The Most Amazing Man Who Ever Lived (7 page)

‘Good
question,’ said Jack. ‘Good question, mate.’

‘So
what’s the answer then?’

‘Search
me, I only work here.’

‘Well,
I’m not going to. This is all a complete waste of time. Who’s in charge? God?’

‘Not
here. The controller’s in charge here.’

‘And
what does he do?’

‘He
controls things,’ said Jack. ‘It was one of his ancestors who came up with the
idea. He’s a big fat fellow, the controller, we call him—’

Brought
up, as are all boys, upon Thomas the bloody Tank Engine, Norman was prepared to
hazard a guess.

‘We
call him
sir,’
said Jack. ‘But he won’t speak to you. He doesn’t speak
to anyone. I’ve been waiting for years to get a new pencil, but no joy. But God
will be at the back of it all. That’s where he always is. And I have just one
word to say to you about God.’

‘And
that is?’

‘Bollocks,’
said Jack.

‘Steady
on.’ Norman covered his ears. ‘He might be listening.’

‘He
won’t be. But when I say bollocks, I do mean bollocks literally. God built man
in his own image, right? The image God had originally created himself in. And
where did he put the bollocks, eh?’

‘I know
where he put the bollocks,’ said Norman bitterly. ‘And I never got a chance to
give mine a proper go.

‘He put
them on
the outside,
mate, that’s where. Now is that a bad piece of
design or what? Tenderest parts of the whole male anatomy, and does he give
them a shell, or tuck them up inside your pelvis? Does he heck. He sticks them
on the outside, dangling there, waiting for the knee in the groin, or the
football. Says it all to me, that does.’

‘Says
what to you?’

Jack
tapped the side of his head. ‘Not on the ball.’

‘Most
amusing,’ said Norman.

‘What
is?’

‘Never
mind. Not on the ball, you said.’

‘Flawed
genius. Came up with some great ideas, but let a few duff ones slip through the
net. Bollocks on the outside, nipples for men, toe jam, smelly armpits, really
smelly po—’

‘I get
the picture. You’re saying that he’s not quite as omnipotent as he’s cracked up
to be.’

‘You
got it, mate.’

‘Well,’
said Norman. ‘Now I’ve heard the lot. Hell’s closed down. Heaven’s full up. The
extension’s not finished. And a dirty great company’s been formed to
reincarnate souls that don’t really need reincarnating at all. And we can all
put it down to God because he put the bollocks on the outside.’

‘In a
nutshell, right. In a
nut-shell,
geddit? No shell for the nuts. That’s a
good’n, isn’t it?’

‘A real
blinder,’ said Norman. ‘Please show me the way out.’

‘There’s
no way out. Look, don’t knock it, mate. You’ve got yourself a full-time job,
you should be grateful.’

‘I
don’t know how many times I’m going to have to tell you this, but I don’t want
a full-time job. Especially not here.’

‘There’s
perks,’ said Jack.

‘What
perks?’

‘Priority,
when the extension’s complete. We get to be first in. For our worthy labours.
That’s what the controller says. And it’s going to be an amazing place, I’ve
seen the brochures. I’ve got one here. Somewhere. Soon as it’s finished, we’re
in.

‘How
soon will it be finished?’ Norman asked.

‘Soon,’
said Jack.

‘How
soon?’

‘Quite
soon.

‘How
soon?’

‘Couple
of thousand years,’ said Jack. ‘But the time will fly by. We’ve lots to do.
Lots of catching up.’

‘No,’
said Norman. ‘No, no, no. I’m not staying. I want to float about in space and
sunbathe and be cosmic. Where is the exit?’

‘You
can’t go. Not now you’ve been here. It’s a rule.’

‘Then
let me be reincarnated. I’ll take my chances. I won’t covet anything, just doss
about.’

‘Aw,
come on, Norman.’

‘What
happened to “mate”? Really got up my nose, “mate”!’

‘Stay
here, you’ll get to like it.’

‘I
won’t. Get out my file, do the paperwork. Send me back to Earth.’

‘Well,
if it’s what you really want, then I can’t stop you.’

‘Good,
then let’s be going.’

‘All
right. I’ve got a form somewhere. It’s a new scheme instituted by the
controller for people who don’t want to work here.’

‘That’s
me,’ said Norman. ‘I really don’t want to work here.’

