lady in the straw hat. ‘Might we be of
assistance?’ asked Cornelius. ‘We’re plain-clothed AA men.’

‘About
time too,’ shouted the leisurewear cultist, bouncing from toe to heel in a
step-aerobic fashion and shaking his fist at the small figure with the large
grey head. ‘This joker nearly had my car off the road.’

‘And
mine,’ shouted the wearer of the bogus Rolex. ‘And mine’s an XR3i, touring
model. Top of the range.’

‘So’s
mine,’ shouted the aerobicist. ‘And my air bag nearly inflated.’

‘My
hazard lights came on automatically.’

‘So did
mine.

‘My
anti-lock brakes applied an independently computerized pull-up torque to each
of my wheels. Top of the range.’

‘So’s
mine.

The
off-worlder looked from one to the other of them. And he looked perplexed.

Cornelius
looked at Tuppe.

And
Tuppe looked at Cornelius.

And
they both looked perplexed also.

‘You’re
lying about having an air bag!’ shouted bogus Rolex. ‘Look at your front
bumper. You clouted the back of this bloke’s flying saucer. If you had an air
bag it would have inflated.’

‘I’ve
got laser sighting,’ shouted the man, who, beneath his colourful outer
garments, wore a posing thong of crimson Lycra. ‘Housed in my side lights, they
criss-cross at an acute angle ten metres beyond the bonnet, digitally map a
thee-dimensional image, giving speed-to-stopping ratio, as crash tested upon
dummies in the advert with that woman singing, and they declared it a
no-air-bag situation.’

‘What a
lot of old crap,’ said Tuppe.

‘It’s
not crap, it’s top of the range.’

‘So’s
mine,’ said the Rolex. ‘And the metallic paintwork finish is baked on.’

‘An
estate agent,’ said Tuppe.

‘Who?’
asked Cornelius.

‘The
bloke with the fake Rolex.’

‘It’s
never a fake, how dare you!’ The watch—wearer clutched at his wrist.

,’
said the space pilot.

‘Quite
right,’ said Tuppe.

‘What
did he say?’ asked most present.

‘He
says that the watch has the classic oyster face, but the numerals are in chrome
and not gilt and the strap’s the wrong colour.’

‘His
car’s the wrong colour too,’ sneered Leisurewear Lad. ‘XR3i! That’s an XR2 bog
standard. He’s not an estate agent, he’s a sales rep from ASDA.’

‘I’m
not!’ shrieked Bogus Rolex.

‘He
is,’ agreed the lady in the straw hat.

‘I’m
bloody not!’

‘You
bloody are. And I should know, I’m your mother.’

‘You
bloody aren’t!’

‘I
bloody am too,’ the lady in the straw hat told Tuppe. ‘Give him a smack,’ said
Tuppe. ‘That sometimes helps.’ Hoot, Hoot, Hoot went the backed-up traffic,
beginning to go Hoot, Hoot, Hoot.

said
the space pilot.

‘What
did he say?’ Cornelius enquired.

‘He
asked if we might take him to a place of safety, before the men from
Project
Grudge
and
MJ. 12
arrive on the scene to drag him off for debriefing
and experimentation.’

‘I
didn’t know you spoke Venusian, Tuppe.’

‘It’s
not Venusian, it’s Romany.’

Woo,
Woo, Woo, Woo, Woo, came the sound of police car sirens.

‘You’d
better come with us,’ said Cornelius to the crashed saucerian.

said
that fellow.

Cornelius,
Tuppe and
The Man from Another World
[6]
jogged down the line of backed-up traffic.

Unfortunately,
when they arrived at the place where the Cadillac Eldorado should have been,
there wasn’t even a space left waiting for them.

Thelma
and Louise had nicked the car.

11

‘Let go of my ear!’ wailed
Norman. But the large controller
[7]
would not. He shook the dead boy all about by it.

‘Where
do you think you’re off to?’ he demanded to be told.

‘I
was… I mean… I … let go of my ear.’

‘What
is your name?’ The plump fingers went twist, twist, twist.

‘Norman!’
shrieked Norman.

‘Jack
Bradshaw’s new assistant?’

‘That’s
me, sir, yes.

‘Then
you should be at your desk, not wandering about, shouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,
sir. Ouch.’

‘But
you’re not.’

‘No,
sir. Ooooh.’

‘Because
you’re skiving, boy, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’
Norman readily agreed. ‘That’s it, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’

‘And so
you should be.’ The plump fingers relaxed their grip and Norman sank down hard
on his bum.

‘Your
first day at work here and you thought you’d go walkabout.’ Norman climbed to
his feet and rubbed at his fat red ear. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Let me out of
the lift, sir, and I’ll get straight back to work.’

‘I
think not.’ The large controller fixed Norman with a withering gaze.

‘Oh
dear,’ said the dead boy, weakening at the knees.