The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (22 page)

‘Didn’t
have until this lunchtime, but look at all those.’

The
mechanic pointed to the row of smart-looking cars gleaming on his forecourt. A
Porsche, a Mercedes, two BMWs. A long black limousine with the personalized
number plate HR1.

‘They
look familiar,’ said Thelma.

‘They
do,’ said Louise. ‘They were all parked in front of the Grande, when we drove
the Cadillac in this morning.’

‘Well
they’re all buggered now,’ said the mechanic. ‘Faulty brakes, dodgy steering,
weird noises coming from the engines.’

‘Curious,’
said Cornelius.

‘Nothing
I can’t handle. Stay up all night to work on them if necessary.

‘Highly
commendable,’ said Cornelius.

‘A fine
car deserves fine treatment, that’s my motto.’

‘And “a
labourer is worthy of his hire”?’ Cornelius suggested.

The
mechanic wiped his hands upon his oily rag.

‘I’m in
no particular rush,’ said Cornelius. ‘If you could fix mine during the hours of
daylight, while on
single time.
And notify’ me in advance of any
expensive parts you might require, so I can have them sent to you and—’

‘Yeah,
I get the message,’ said the mechanic.

‘But
I’ll tell you what,’ the Murphy voice took on a conspiratorial tone. ‘The long
black limousine with the HR1 plates…

‘Yeah?’
asked the mechanic.

‘Multi-millionaire,’
said Cornelius. ‘Money no object at all.’

‘You
know him then?’

‘Like I
know my own father.’ Cornelius winked.

The
mechanic winked back. ‘Cheers, mate,’ said he.

26

The most amazing man who
ever lived appeared once more upon the scene; soaking once more in the perfumed
waters of his marble bath tub; and seeking once more the final equation to
complete his formula for the universal panacea and elixir of life.

And
once more came the drumming on his chamber door.

And
once more came the voice of his landlady.

‘Get
out of that bed, you lazy sod, or I’ll have my husband Cyril come and break
down the door!’ she cried.

Once
more.

And
once more he awoke with a start.

To find
that he’d dozed off in his chair in the KEV-LYN suite at the Skelington Bay
Grande.

‘Now,
where were we?’ asked the most amazing man. ‘Ah yes. I recall, I was asking
questions and you were answering them. A curious reversal of roles. But no
matter.’

Rune
fixed his gaze upon a cringing fellow in a garish suit. A cringing fellow who
answered to any one of a number of names. Except perhaps to that of McKintock.

‘Let us
recap on events,’ said Rune. ‘I am rudely awakened from my nap by the noise of
a fire appliance. I find the hotel in an uproar. I gaze down from my window to
see a certain big-haired lout and his small companion streaking away from the premises.
Appalled at this circumstance I call upon you in your room and find you packing
your bags, preparatory to streaking away on your own account.

‘I
thought the hotel was on fire,’ lied he of the garish suit. ‘I was only trying
to save my costumes.’

‘No,
no,’ Rune raised a fat finger and waggled it in the air. ‘This I believe to be
an untruth. Murphy is here, in this town. Was here in this very hotel. I feel
that you and he exchanged words. That you have spoken to him of things that you
should not.’

‘I
never would. I never did.’

‘Explain
to me then his presence here.’

‘I
don’t know. He must have broken out of the cell.’

‘I
think I shall have to dismiss you from my employment,’ said Hugo Rune.

‘Oh
yes?’ The man known as Showstein to some and by other names to others, could
not control the look of relief which now spread across his face. ‘Dismiss me
from your employment?’

‘Yes,’
said Rune. ‘Let you go, as they say.

‘Oh,’
said Showstein, sighing and sweating. ‘Let me go, oh my word.’

‘No
hard feelings,’ said Rune.

‘None
at all,’ said the man in the suit.

‘I know
of a company that has a vacancy for such a fellow as you. I will furnish the
necessary references.’