‘I
think you get a choice.’

‘Brilliant,’
said Norman. ‘Then I’d like to be the lead singer in a really successful
heavy-metal band. Or a Hollywood actor, I don’t mind which.’

‘Oh,
it’s not really
that
kind of choice. You see, with all the backlog of
souls, the controller has extended reincarnation beyond the human species.’

‘Lion
then,’ said Norman, who was not going to be put off by
that.
‘Or
Leopard.’

‘Ah,’
said Jack. ‘Here’s the form. Take a look and tell me which one you fancy.’

Norman
snatched the form away and ran his eyes up and down it. The once. The twice.
And the third time. Then with a very dismal face indeed he looked up at Jack.

‘So
what do you fancy?’ asked that fellow. ‘Radish or sprout?’

6

‘Radish entrecôte and
boiled-sprout flambé,’ said Mr Justice Wilberforce. ‘Beef and broccoli. Choice
of cheeses. Roly-Poly pudding. Most palatable. Damn fine port too. And Brandy.
And that bally Vodka. Burn the arse out of Superman’s knickers that stuff. So
back to business. Are we present and correct.’

‘We
are, your Honour,’ said the clerk of the court.

‘And I
assume that we’ve done the “all rising” and such like, as we’re all sitting
down again now.’

‘I
presume so,’ the clerk agreed.

‘So, as
Freddie said, “The show must go on.” Mr D’hark please continue with
cross-examining your witness.’

‘Ah,’
Gwynplaine D’hark was dabbing his chin with a silk napkin. ‘I regret that the
young constable is no longer with us.’

‘That,
I suppose, would be some euphemism for
dead,
would it, Mr D’hark?’

‘Could
well mean that I suppose, your Honour.’

‘Didn’t
like the look of the fellow anyway. Shifty eyes.’

‘I
object, your Honour,’ said Cornelius Murphy.

‘Oh,
you’re still with us, then. That’s something, I suppose.’

Cornelius
was indeed still with them. Although his appearance since he had been led away
to the cells ‘for lunch’ had undergone a subtle change or two. He now had a fat
lip to go with the bruise over his eye. And his jacket lacked for both sleeves.
The policemen had undergone a subtle change or two also. One wore what the lads
in the boxing fraternity refer to as ‘a bloody great shiner’. The other had one
arm in a sling.

‘What
do you object about this time, Mr Murphy?’

‘That
the counsel for the prosecution has clearly feasted upon the blood of Constable
Loathsome and left him a dried-up little husk down in the basement.’

‘An
unsubstantiated allegation,’ said Gwynplaine D’hark, the D’hark Destroyer. ‘And
a clearly libellous one. I would ask his Honour to add that charge to the list
of crimes the defendant stands accused of.’

‘That’s
the way we do justice here,’ said the magistrate. ‘Let the court records show
that the defendant cried out to have another five years added on to whatever I
deem in my leniency to award him.’

‘Boo,
boo, boo,’ went the balcony.

‘I’ll
second that,’ said Cornelius. ‘This is a hung court.’

‘And
bloody well hung too,’ crowed his Honour.

Scoop
Molloy, who had brought a dictaphone back from lunch with him, switched it off
in disgust.

‘So,
who would you like to call next, Mr D’hark?’

‘Well,
if it please your Honour, I would like to skip over all the minor charges and
get right down to the
meat
of this case.’

‘I’ll
bet you would.’

‘Silence,
Mr Murphy, or I’ll hold you in contempt.’

‘The
crux of this case, your Honour, rests upon the defendant’s wealth and the
manner in which he acquired it. I would like to call to the stand The Crazy
World of Arthur Brown.’

‘The
Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Mr D’hark? Do you mean the nineteen sixties madcap
whacko rock anarchist, chiefly remembered for the only record anyone can
chiefly remember him for?’

“Fire”,
your Honour? Yes, that is indeed the man.

‘Well,
wheel him in, Mr D’hark, let’s have a look at the bod.’

‘I call
The Crazy World of Arthur Brown.’

‘Call
the Crazy World of Arthur Brown.’

‘Call
Theke Raziword or R. Ferbrown.’

‘Call
Pal E. Scumdiddly Kent leftovers.’

‘It
wasn’t funny the first time,’ said Scoop Molloy. ‘It’s never funny. Never was
funny. Never will be funny.’

‘You
are Pal E. