Falling Sideways (23 page)

‘Might as well,' the lead clone replied. ‘It's not as if we'd got anything else planned. All right,' he said, ‘come back here, you've got a deal. And you can start by telling us where he lives.'

It would've been different, David assured himself, if it'd been anybody else. Anybody else in the whole wide world, and he wouldn't have sold them out just to save his own skin. It was because it was Alex (his nemesis, his evil spirit, his constant companion since boyhood, probably – hideous thought, this – aside from his mum, the person he was closest to) and this wasn't cowardice, it was a perfectly legitimate and justifiable act of revenge. Which made all the difference, didn't it?

CHAPTER TEN

‘
B
astard,' she said.

That was probably the mildest epithet she'd thrown at David so far; also, coming as it did from someone who'd been born of the union of a tankful of goo and one of her own hairs, the easiest to shrug off. He still winced.

‘In there,' he said. ‘Number seventeen, on the fifth floor.'

‘Stairs,' sighed a clone, ‘always it's got to be up a load of stairs. Just for once, couldn't we get to nobble someone on the ground floor?'

As befitted his new position as ally, David was sitting in the front seat of the van; so he couldn't see her, in the back, looking daggers at him. He could feel her eyes ice-picking the nape of his neck, though, which was almost as bad.

Alex, he reminded himself. These people are going to do something imaginatively horrible to Alex. You don't like him, remember? Never liked him, even when we were kids. Made your life a misery, in fact; damn it, you were bred and born just so he could steal your girl . . . A small ember of hatred glowed; it was enough—

And remember that time, your sixteenth birthday, you'd actually managed to get a date with Sharon Pettingell, you were just getting off the bus outside the pictures, and he just happened to be passing . . . And you ended up sitting in the row behind, because there were only two adjoining seats left for that showing? And what about that time—?

David deliberately throttled back the reminiscences, before flames started shooting out of his nose. He hadn't always wanted to be a shy, reclusive computer nerd; in fact, he'd
never
wanted to be a shy, reclusive computer nerd, but it had come about that way, and there was no doubt in his mind whose fault it was. Besides, it wasn't as if they were going to kill Alex; they'd probably just rough him up a little, trash his DVD player, break the aerial off his mobile phone . . .

Coward. Yes, admitted, guilty as charged; bring on the white feathers by the duvetful. But if it's got to come down to him-or-me, I can't think of anybody on earth I'd rather see playing the part of Him.

‘Right,' said the lead clone, ‘everybody ready? Seventeen, you said?'

‘On the fifth floor, yes.'

‘That's fine. You wait here, we won't be long.'

They locked the doors behind them as they went, leaving him alone with her. Of course, they'd taken the precaution of tying her up with washing-line and handcuffing him to the steering wheel; and it stood to reason that David wouldn't start yelling for the police. Apparently they'd gagged her before they left; he didn't suppose they'd done it as an act of kindness towards him, but he was prepared to see it in that light.

‘Well,' he said. ‘Here we are.'

‘Mmm.'

‘I suppose we could try to escape,' he said unenthusiastically. ‘If I lean back and reach out with my left arm, maybe you could sort of wriggle round so I could untie your hands, then you could climb over the driver's seat, get these cuffs off me somehow and— Oh, I don't suppose you know how to drive, do you?'

‘Mmm.'

‘Well, at least you could escape; I mean, that'd be better than nothing. And maybe you could go and fetch your dad – your real dad, I mean, or one of him – and maybe then you'd see your way to rescuing me? If it wouldn't be too much trouble?'

‘Mmm mm
m
!'

There are times when inarticulate grunts mumbled through a big hankie are so much more eloquent than mere words. He turned back and sat staring out through the windscreen for a while. At some point he must have closed his eyes because the next thing he was aware of was a thumping noise, as of a gloved fist hammering against the passenger-side window. He jerked his head round. There was indeed a gloved fist, and it belonged to a uniformed policeman, who was alternately bashing the glass and gesturing to him to wind the window down.

It was an old van, without electric windows. David turned the handle with his free hand.

