Necrophenia (27 page)

So I was Public Enemy Number One.

Which rather spoiled my afternoon.

Not that I’d been having the best afternoon of my life, you understand, what with discovering that one in every three New Yorkers was a walking corpse. But, looking on the bright side, I was up out of my hospital bed and I was in a bar, having the first beers I’d had in ten years.

And my those beers tasted good.

But Public Enemy Number One? On the front page of the newspaper? That wasn’t funny. That wasn’t fair. That was downright spiteful.

Fangio cast eyes across the newspaper and whistled the whistle of surprise. ‘Psycho-terrorist?’ said he. ‘I wonder if there’s a reward.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ I told him. ‘And bring me another beer.’

‘You won’t go blowing the place up when my back is turned?’

I gave Fange that certain look and he fetched further beer.

‘This is a fine kettle of fish,’ I said, upon his return. ‘A right how-do-you-do and a rare turn-up-for-the-book.’

‘Are we talking the toot now?’ asked Fangio. ‘Because you are getting me confused.’

‘I’m upset,’ I said. ‘And I’m angry. A wanted man? That is going to make things rather difficult for me, isn’t it?’

‘These things happen,’ said the barlord. ‘The secret is not to let them get you down. I’ve recently joined a travel club. That takes my mind off my problems.’

‘A travel club. But you never travel anywhere, except to the toilet.’

‘Ah,’ said Fangio. ‘But that is one of the beauties of the present age. I don’t have to travel. I can employ other people to do it for me.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense at all,’ I told him, in no uncertain tones.

‘Ah, but it does.’ And Fangio rested his elegantly wasted elbows upon the bar counter. ‘I pay for someone to travel to exotic lands and in return they send me postcards telling me all about it and thanking me for being so wonderful as to finance their journeys for them. So it satisfies on so many levels, really.’

‘It’s nonsense,’ I said. ‘And anyway, where would you get the money to finance them from?’

‘Out of your insurance pay-off…’ said Fangio. And then his voice trailed off.

‘My what?’ I said.

‘Curious thing,’ said Fange. ‘And I would have told you about it. I just forgot, with all the excitement of you being up and about and everything.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Well, there’s a chance that I might have mentioned it,’ said Fange. ‘There’s always a chance.’

‘I’ll just bet there is. But not now. Tell me all about this insurance pay-off.’

‘Well,’ said Fange, and he did that grin that roadkill does to perfection. The rictus grin, it is called. ‘Well, when you were struck down by that car. Curious thing. A fellow standing in the doorway of this bar, beside me – because I followed you out, you see, when you went a bit weird and just walked out – this fellow saw the crash and said, “What a coincidence, I happen to represent the insurance company that covers that old woman in the Ford Sierra. And we’re having a special offer this week and there’s a half a million pay-out to whoever she runs down.” ’

‘What?’ I said. ‘That is rather unlikely.’

‘Well, be that as it may. He asked whether I knew you. And I said, for the sake of convenience, that I was your only brother. And your only living relative.’

‘For the sake of convenience?’

‘I like to call it that, yes.’

‘Go on,’ I said. And I sighed.

‘He made out the cheque on the spot. What a happy happenstance, eh?’

‘What a far-fetched load of old cobblers.’

‘Would you like to see my bank statement?’

‘Very much indeed.’

And so Fangio showed me his bank statement. And wouldn’t you just know it-

‘Golly!’ I said.

‘Where? ’ said Fangio.

‘But there’s only a quarter of a million dollars in this account.’

‘I’ve had expenses.’

‘Such as paying people to go on holiday for you.’

‘Well, actually, no,’ and Fangio shook his head. ‘I was just about to finish organising that this very afternoon but I got all distracted by you walking in.’

‘So many distractions,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how you cope.’

‘Oh, I think it’s being so cheerful that keeps me going.’

‘Right,’ I said. In the way that I always said, ‘Right.’

‘So I’m glad that’s all sorted out.’ And Fangio turned his attention once more to the newspaper. ‘There is mention here of a reward,’ he observed.

‘Travel club,’ I said, thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, Fangio, would you still care to invest in someone going on holiday for you?’

