The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag (32 page)

And
then they cheered and cheered. And as Billy Barnes stepped from the car they
cheered and cheered some more.

He
looked so right, did Billy. He fitted those clothes and that car. He suited
them and they suited him.

Billy
waved without conviction, allowed himself to be lifted into the papal chair (a
gift from the grateful Pope), and was carried by four liveried Nubians up the
twenty-three gentle steps to the marble plaza before the palace.

His
hand went gently wave, wave, wave. His thoughts were all his own.

Up on
the plaza, foreign ambassadors, heads of state, movie stars and neophytes bowed
respectfully. The papal chair descended, Billy rose and smiled and nodded all
around.

A
woman, naked but for shoes with six-inch heels, proffered an envelope on a
silver salver. Billy took the envelope, tore it open, unfolded a letter and
read it.

And
then a look of fury appeared on his face, and he pushed through the adoring
crowd and swept into the palace.

Naked
women stood in attendance. Billy offered them not even a glance as he marched
into his private office.

Rich
with regal trappings, golden bits and bobs and knickery-knackery: opulence
a-go-go.

A dark
young woman of unsurpassed beauty and no clothes whatever looked up from her
desk.

What of
this?’ Billy flung down the letter. ‘What of this? Tell me!’

The
dark young woman gaped at the letter. Her mouth opened and stayed open.

‘A
letter,’ said Billy. ‘Someone has sent me a letter. Printed. Words upon a page.
And I touched it. I didn’t think. I just took the envelope arid opened it and
touched the paper. If I hadn’t had my gloves on I might have become infected.’

What is
it?’ The young woman pointed. But didn’t touch. What does it say?’

‘It
says “GOTCHA!” And it’s signed “The Children of the Revolution”.’

‘The
Children of the Revolution? What revolution?’

‘What
revolution?’ Billy calmed himself. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you
would not know. But incredible as it might sound, there are some people left
upon this planet who do not love me.’

‘No,’
said the woman. ‘I don’t believe that.’

‘Well
there are. And they would like to assassinate me.’

The
woman shook her head. Fiercely. Again and again.

‘Stop
doing that.’

The
woman stopped.

‘I’ll
weed them out,’ said Billy. ‘I’ll find them and I’ll weed them out.’ He looked
the woman up and down. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’

The
woman nodded a swirl of dark hair.

You’d
like to please me, wouldn’t you?’

‘Oh
yes, sir, I would.’

Billy
unzipped his trousers. ‘Come pray to me, ‘he said.

You
dirty bastard!’

Billy
turned at the voice. A young man in military fatigues, an Uzi automatic in his
hands, stood glaring at him.

Billy
hastily refastened his flies. Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘Nobody,’
said the young man. ‘An absolute nobody.’

‘Then
get the fuck out of my palace.’

‘No
way.’ The young man shook his head. Your time is up, Barnes. The Children of
the Revolution demand your head on a salver. We demand the right to be free.
Free from your slavery.’

‘Bullshit!’
said Billy. ‘There’s no such thing as freedom. No-one is free.’

The
young man shook his head once more. You haven’t brainwashed everyone. There’s
still a few of us left. And you’re looking at the last face you’ll ever see. You’re
a dead man, Barnes.’ The young man raised his gun.

‘No,
wait!’ Billy raised his hands. ‘No. Let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can discuss
matters.’

‘What
is there to discuss? How you and Necrosoft turned the world’s people into
zombies? How millions have been downloaded into the Necronet, their bodies
disposed of, their records erased? How you’ve risen to power, climbed to the
top of the heap? A heap of human skulls.’

‘Emotive
talk.’ Billy fluttered his fingers, then thrust his hands into his trouser pockets.
‘I have done more to make this world a better place than any man before me in
history. See how people smile, how happy they are.’

You’re
a piece of shit, Barnes.’

The
young man squeezed upon his trigger.

Two
shots rang out.

The
young man clutched at the twin holes in his chest, fell bleeding to the floor,
and died.

Billy
pulled the smoking Derringer from his pocket and examined his punctured trouser
wear.

‘Look
at that,’ he said. ‘My favourite suit ruined. It’s a good job I have an
identical five in the wardrobe. Get someone to haul away this rubbish and swab
the floor. But not right this minute.’ And Billy set once more to unzipping his
fly.

You
dirty bastard, Barnes.’

What is
this, déjà vu?’ Billy turned again.

The
young man was on his feet. You can’t kill freedom,’ he said.

‘Oh,
please,’ said Billy. ‘Spare me the clichés. But how
did
you do that? I
thought I put two bullets in your chest.’

‘I’m
your Nemesis, Billy. You can’t kill me.’

‘I’m
prepared to give it a try.’ Billy’s hands were back in his pocket.

The
young revolutionary shot Billy’s left kneecap off.

Billy Barnes awoke with a
start.

In the
back of his limo with the crowd gathered quietly around.

The
chauffeur glanced at him in the driving mirror. ‘Are you all right, sir?’ she
asked. You look a little pale.’

‘Just a
dream,’ said Billy. ‘It was just a dream.’

Boastful Morgan

‘I’ve got mushrooms in my shed,’ said Boastful
Morgan,

‘That are easily the size of dustbin lids.

‘And I cook them in a huge enamel Saucepan.’

He told tales like that to all the local kids.

Morgan’s brain was full of shipwrecks,

And whalers with harpoons,

With their odd Samoan tattoos,

And their parrots and baboons.

