Читать книгу Mr Landen Has No Brain - Stephen Walker - Страница 13

Late that night, the doorbell dragged Sally away from foam rubbering yet more rooms. Entering the entrance hall, from the kitchen, she could see out through the wire-glass door. A figure stood in darkness, its back to the door, umbrella in hand.

The week’s takings were in the safe in Sally’s bedroom. Thanks to Cthulha, everyone in town knew it.

Or maybe …

… Maybe it was Cthulha’s mother come looking for her daughter.

Sally stopped, and looked around for an escape route. She looked at the living room door and considered running into the room and hiding behind the settee like she and Cthulha had the first time her mother had shown up. They’d had to stay hidden as she prowled the living room, sniffing the air, sniffing objects, pushing over the lamp stand, trying to pick up their scent, before she got bored, decided they weren’t there and left. The moment she’d heard the door slam, Sally’d tried to come out of hiding but Cthulha’d grabbed her wrist and stopped her. She stuck her hand over Sally’s mouth and frantically whispered that her mother had a trick where she slammed the door to make it sound like she’d left but then stayed just inside the door hoping to lure you out into the open. But she always gave up after five minutes and left anyway because she had the brain of a donkey. Sally told her that whatever her problem was with her mother, maybe she should try talking to her about it instead of hiding. Hiding from your own mother seemed a pretty childish way to deal with a problem. Cthulha said you didn’t deal with her mother when she was in a prowling mood.

And five minutes later they heard the door shut again.

Mrs Gochllagochgoch was a woman you could empty an ammo clip into and she’d still keep coming. You’d have to stop her by toppling heavy things onto her. Then, when you thought she was dead, you’d lean over her, seeking a pulse, and she’d come back to life and start strangling you.

Sally checked the Colt 45 she was carrying. Magic Keith had given her it and it weighed a ton because it was loaded. He’d insisted on a Colt 45 because the Shadow used them, and Magic Keith was as elusive as the Shadow – he’d claimed. She removed the safety catch, and stuck the gun down the back of her jeans’ belt for easy access. She pulled the back of her sweater down to hide it, prayed that this wasn’t Cthulha’s mother, and readied herself.

She unfastened the door’s top bolt.

She unfastened the door’s bottom bolt.

She twisted the yale lock and opened the door.

The hissing sound of rain filled the entrance hall. Its back to her, the figure whistled a non-specific tune as the rain pummelled its umbrella.

‘Hello?’ Sally prepared to grab the gun but the figure turned and grinned at her, large droplets dripping from the tips of its umbrella spokes.

And frowning Sally said, ‘Teena?’

Behind her ‘winning’ smile the scientist seemed embarrassed. ‘Ah. Yes. We seem to have got ourselves locked out and were wondering if we could spend the night here?’

‘We?’ She glanced at the darkness surrounding Teena, relieved to see no giant rabbits or that creepy Mr Landen.

A sideways nod of Teena’s head drew her attention to the string in Teena’s right hand. The string’s free end was high in the air, hidden by the top of the door. Sally leaned forward to see what was up there.

And her jaw dropped.

Floating at the end of that string was a cow.

‘What sort of genius locks herself out of her mobile home?’

‘When I said we’d got ourselves locked out, I should have said Mr Landen’s locked us out. I didn’t want to blame him outright because he doesn’t seem to be himself lately.’

‘And you don’t have a key?’

‘It’s bolted from the inside. And, sadly, before I left, I repaired the hole Lepus left – an action taken at your insistence, I should point out.’

‘Teena?’

‘Uh huh?’

‘What exactly is that?’ Sally stood in the rain, holding the umbrella over herself as Teena tethered her flying cow to the offices’ front door. Her mobile home was no more than eight feet away to her left. What was it with her? She couldn’t tie cows to her own front door?

As though to counterbalance the mobile home, a caravan stood at the offices’ other flank. The sign hanging from its doorknob read, THE WYNDHAM FINISHING SCHOOL FOR DAINTY YOUNG LADIES but Sally wasn’t interested in that. She’d seen its occupants.

Teena ignored the rain, tied off with a knot that only seamen should know, took three steps back and stood beside Sally. She smelled of strawberries. Not real strawberries but the strawberry-centre chocolate you always eat first from the box because it’s your favourite. Anyone else wet smells like the Coffee Cream that sits ignored for weeks because you don’t know anyone who likes them then has to be thrown away before it goes mouldy.

Polka dot rags plastered to her cheeks, Teena admired her own handiwork. ‘Sally, meet my latest project.’

‘It’s flying.’

‘Floating.’