‘Oh yes, I certainly would. I was getting rather excited about the whole thing. The travel. The digging up. The discovery. The glory.’

‘The what?’ I asked.

‘I was thinking of financing an expedition,’ said Fangio. ‘I thought it would be more exciting than just a plain old holiday.’

‘An expedition?’ I said.

‘An archaeological expedition. To seek the Lost City of Begrem.’

The dark sun went behind a cloud and a dog howled in the distance.

‘Don’t you just hate it when that happens?’ Fangio asked.

‘Right,’ I said once more. ‘And so, and I have to ask you this, have you had anyone volunteer to go on this expedition for you?’

‘No, like I said, I was hoping it would get organised this afternoon – I put an ad in Freeloader Today magazine (incorporating Australian Backpacker Today magazine and Off-to-Kathmandu-to-Get-My-Head-Together Today magazine) and applicants were supposed to turn up here by-’ And Fangio checked his watch.

‘Isn’t that my watch?’ I asked him.

‘Hard to be sure, what with all the excitement and everything. But-’ and he checked this watch once more ‘-they should have been here by now. So no takers, I suppose.’

I sighed deeply and drew some more on the neck of my bottle of beer. Fate can play strange tricks, can’t it? And if I didn’t know better, and know, as I did know, that God did not intervene in the ways of men except by tampering with the weather, I might well have come to the conclusion that this opportune coincidence was the work of Divine Providence.

‘Oh well,’ said Fange. ‘You can’t win them all. I’ll go back to my original plan and advertise for someone to take their family to Butlins in Bognor, England.’

‘Not so fast,’ I said to Fangio.

‘Oh, it wouldn’t be that fast. I’d want to spend some time composing the words of the ad very carefully. I don’t want to blow it a second time, do I?’

And I shook my head and sighed a bit more.

‘That’s very plaintive sighing, Laz,’ said Fangio. And I rather liked it that he called me Laz. ‘You want to cheer yourself up. Get away from things. Escape from your troubles. My God!’ And Fangio brought his right fist down into his left palm. ‘I’ve just had an idea. You will never believe what has just occurred to me.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll just bet that I won’t.’

‘How much?’

‘Don’t start. I’m not in the mood right now.’

‘But it’s the solution to your present worries. It was there staring me in the face all the time and I never even saw it.’

‘Go on,’ I said, in as tolerant a tone as I could muster up. ‘Surprise me.’

‘This holiday business,’ said Fangio.

‘Yes? Go on.’

‘Oh come on,’ said Fange. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’ I asked. For I was, at least, enjoying this old toot.

‘Well, you need to get away from it all. And I have the wherewithal-’

‘Yes?’

‘So why don’t I go on holiday and you can stay here and mind the bar for me?’

And I never hit him. Not at all. Because I wasn’t up to hitting. And because he was a friend. But I did explain things slowly and clearly.

‘Oh,’ said Fangio. ‘I see. So I finance you to seek the Lost City of Begrem. That’s a bit of a left-fielder. I would never have thought of anything as radical as that.’

‘Given time you might,’ I said, kindly.

‘I think you’re only being kind,’ said Fangio.

And I agreed that this was probably the case.

‘You haven’t, perhaps, purchased any tickets?’ I asked.

‘To The Sumerian Royalty reunion? No.’

‘To Begrem?’ I suggested.

‘Ah, no,’ said Fangio, ‘because no one knows where it is. It is a lost city. And you have to find a lost city.’

‘I know where it is,’ I said.

‘I would like to express considerable surprise at that statement,’ said Fangio, ‘but I regret that I can’t, as I have to go and serve another customer. I should have done it earlier, really, to punctuate our conversation in a better place. Sorry.’ And Fangio wandered off to serve a customer.

Which gave me a moment to do some thinking.

And I pulled out that scrunched-up piece of paper.

The piece of paper that Major Lynch had left upon my bedside table.

And I unfolded it carefully and spread it out upon the bar counter.

It was really a bit of a mess, all tea-stained and beer-stained and otherwise stained in a manner that it was not perhaps decent to speak of openly. But stained it was, nonetheless.