‘Right, sir,' said the policeman. ‘Perhaps you'd like to explain what you think you're up to.'

‘Oh,' David replied, ‘nothing.'

‘Just sitting there admiring the view?'

‘Something like that, yes.'

‘I see. Any particular reason why you've handcuffed yourself to the steering wheel?'

‘Oh, that wasn't me.'

‘Wasn't you?'

‘No.' David shook his head. ‘Friends of mine.'

‘I see,' the policeman said. ‘Anybody else in there with you?'

‘Absolutely not,' David replied, just as the girl in the back started mmmm-mming like a passionate chainsaw.

‘You're sure about that, are you?' asked the policeman.

‘Oh, you mean
her
.' Pretty lame, he knew, but he wasn't at his most creative right then.

‘Yes, her. Excuse me. Miss?'

‘Mmmmmmmm!'

‘I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that—' The policeman put his head through the window and looked round. ‘Ah,' he said, ‘fine. Right, sir, if you'd care to unlock yourself and get out of the van—'

‘I'm sorry,' David mumbled. ‘I haven't got the keys.'

Something in the policeman's expression told David he wasn't convinced. ‘You're sure about that, sir, are you? Only, if I have to get another car out here with bolt-cutters and the keys turn out to have been in your pocket all along, I'm not going to be happy, if you see what I mean.'

‘Really,' David said. ‘No keys.'

‘Fine. And where would the keys be, right now?'

‘Um.' David swallowed. ‘My friends've got them. It's their van, you see.'

‘Your friends. And where are they, then?'

David was just about to say ‘Right behind you', because he'd been brought up to tell the truth, when it occurred to him that there are exceptions to every rule. ‘I'm not sure,' he said. ‘Last time I saw them, they were—'

The policeman vanished.

‘Quick,' said a clone – he sounded like the leader, but of course there was no way of knowing. Maybe it was a different one. Maybe they took it in turns. ‘Everybody get in the van. Yes, bring the bloody thing, let's be tidy.'

David heard the van being unlocked, the rear door opening, people-getting-in noises. Also, someone or something said ‘Rivet!' or words to that effect. ‘It was the wrong bloody flat,' growled the presumably-the-lead clone, settling himself in the driving seat and putting on his seat belt. ‘I'll be charitable and assume it was a slip of the tongue on your part.'

No matter the cost, David had to know. ‘That policeman,' he said. ‘What did you do to him?'

The driver didn't answer. Somebody or something in the back said, ‘Rivet, rivet,
rurrk
!' David hoped very much that it wasn't intended as an answer to his question.

‘Keep your eyes open for a garden with a goldfish pond,' the driver was saying. ‘And don't let it hop about back there. Driving this thing's tricky enough as it is.'

David took a deep breath. ‘You turned that policeman into a—'

‘Don't be bloody stupid.' The driver shook his head. ‘That's impossible, just think of the technology involved. You'd need to be able to do teleportation, matter transmutation, God knows what else. Even if you had the tech, the energy required would be more than the total output of a small star.'

‘Ah,' David replied, relieved.

‘No, all we've done is make him
think
he's a frog.' The driver leaned across and unlocked the handcuffs. ‘It's the basis of all our, or should I say
their
technology: manipulating appearances. The thing stays the same, but everybody sees what we –
they
want them to see. He thinks he's a frog, you think he's a frog, and you can run the whole show off two triple-A batteries.'

‘I see. So really, he's perfectly all right.'

‘Oh yes. At least, so long as he doesn't try breathing underwater or crossing a road. But that's what free will and freedom of choice is all about. Not our problem, in other words.' The driver laughed, and turned the ignition key. ‘Don't look so miserable,' he said. ‘You should be pleased. Two minutes later and he'd have hauled you off to jail for the rest of your life.'

There was that, of course. ‘Thank you,' David said, but he wasn't sure he meant it.

‘My pleasure. Anyway, about that flat. Nobody there. And it was the wrong one. Nothing in it at all, not even any furniture. Just,' the driver added, ‘and this is the really weird thing, a bag of sugar.'