‘Big difference.’

‘The moment I came across her I knew she’d be perfect for Experiment X.’

‘Experiment X?’ If this involved boyfriends.

‘My venture into anti-gravity. You see, I’ve done what no one else has. I’ve proven not only that anti-gravity exists but that it’s a force to equal gravity. I will of course be winning a Nobel Prize.’

‘But you’ll be leaving her out here all night?’

‘You’d rather I brought her inside?’

‘No but…’

‘Cows are hardy creatures well used to life outdoors.’

‘But the rain?’

‘Won’t bother her in the slightest.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘How are you sure?’

‘Because she’s indestructible.’

Teena still stood beside Sally in the rain, her strawberry smell starting to make Sally hungry. Sally watched her. She looked so soft and smooth and creamy that Sally wanted to bite a chunk out of her. She’d taste like cake and have no bones just icing, no muscle just sponge cake, no blood just strawberry jam. In all her body there’d be not one human biological substance, just items fresh from the dessert tray. The walking gateau said, ‘On my walk, I encountered a small shop on the edge of town.’

‘A cake shop?’ Sally’s stomach rumbled.

Teena slapped her.

Sally stepped back, shocked, clutching her stinging cheek. “What the hell was that for?’

‘You were thinking of eating me.’

‘No I wasn’t. I don’t eat people. You city types, you’re all the same, always looking down on us, always saying we’re cannibals.’

Teena said, ‘Frankly you’ve lost me. I merely recognized the look on your face. Being beautiful, I’ve seen it so often.’

‘Oh.’ Sally watched the ground, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

‘I’m sorry about hitting you but it was the best way to snap you out of it.’ She grabbed Sally’s arm and yanked her back to a position beside her, presumably Teena’s idea of reconciliation. ‘Now; the general store; while there I bought the ingredients needed for the anti-gravity cream.’

Sally still held her throbbing cheek. ‘From a general store?’

‘Anti-gravity cream can easily be made with household materials. After I’d finished, I had some materials left over, so I concocted a quantity of Indestructible Cream and applied it liberally. Clytemnestra’s fully atom bomb proof – the first of many such cows.’

‘Teena?’

‘Uh huh?’

‘Why would you want to make cows atom bomb proof?’

‘So they don’t hurt themselves when they fall from the sky.’

‘Cows don’t fall from the sky.’

‘They will when the anti-gravity cream wears off.’

‘But you’ve only coated one in anti-gravity cream.’

‘Well…’ Her voice tailed away. She gazed skyward.

Sally watched her. ‘Teena?’

‘Uh huh?

‘How many cows have you coated?’

She shrugged. ‘A few hundred.’

‘A few hundred!?!’

‘Maybe a few thousand. Frankly, after the first eight hundred, cows all start to resemble each other. I may have coated some twice.’

‘And that’s what you’ve been doing all day?’

‘What else would one do on one’s holiday?’

‘Most people go down the beach.’

Teena looked at her like she was talking to a simpleton. ‘Sally, there are no cows on the beach.’ Striding forward, she gave the cow a firm slap on the flanks. The impact sent water flying from it.

It mooed, startled.

Teena opened the front door of the office and prepared to go inside. ‘Coming?’

Sally watched the sodden cow, its ears at half mast. ‘I don’t care how indestructible she is, I’ll still worry about her.’

‘That’s because you’re a non-scientist. You view cows as people. They’re not. A cow’s a cow, and she won’t appreciate being treated otherwise. Now come on indoors and you can show me your fridge.’

Sally stepped forward, feet splashing in puddles. Water leaked into her trainers, soaking her toes. She ignored it. When she reached the cow, she stopped. With some difficulty she pulled the cow’s mouth open and placed the umbrella handle in it. Robbed of the umbrella’s cover, she was instantly soaked, her clothes clinging to her like cold octopus tentacles, rain pummelling her like the skies were out to dump the world’s oceans on her. With yet more difficulty she clamped the cow’s jaws shut around the handle.

Teena said, ‘Sally, what’re you doing?’

‘The umbrella’ll keep her head dry.’

‘Are you trying to make me look silly?’

‘What? As opposed to smearing cows with anti-gravity cream and tying them to doorknobs?’

‘That’s different.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s science.’

‘Now then, Daisy–’

‘Daisy?’ Teena protested. ‘Her name’s Clytemnestra.’

Sally still held the jaws shut. ‘Just keep hold of this umbrella all night, and you’ll be fine.’

‘She’s my cow, you know.’ Teena still held the door open.

‘We don’t listen to the nasty woman, do we, Daisy? She slaps people and accuses them of wanting to eat her.’ And she released Daisy’s jaw.