‘Why
thank you, Mr Rune. Thank you very very much. What is the name of this
company?’

Rune
drew a derringer from the sleeve of his silk dressing-gown and pressed it to
the forehead of his ex-employee. ‘It’s called The Universal Reincarnation
Company,’ he said, as he pulled the trigger. ‘I’ll let them know you’re on your
way for the interview.’

27

‘Are you sitting
comfortably?’ asked Claude the ex-controller.

‘No,
I’m most certainly not.’ Norman was crammed into a little bullet-shaped affair,
in a kind of breech-loading affair, in one of the big sky nozzle soul-launching
sort of affairs.

‘Well
this won’t take long.’ Claude worked away at another affair. It was a large
version of the little brass Karmascope contrivance. It even had a computer
screen. Numbers flickered across this and Claude tapped at the keyboard. He
seemed to be enjoying himself.

‘You
never lose the old magic,’ said he.

‘What
are you doing?’ Norman asked.

‘Mapping
coordinates, sonny, zeroing you in on Cornelius Murphy.’

‘How do
you know where he is?’

‘I’m
working it out on the machine, don’t ask so many damn fool questions.’

‘Do get
a move on. Someone will catch us.’

‘I know
exactly what I’m doing. I think.’ The old boy tapped some more. ‘Yes, certainly
I do. Now do you remember what you have to say?’

‘Of
course I remember. I tell this Murphy all you’ve told me about his bastard of a
dad and all I know about the electrical discharging and the all-round
extermination of the human species next Friday.’

‘And
then?’

‘And
then let him figure out what to do about it.’

‘Hm,’
said old Claude. ‘Doesn’t sound an altogether foolproof plan when you put it
like that, does it?’

‘Oh do
get a move on,’ Norman said.

‘I’m
all done.’ The ancient grinned. ‘So I suppose it’s goodbye.’ Norman peeped out
at the ex-controller. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘What will you do now?’

‘Beat
the bastard,’ said Claude. ‘Me up here, you down there. Between the two of us
we’ll beat him. All the hims of him there are.

‘You
really think we can?’ Norman had plenty of doubts. And he now felt a bit sad at
saying goodbye to Claude. ‘You
really
think we can?’

‘Of
course we can, sonny. Of course we can. Think positive. Do what’s right.’

‘I’ll
see you again, won’t I?’ Norman gave a little sniff.

‘You’ll
see me again.’

‘Look
after yourself,’ said Norman, getting a crinkly mouth on. ‘It’s been, er, good
to know you.

‘Don’t
get drippy on me, sonny.

‘I’m
not getting drippy, how dare you!’

‘That’s
my boy.’ Claude pressed a big red button. The big sky nozzle belched purple
flame and a little white point of life soared off across the blackness of
space, bound for planet Earth.

Claude
mopped a tear from his eye. ‘Good luck, Norman,’ he said.

Many miles, or dimensions
or whatever, down below, Skelington Bay was dressing for the evening. The
lights along the promenade clicked into rainbows. Neon danced in fish-and-chip
shop windows. A red-and-white-striped barber’s pole revolved into nothingness.

Pavements
glowed with gold. And sunset laid a molten path across the sea to shore.

Lovely
stuff.

In a
bar near the west pier, Cornelius brought a tray of drinks to the table. ‘Are
we all up for this?’ he asked.

Thelma
and Louise nodded. ‘As long as we get a crack at your loot once you’ve
retrieved it.’

‘And as
long as I stay well clear of Rune,’ said Tuppe. ‘That fellow scares the
breakfast from my bottom, so to speak.’

‘If we
all do it right then things will go without a hitch.’

‘Very
good,’ said Tuppe. ‘You almost have me convinced there.’

‘Look
it’s simple enough. I telephoned the Grande this afternoon to confirm whether
Mr Hugo Rune would be dining there tonight. They said, yes he will, in the
Casablanca, which is apparently undergoing repairs. Eight o’clock, they said.
Now Rune is a man who likes his fodder. He’ll be settled in there for a couple
of hours.’