Morgan’s ears were full of music,

And of soldiers marching by,

And the sounds of seagulls singing,

From their perches in the sky.

Morgan’s eyes were full of diamonds,

And the treasures of Peru,

With the gold of Montezuma,

And the Inca riches too.

Morgan’s mouth was full of stories,

Of the many lands he’d seen,

Of the fabled Cyclopeans,

And of Dublin in the green.

‘I’ve got spiders in my
loft,’
said Boastful
Morgan,

‘With legs as’ thick as any fellow’s arm,

‘I play to them upon my Hammond organ,

‘But I’m moving soon to live upon a farm.’

22

You can’t be rational about life.

DORIS LESSING

‘What happened there?’

You
fucked up,’ said Roger.

‘I
fucked up? What do you mean
I
fucked up?’

You
shot him in the kneecap, so he woke up.’

‘It was
your idea to shoot him in the kneecap, not mine.

‘Look,’
said Roger, ‘I did my stuff, right? I got into my girlfriend’s dream. My poor
fiancée’s dream, and I asked her what Barnes the bastard dreams about. And she
said that he’d told her he always dreams about his glorious palace that’s
staffed by naked women. She described it to me. I described it to you. He
dreamed it and you were waiting for him. It was a great plan.’

‘But it
didn’t work.’

‘Just
because it didn’t work doesn’t mean it wasn’t a great plan.’

‘But if
he’s going to wake up every time I shoot him, I’ll never be able to force him
to put me back in my body.’

‘There
are some small holes in this great plan,’ said Roger. We will just have to try
again.’

That very night Billy
Barnes dreamed once more about his palace. This time two revolutionaries threw
a sack over his head and belaboured him with stout sticks.

Billy
Barnes woke up with a start.

The
next night Billy had his palace dream again. On this occasion, one of his naked
female staff (who was really a revolutionary in a rubber skin suit) slipped a
narcotic into Billy’s champagne. Billy passed out and found himself dreaming
that he was in his palace where a revolutionary grabbed him and threw a sack
over his head and— Billy Barnes woke up with a start from both dreams.

On the third night Billy
Barnes did not dream about his palace.

‘I don’t
think he’s coming,’ said Roger. ‘Nor me,’ I said.

‘So
what shall we do?’

I cast
an eye over the naked female staff. Well…’

On the fourth night Roger
said, ‘The game’s up.’ What?’

‘You’ve
been rumbled.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve
just come from my fiancée’s latest dream. She says that Billy’s spent the last
two days going through computer files. He’s matched your face to the
revolutionary in his dreams. He knows who you are.’

‘He
should have recognized me straight away. He’s got my body in a suitcase under
his bed.’

‘Apparently
it’s not
that
recognizable,’ said Roger.

‘Oh my
God!’

‘But
you’re rumbled. And apparently he’s taking steps.’

‘What
steps?’

‘Quite
big ones, according to my fiancée. For one thing, he’s called on the services
of some old bloke to teach him lucid dreaming.’

‘Uncle
Brian,’ I said. ‘I’ll bet it’s my own Uncle Brian.’

‘I
finally off-loaded my consignment of right-handed rubber gloves onto a bloke
called Brian, you don’t suppose—’

‘I do.
But go on, you said, “For
one
thing…”‘

‘Oh
yeah. For another thing he’s going to delete your file. Erase you from the
Necronet.’

‘He’ll
have to catch me first.’

‘Apparently
not. It’s some new software development, linked to DNA. From the DNA in your
body they get what is called a “signature”. It’s quite unique, well DNA is, isn’t
it? They feed this signature into the mother computer and it will be able to
trace your whereabouts in the Necronet. And once they’ve located you, then zap,
they press the erase button.’

‘Shit!’
I said. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘Difficult
times for you,’ said Roger. Wish there was something I could do to help.’

‘Don’t
worry, I’ll find something.’

‘Look,’
said Roger. ‘I’m doing my best. I want this Barnes as much as you do. Oh, there
was one other thing my fiancée said.’

‘Go on.’

‘She
said that once you’ve been located, Billy Barnes is intending temporarily to
download himself, come in here and give you a serious kicking.’

‘Oh
bloody hell.’

‘Very
vindictive chap, Barnes. Very sadistic. Likes to take care of the serious
kicking side of business himself whenever possible.’

‘Shit!’

‘I
think you already said shit.’

‘Then
damn, too. I’m done for. What am I going to do?’

‘I don’t
know the answer to that. But there was one more thing. I hadn’t quite finished.’

‘There’s
more?’

‘Just a
wee bit more. After Necrosoft have located you and the downloaded Billy has
given you a serious kicking, they’re going to upload you back into your body
again.’

‘But
that’s what I want. That’s perfect.’

Roger
shook his head.

‘You’re
shaking your head,’ I said.

‘I am,
I’m afraid. My fiancée said that Billy intends to make “an example” of you.
Something along the lines of a public execution, William Wallace style.
Hanging, drawing, disembowelling—’

‘SHIT!’

‘Shirt,’ said Billy, and a
nameless woman helped him into it. She was nameless, she was naked, for that’s
the way Billy liked his staff to be. ‘It’s strange,’ he said to his chauffeur;
she was dressed, as Billy found her bruises unappealing in the morning. ‘It’s
strange the way things go. Some might say that my sins have returned to haunt
me. I would say that I merely have a bit of unfinished business elsewhere.’