The umbrella hit the mud at Sally’s feet.

‘Sally, it won’t work. Cows don’t understand umbrellas.’

Sally picked it up, wiped its handle clean on her soaked sweater, forced Daisy’s jaws apart then placed the umbrella handle between them. She pressed the jaws shut. She released the jaws. Daisy dropped the umbrella.

Teena tutted.

Sally picked it up, wiped its handle clean and put it in Daisy’s mouth.

She released Daisy’s jaw.

And this time …

… The cow held onto it.

‘Sally?’

‘Yeah?’ With great difficulty she bit a generous length of masking tape from a roll. It tasted foul.

‘I’d like to thank you for putting me up for the night.’ Teena lay on the top deck of Sally’s bunk bed, having refused the bottom one.

‘Don’t mention it.’ Sally stood beside her, on the bunk’s ladder. She took Teena’s right wrist, the one nearest her, and wrapped tape around it. She yanked the wrist against the nearest bed post, held it there, and bound wrist to post.

Teena said, ‘Only, some women seem to find my presence intimidating.’

‘You know, that’s how they feel about me.’ She bit off another strip then leaned across and wrapped the tape round Teena’s other wrist.

‘Sally?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What’re you doing?’

‘Strapping you down.’ Having to stretch to reach, she pressed the wrist against its nearest bedpost and bound them together.

‘Sally, it’s not that I’m actively opposed to bondage. As a social scientist I appreciate its therapeutic value. Lesbianism has its place also. However, as we’ve established that you’re not attractive and I’m engaged–’

‘Engaged. Engaged. You’re always saying you’re engaged. For someone who claims she’s a man magnet, you seem remarkably impressed with yourself for having pulled. My God, even I’ve been engaged once. It’s not that big an achievement.’ She’d been engaged to Barry Sping, the paper boy, when they were both eleven. Cthulha’d put them up to it. She’d thought it cute.

Teena said, ‘Look in my coat pocket.’

‘For what?’

‘A wallet.’

Annoyed at the disruption to her work, she finished binding wrist to post then stood up as best the ceiling allowed. Teena’s camouflage jacket hung drying on the bed post. Sally felt in the pocket and retrieved a wallet.

‘Open it,’ Teena said.

She opened it.

‘What do you see?’

‘Credit cards, old tickets, taxi firm numbers, a photo–’

‘Take the photo and look at it.’

She did so.

And … ‘Jesus Christ!’ She almost fell off her ladder with shock. ‘What the hell’s that!?!’

‘My fiance.’

‘But … but he’s huge!’ The photographer (who Sally assumed to be Teena) had only managed to fit half of him into the photo. You could have fitted Barry Sping into a photo and have had room left over for the Brighouse and Rasterick brass band.

Teena said, ‘Huge? He’s positively Olympian.’ It wasn’t clear whether she meant an athlete, a Greek god or the mountain. Sally suspected she meant all three.

‘But he’s got no clothes on!’ said Sally.

Teena said, ‘When one owns a work of art, one doesn’t leave it covered up.’

‘But that … that thing he’s got–’

‘Perhaps now you know why I’m pleased with myself?’

Sally tried to prise her gaze from it. He could have wrapped it round his neck if it had looked in any way shape or form flexible. ‘But … but … there are more important qualities in a husband than a …’ she imagined being on its receiving end, ‘… knob.’

‘I can’t think of one.’

‘What about personality?’ She tried to prise her gaze from it.

‘All men have a personality. It’s their personalities that’re the problem.’

‘But your husband should be your best friend.’ She tried to prise her gaze from it.

‘No. Your best friend should be your best friend. A husband’s job is to satisfy his woman whenever and however she demands it.’

‘And he does?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Jesus.’ Almost feeling sorry for him, and almost afraid to touch it, she slipped the photo back into the wallet. She closed the wallet and put it back in the jacket pocket. Fingers still trembling from the sight of him she took the roll of tape from the mattress where she’d left it. ‘Anyway, I’m not binding you to the bed for kinky purposes.’

‘Then why are you doing it?’

‘For your safety.’

‘My safety?’

‘Look at me.’

Teena looked at her.

‘What do I look like?’

Teena looked non-plussed.

‘I’m an entertainer’s assistant. That’s what I’ve always been.’

Teena studied her bindings. She clenched a fist and flexed an arm to test the tape’s strength but no way was she was getting free. ‘So this is some sort of magic trick?’

‘My last job in entertainment was six months ago. Know what I was?’

‘No.’