I viewed this stained and crumpled piece of paper. It was a map, this was clear. But that it was a map was all that was clear.

It was all just lines, interlocking, with little dots spread here and there along them. And one big dot surmounted with a cross and the words Begrem, it is here. But as to spot-heights, benchmarks, Cartesian coordinates, coincident line features, demographic data, grid references or link-node topology, or indeed any number of other wonderful things that you find when you check the Ordinance Survey Database, there was nothing that could even place the map as being part of any particular country. No go.

And then the shatter-glass door opened. And wouldn’t you just know it, although I hate like damn to have to use that phrase again, but wouldn’t you just know it, in walked two of New York’s Finest. Big guns and nightsticks and all. And I sank low over my little map and kept my eyes averted.

And Fangio smiled towards his newly arrived clientele, bid them the big hello and served them the beverages of their choice without of course asking for payment, because these were policemen after all. And he directed them to a cosy corner booth where they could drink undisturbed and then he returned to me.

‘Fancy that,’ he said. ‘Two policemen coming in here.’

‘I don’t fancy it at all,’ I said. ‘Thanks for tucking them out of the way. I think I might have to take my leave quite soon.’

‘So do you want to settle up before you go?’

‘Fangio,’ I said to Fangio, ‘you have tricked me out of the bar that I tricked you out of and half a million dollars. And you still think I should pay for these beers?’

‘You’d think I’d know better, wouldn’t you?’ said Fange. ‘But I don’t.’

And I sighed once again. But took unto myself a solemn vow that it would be the very last time I sighed today. I mean, it’s all so depressing, sighing, isn’t it? And although I did have good, sound reasons for being very depressed, there were also now reasons to be optimistic. If Fangio financed my expedition to find Begrem. And I did find Begrem. And in Begrem there was some secret something that would enable me to defeat and destroy the Homunculus. Then that would be a result, wouldn’t it?

Yes, it would, I told myself. It would. It would. It would.

‘What I am going to do,’ I said to Fangio, ‘is let you finance me to form a one-man expedition to find the Lost City of Begrem. That is what is going to happen. What do you think of that?’

Fangio did shakings of his head.

‘You are shaking your head,’ I informed him.

‘Because I’m bored with Begrem,’ said Fangio. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever going to find it, so I’m not financing that expedition any more. Would you care for two two-weeker tickets to Butlins?’

And, well, yes, I did hit him this time. But not that hard. It would have been harder, it would have been much harder, had I been able to muster up the strength. So he got off quite lightly, did Fangio.

‘Most unsporting,’ said he.

‘Begrem,’ I said. ‘You will finance my expedition to Begrem. Right now and right out of the cash register.’

‘Well, I suppose I do have the money in the cash register that I put aside to finance the expedition. There’s fifty big ones in that register.’

‘Fifty thousand dollars?’

‘It’s been a slow week.’

And I almost sighed again, but didn’t.

Instead I said, ‘Give me the money.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer Butlins?’

‘Begrem!’ I said. ‘Now!’ I said also.

‘And you will send me postcards?’

‘Every single day, I promise.’

‘Splendid,’ said Fangio. ‘And you’ll probably need this. I have been keeping it for you.’ And he brought up, from beneath the counter, my trusty Smith & Wesson. ‘Had it serviced for you and everything,’ he said. ‘Just in case you did make it back from the hospital.’

‘You are a saint,’ I told Fange. And I smiled. And I pointed the trusty S & W at him and said, ‘Give me the contents of your cash register. ’

And Fangio humorously raised his hands. And said, ‘Don’t shoot, Mr Burglar.’

Which is where, perhaps, things went so seriously wrong. When it looked as if they were just about to go so right.

I think it was the New York cop getting up to purchase another drink. And seeing me with the gun, demanding money, and Fangio with his hands raised and everything.

And the fact that the cop then shouted, ‘It’s that psycho-terrorist guy. Shoot to kill!’ As he and his chum drew their guns.

You have to be sprightly when bullets start to fly.

You have to know how to take cover.

You notice that I say you have to know, rather than you have to learn. The thing is, if you don’t instinctively know, then you will get shot and you won’t have an opportunity to learn.