‘And to
make sure of that Louise and I will be joining him,’ said Thelma. ‘Eager to
listen to this oh so interesting man, who according to you has been everywhere
and met everybody.’

‘Right,’
said Cornelius. ‘And while he entertains you with fascinating tales, I shall
break into his room and go through everything he has there. Hopefully I shall
be able to find out what he’s up to and what he’s done with my money. I shall
work as quickly as I can. If you can’t keep him talking, phone up to the room,
twice, three rings each time.’

‘And
I’ll be keeping a look out for you,’ said Tuppe. ‘And we will communicate
through these.’ He proudly displayed the two-way radio sets he’d purchased with
some of Thelma’s wallet winnings.

Cornelius
took one of the radio sets and gave it a dubious perusal. ‘This isn’t
Watergate,’ said he.

‘No,
but they’re really good fun. We can have secret call signs. Like Blue Leader
and Foxtrot Patrol.’

‘It’s
getting on for eight,’ said Cornelius. ‘Let’s drink up and get to it.

OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Just
one thing,’ said Tuppe. ‘I hate to mention it. But I feel it should be
mentioned.’

‘Go
on.’

‘Shouldn’t
somebody have woken Boris? We left him in the car.’

The car
was up on jacks now.

And
Boris was still asleep in the back.

Which
was probably all for the best, as it happened.

Considering
what lay in store for him.

Soon.

Cornelius,
Tuppe, Thelma and Louise left the bar. Leave Boris to sleep for the night and
get on with the dirty doings, had been the general consensus. Tuppe’s ‘mad
sheep as diversionary tactic in an emergency situation’ being outvoted three to
one.

Two
gentlemen watched the foursome’s departure. Although gentlemen is not quite
perhaps the word. Somewhat grazed were these two. Grazed of chin and
cheek-bone. Scuffed of suit and missing of initialled cufflink.

‘Interesting,’
said Mr Rodway. ‘The bunch from lunchtime at the Grande, conspiring to commit a
felony. Should you get on the blower to the Lord High Butter of No Buts and
alert him to their intentions?’

Mr
Craik flashed eyes which seemed less wild now that he had been beyond the range
of Rune’s influence for almost all of the day. ‘Play this one by ear, I think.
There might well be a little profit to be turned.’

Mr
Rodway tapped his tender nose. ‘I’m with you there, squire. With you there.’

‘Yore ‘ere, sir,’ Lola the
showgirl waitress was on her evening shift. She had a bruise or two on her and
one broken heel that seriously impaired her tottering, but a job’s a job, and
Kevin the governor had promised her a raise. ‘This is yore seat.’

‘My
thanks,’ Hugo Rune lowered his ponderous posterior onto the chair. He was
clearly in high spirits (and apparently unaware that he was sharing a chapter).

‘Shall
I fetch ya the wine list, sir?’

‘Do you
have your little pad?’ Rune enquired.

‘Yeah,
corse I ‘ave.’

‘Then
write upon it, “Mr Rune will have what he had last night, but twice as much, as
he is expecting a friend.”’

‘Yeah,
right.’ The waitress staggered away on one heel. Rune gave his dire
surroundings a careful once-over and consulted his pocket watch. ‘Three, two,
one,’ said he.

A bit
of a crash in the door area, a slip to one side, a ricochet from the sweet
trolley and an old chum sat down at his side.

‘Rune,’
said Brigadier Algenon ‘Chunky’ Wilberforce. For it was none other.

‘Chunky,’
said Rune. Hands clasped. Knuckles pressed.

‘Damn
fine to see you, you old pederast.’

‘Yourself
also, deflowered of virgins. And some even human!’ The two enjoined hands once
more. Patted backs. Fell about in mirth for no apparent reason. Called for much
wine.

‘How’s
the billet?’ asked Rune.