‘Assistant to Magic Keith, He Can Outrun Bullets.’

Teena frowned. ‘Magic Keith?’

‘I had to wear the assistant’s costume; you know, with the ostrich feathers and sequins. I looked a total prat.’

‘Your boss could outrun bullets?’

‘No. But I didn’t discover that till I pulled the trigger.’

‘You shot him?’

‘In the back, point blank. The bullet went clean through and lodged in a stage hand.’

‘You killed them both?’ People always used that mortified tone when they said that.

Sally said, ‘The police were very understanding. They accepted it was an accident.’

‘And it didn’t occur to you that this Keith couldn’t outrun bullets?’

‘Of course it did. All the time were were rehearsing – without bullets – I kept saying, “Magic,” he liked to be called Magic. “Are you sure you can outrun bullets?” He’d give a knowing wink, tap the side of his nose and say, “There’s a knack.”

‘What possible knack can there be to “outrunning” bullets?’

‘Acceleration. Jesse Owens could outrun horses over a hundred feet because humans accelerate faster than horses. Keith reckoned it was the same with bullets. That doesn’t make sense does it? Bullets are launched by an explosion, and horses aren’t. But I figured he was the boss, he must know what he’s doing.’

‘And?’

‘Three days later we buried him.’ Roll of tape in hand she descended the ladder then unhooked it from the top bunk’s safety rail. She carried it round to the foot of the bed and hooked it onto the rail there. ‘It was the same with Madam Tallulah.’ After rattling it to check it was safe, she climbed the ladder until level with Teena’s bare feet. She resisted the urge to tickle them while she was helpless.

‘Madam Tallulah?’ Teena asked.

‘The World’s Greatest Escapologist. Except she wasn’t. She was just some idiot. She told me to weld her into an iron casket then tip it in the river. Again the police were understanding but this is a small town, word gets round. Now no decent employer will touch me.’

‘Have you considered leaving town?’

‘You don’t watch ITV?’

‘Never.’

‘Then you didn’t see When Gun Stunts Turn Bad.’

‘No.’

‘Or When Escapology Turns Bad.’

‘No.’

‘Or The World’s Worst Welding Incidents.’

‘No.’

‘Or When Hang Gliders Collide.’

‘No.’

‘Or When Big Things Fall On Small Entertainers.’

‘No.’

‘Or When–’

‘All right, Sally. I get the idea.’

She wrapped tape around Teena’s ankle and pressed it against the safety rail. She bound one to the other. ‘Every job I do, someone ends up dead. And those shows make sure everyone knows it. But I’ll prove them all wrong. I can go two weeks without killing anyone. I know I can. That’s why I’m strapping you to the bed; you might roll over in your sleep and fall to your death.’

‘From a bunk bed?’

‘You might land on your head.’

‘With safety rails in the way?’

‘You might roll over them.’

‘Isn’t that unlikely?’

‘You can’t be too safe.’ She bit off more tape and bound Teena’s other ankle. ‘Rest assured that while you’re staying here I’ll be doing all I can to keep you alive.’

‘Sally?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Have you ever seen the movie Misery?’

‘Oh my God, that terrible woman. Can you imagine what it must be like to be trapped in a place with someone like her?

‘And what’s this?’ Last thing that night, Archie Drizzle the Dullness Inspector paid Safe Joe Safe’s Caravan Park a surprise visit. He stood in the offices’ bedroom, a middle-aged man with a brown suit, a Bobby Charlton comb-over and a Gladstone bag and watched a man who was bound, gagged and chained to a bunk bed.

Stood beside Drizzle, the manager said, ‘He was passing the camp, whistling. Before he could react, we grabbed him, coshed him and chained him to the bed so he can’t fall over and hurt himself. We at Safe Joe Safe’s are holding numerous people hostage who might otherwise hurt themselves. I think you’ll agree we’ve taken every possible precaution to make this the safest camp not just in Wyndham but in the whole world.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Drizzle thrust his bag into the chest of the manager, who took hold of it while Drizzle stepped forward and inspected the captive’s bonds. They seemed firm enough, and the gag was tight enough to muffle whatever it was the prisoner was frantically trying to say.

But then …

… Drizzle realized what the man was wearing.

‘You fool. Don’t you realize what this is?’

The manager looked blank.

Drizzle said. This is a scientist.’

He still looked blank.

‘Denied, by you, the chance to express itself through mad experimentation, his subconscious may create monsters from the id which will run loose and destroy us all.’

‘Isn’t that a little unlikely?’

Before the manager could react, Drizzle slapped a sticker on his forehead.

That sticker said FAILED.