I leaped over the bar post-haste, over that bar counter and straight down to the other side, taking my treasure map with me. To join Fangio, I might add, who was evidently skilled in knowing how to take cover, for he was already on his hands and knees in the foetal position.

The cops opened fire and shot up all the liquor bottles on the glass shelves behind Fangio’s bar counter. Why? Well, they had their guns drawn and they were clearly prepared to use them. On anything.

A friend of mine from my teenage years, who was once in the TA, told me that the only soldiers who are really any good to the army are the psychopathic ones. They’ve joined the army to shoot guns at people. Most people who join the army never really think about the shooting people side of it, and when they find themselves in a combat situation they will spend a lot of time instinctively taking cover. Whereas that one solider in every hundred who is psychotic will be blasting away at the enemy and chalking up kills. My friend who was once in the TA also told me that war consists of two things: boredom and fear. Waiting and waiting for something to happen and then being terrified when it does.

This friend, who was neither psychotic nor a fan of being afraid, left the TA as quickly as he was able and took work with the council in Cardiff. And I was caused to think of him when I took the dive for cover because I didn’t really want to shoot a policeman, but neither did I want to have one shoot me.

‘There is a back door,’ shouted Fangio, close by my ear. ‘Perhaps if you left by it, those cops might stop shooting my bar to pieces.’

And further shots crackled overhead. And bottles of Bud now went to ruination. ‘Please take all the money with you,’ said Fangio.

‘I was intending to, yes.’

‘Oh good. Because then I can claim it back from my robbery-cover insurance.’

‘Financially speaking, you have acquired certain wisdom over the years,’ I told him as I crawled in the direction of the cash register.

The clientele had taken to fleeing and above and between the bursts of gunfire I could hear one of the cops calling for backup. The words ‘bring everything you have’ stick in my memory. And also ‘the SWAT Team psychos’.

I made a leap for the cash register and I brought it down to the floor and I emptied it. And I filled my pockets with these emptyings. Especially the inside pockets of my trench coat, as they were big ‘poacher’s pockets’ with plenty of room for loot. Not that this was loot. It wasn’t. It was my money, for God’s sake!

And I was not leaving this bar without my money.

‘How would you feel about me using you as a human shield while I back out of the rear door?’ I asked Fangio.

And there was a moment of silence. And the dark sun went once more behind a cloud. And another dog howled in the distance.

‘I’m glad those howling dogs never come any closer,’ shouted Fangio to me as the police gunfire resumed, ‘because I’m sure they must be very big and fierce. But in answer to your question, I’m not particularly keen.’

‘I could force you,’ I shouted into his earhole. ‘I do have a gun.’ And I flourished this at Fange.

‘It doesn’t have any bullets in it, though.’

‘What?’

‘I forgot to put them in.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘But if I hold it to your head, how are you going to know that?’

‘Good point.’

But I decided against it. I didn’t want Fangio to get hurt. When it came right down to it, he was probably the only friend I had, and I didn’t want to be responsible for something horrible happening to him.

Because, let’s face it, there was a rare, outside chance that I might best the Homunculus and return one day to this bar to claim my share of all the money Fangio had managed to snaffle away.

All right, it was a rare and outside chance, but I had to stay positive. Even if, as now, I was being shot at.

‘Farewell, Fangio,’ I said. ‘I hope we will meet again in more favourable circumstances. You have been a good friend to me. Give us a shake of the hand.’

Fangio stuck out his hand for a shake. ‘I’m just thinking,’ said he, ‘that if I were to disarm you and make a citizen’s arrest, I would be considered a bit of a hero. And I’d get the reward. I don’t suppose you’d let me bop you on the head?’

‘Goodbye, Fangio,’ I said to him.

‘Goodbye, Laz,’ said Fange.

I think the police backup must have arrived because there was suddenly a whole lot more gunfire and from lots of different directions. And I make no bones about it, it frightened six bells of Shadoogie out of me. I was really scared. And I crawled along behind the bar counter and edged through the rear door, passed into the unspeakable kitchen, of which there has been no former description and of which there will be none now, and slipped out of the rear doorway and into the alleyway beyond.