‘Oh,' David said.

(And he was thinking: the thing stays the same but everybody sees what they're supposed to see. Still, if they hadn't figured it out for themselves, he wasn't going to make it easy for them.)

‘Like you said,' the driver replied, ‘oh. Now, do you know this Alex character's real address, or do you want to spend the rest of your life chasing flies around a lily pad?'

Awkward. Served him right, presumably, for telling the truth in the first place. ‘All right,' he said, and just for once inspiration was there waiting for him when he reached out for it. ‘They're over at my place. Do you know the address?'

‘Mphm. You're sure about that, are you?'

‘Sure I'm sure.'

‘Well, that's all right, then. What's the quickest way to get there from here?'

Pretty well everything comes in handy sooner or later, provided that you're prepared to wait; even, as David was able to prove, a profoundly rotten sense of direction. He did his best to navigate. If he'd been trying to get them all lost in the back streets of Chiswick Park, he couldn't have done a better job.

‘Here we are,' he announced, nearly two hours later. As he'd expected (and hoped) there were several ominous-looking Big Flash Cars lurking round the kerbside like hungry crocodiles. Fortunately, the clones didn't seem to be able to recognise a stake-out when they saw one. ‘I suggest you park here,' David said, ‘and walk the rest of the way. Just in case.'

‘Just in case of what?'

‘Oh, you know.'

The clone glowered quizzically at him but followed the suggestion, dumping the van a hundred yards back from David's front door. He'd have preferred a bit more margin, but it was better than nothing. ‘Sorry,' he said, ‘but I think I lost my house keys back in the clone workshop, so you'll have to kick down the door. Shouldn't be difficult,' he added, ‘it's been practically falling to bits for years, a really good sneeze'd probably blow it into matchwood.'

‘What about the neighbours?'

‘Oh, they're used to me by now,' David said as blandly as he could manage. ‘If I had a fiver for every time I've come home rat-arsed and kicked the door in because I can't find my keys—'

‘Really? You don't look the type.'

‘It's always the quiet ones,' David replied hopefully. ‘Anyhow, you won't get any trouble from them.'

‘If you say so,' the clone replied, snapping the handcuffs back round David's wrist. ‘But if you're lying, then so help me—'

As they piled out of the van, David racked his brains for the words of the truly appropriate quotation. He was all right as far as
It is a far, far better thing than I have ever done before
, but what came after that he wasn't quite sure.

(And what came after that? Unfortunately, having seen a few prison documentaries, he had a reasonable idea of what came after as far as he was concerned; but they had no reason to hold the girl, sooner or later they'd have to let her go, and she'd be out of it, and safe. Relatively safe, anyway. Safer than she was in this van, surrounded by her father's enemies.)

He watched them down the street and in – noisily – through the front door. He saw the watching bluebottles getting out of their cars; gave them thirty seconds to radio for back-up, and then—

He wound down the window with his free hand. ‘
HELP!
' he yelled, feeling appallingly self-conscious about making so much noise. ‘Excuse me! Over here. Help!'

The bluebottles didn't seem to be taking any notice (understandable, of course; it takes a very special sort of policeman to be capable of walking and listening at the same time) so he stabbed the horn with his elbow and put his weight on it.

They heard that, all right. One of them broke away from the pack and sprinted over to the van.

‘Shut it, you,' he hissed. ‘We're trying to do a stakeout here.'

‘Yes,' David replied, ‘I know. It's me you're—'

‘I said shut it,' the policeman interrupted, grabbing David's arm and wrenching it away from the steering column. ‘Or I'll do you for obstruction.'

‘Yes, but I'm the—'

The policeman slapped the van door with the palm of his hand. ‘QUIET!'

‘Sorry,' David whispered. ‘Look, it's me you want. Really.'

‘Yeah, sure. Now piss off and play nicely, I'm busy.'

‘Really,' David pleaded. ‘And look, I'm handcuffed to the steering wheel. And there's a girl tied up in the back.'

The policeman shook his head. ‘Wrong department,' he said, ‘we're on a murder case here.'