The alleyway where Lazlo Woodbine used to get into sticky situations.

That alleyway made me feel almost nostalgic. Almost. I crept along that alleyway, moving from the cover of one trashcan to another, and mostly beneath those cast-iron fire escapes with the retractable bottom sections. I paused, briefly, to check whether I was being followed. And savoured the atmospheric ambient sounds of a solitary saxophone.

And then, when I was almost at the end of the alleyway, a police car swerved to a halt right before me and cops piled out, all carrying guns, and I was forced to run.

And my, can’t you run fast when cops are shooting at you!

And me, not being particularly physically fit and, in truth, a wee bit tiddly from the bottles of Bud – although this was all rather sobering – even so, I did run fast, I can tell you. And I did dodgings, too. And police bullets ricocheted off trashcans and cast-iron fire escapes. And a bum who camped in that alleyway, and whom fate had not perhaps treated as fairly as it might, copped a round or two to the head, which was tough, but such is life.

And I ran. Right down that alleyway and out of the other end. And yes, there were more police cars. And I really had to get a burst of extra speed on to try to lose myself amidst the New York traffic and all the comings and goings.

And presently I found myself in Times Square, breathing very heavily, but at least breathing. And I took deep breaths to steady myself and steadied myself. And then I looked up at that big television jobbie that Times Square is so famous for. As opposed to the Pepsi Cola sign that Piccadilly Circus is so famous for.

And yes. Wouldn’t you just know it-

There was my face right up there on that screen.

Interspersed with shots of Fangio’s Bar.

And I sighed. Once more, I confess it. And I turned up the collar of my trench coat and pulled down the brim of my snap-brimmed fedora, which all but fell off because it was so mouldy. And I trudged along amidst the crowd, keeping my head hung low and feeling not altogether the jolliest fellow around.

And I found a Donut Diner and I slipped into it. And with my head bowed, I ordered a donut and coffee. And after some considerable time negotiating exactly which type of donut, and which variety of coffee would ‘truly fit my personality’, which caused me to wish that there were bullets inside my gun, I paid an outrageous sum for something-or-other to eat and something-or-other to drink and retired with these to a quiet corner table.

And of course there was a television set in that Donut Diner.

And yes, of course it was tuned to a news station that was broadcasting pictures of my face. But I kept my head down and feigned interest in my donut and coffee. Whilst trying to formulate a plan.

I would have to get out of New York as quickly as possible. This was a given. And seek Begrem? Yes, I had the financial means and the aching need. But not the knowledge of where to seek it. Sumeria would probably be a good starting point. But I did not have a passport. And even if I’d had a passport, it was odds-on that this passport would lead to my arrest at the airport. Difficult times.

And I sat with my head way down low and glowered at my donut.

I was all messed up here, I knew it, the whole thing was hopeless, I was done for. I had no intention of giving myself up, so all I could do was run. Far away from here. Get to Begrem. How? All I could do for now was try to escape to somewhere safe. But where? And how? I knew not.

And sighing and glowering, I diddled with my donut.

‘Difficult times for you, Tyler.’

‘Difficult times indeed,’ I agreed.

‘Difficult, difficult times.’

‘Yes, I know they’re difficult.’ And then I looked up. Because I wasn’t having this conversation with myself. Someone else was speaking to me. Although not speaking. I could hear them thinking.

‘That will prove a most valuable asset.’

And I looked all round and about.

And there he was, sitting beside the counter, eating some kind of something that was probably a donut. And he was grinning at me. And I rose to greet him, but he beckoned me to stay. And so I sat still and he joined me at my table.

Mr Ishmael.

‘You don’t look quite as well as you might,’ he said. And I saw that he said it because I saw his mouth open up. And I saw too that he hadn’t changed much. He looked very well. ‘It is good that we meet again,’ he said. ‘Very good.’

I gazed at Mr Ishmael and I hated him.

‘Harsh thoughts,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘I have always had your interests at heart.’

‘You are a liar,’ I said. ‘You have always had your own motives at your own heart. I have been nothing more than a pawn in your game.’

‘You are a great deal more than that, young Tyler.’

‘Young?’ I said. And I laughed a hollow laugh. ‘You have stolen away my life. Look at me – I am old and wrecked. What life have I had?’

‘You have yet to have your finest hour.’

‘I hate you, Mr Ishmael,’ I said. ‘And if I had bullets in my gun, I would surely shoot you.’

‘Oh dear, very harsh words.’

‘It is because of you that I am a wanted man. The Homunculus will surely have me killed. I hold you responsible for this. And if there is any kind of an afterlife, be assured that I will return to haunt you.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘This is not the merry reunion I was hoping it might be.’

‘Leave me alone,’ I said. ‘Go away and leave me alone.’

‘But I can help you, Tyler. That’s why I’m here, to help you. I have kept a careful eye on you all these years. You have been under my protection.’

‘Yeah, right,’ I said.

‘I watched you leave the hospital, I followed you to Fangio’s Bar, I followed you here.’

‘Only so you could get me into even more trouble.’

‘I don’t think it would be possible for you to get into even more trouble than you are in now.’

‘Then take satisfaction in what you have achieved.’

‘It is not me who will achieve our goal, but you. Everything that has happened to you so far has all been a part of what is to come. A preparation for what you must do. And you are prepared now. You are ready. You have all the skills. All the abilities. You are the weapon of our deliverance. You are the Bedrock of our Salvation.’

‘Oh, yeah, right. I spent twenty years of my life as a puppet for Papa Crossbar, then another ten in a hospital bed. I have been robbed of my life and it is all your fault. And I would so love to kill you. And as I have no bullets, I think I’ll just bludgeon you to death with the gun.’

‘So much anger,’ said Mr Ishmael. Without moving his mouth. ‘And justified, too. But you are directing your anger in the wrong direction. You know you are special, Tyler. You don’t know why, because no one has told you. Major Lynch didn’t tell you, did he? But he almost did, he almost let it slip. I disciplined him for that.’

‘Who are you?’ I asked. ‘What are you?’

‘You do know who I am. You just haven’t given it sufficient thought. But I am not the issue, Tyler, you are the issue. You are the future. You must succeed.’

‘Bend your head down,’ I said, ‘and I’ll welt it with my gun.’

And Mr Ishmael sighed.

‘I hold the present franchise on sighing,’ I told him. ‘You are infringing my copyright.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then. You clearly do not want my help.’

‘No, I don’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t want anything more to do with you at all.’

‘I’m sure I could help you with something.’

‘And I am sure you cannot. Please leave me alone now. And never again come into my life.’

‘I ought to give you something. If we are never to meet again.’

‘You have nothing I want,’ I told Mr Ishmael. ‘I hope that you live an unhappy life from now on and die painfully.’

‘Sadly, that is what will happen. But I will give you something, Tyler. Something you need.’

I said nothing more. For I had tired of this.

‘The map,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘The treasure map showing the location of the Lost City of Begrem.’

‘You want it?’ I said. ‘Because you can’t have it. Tell you what, I think I’m up to it now, up to taking you on. You scared me before. You had power that scared me. But I’m not scared any more. Tell you what – I’ll put the map on the table and the one who remains alive can walk out of the door with it. Come on, what do you say?’

And I even surprised myself with that little speech. But I was oh so very angry.

‘I don’t want it,’ said Mr Ishmael. And he raised his hands. ‘That map is for you. It has always been for you. I don’t want to take it. I want to tell you what it represents. Where the lost city is. Exactly where.’

‘And you know that?’

‘Of course.’

‘So where is it?’

And Mr Ishmael looked at me and I looked at Mr Ishmael. And it was really hard looking that we did. One upon another. And Mr Ishmael smiled. But I did not. And Mr Ishmael said, ‘We will never meet again, Tyler. This is my final gift to you. Use it well.’

And I said, ‘gift?’ and got even angrier.

And Mr Ishmael said, ‘That map is of the New York underground railway system, Tyler. The City of Begrem is here. Right here. Beneath your feet.’ And he pointed downwards and smiled. ‘Where “X” marks the spot, that is the entrance.’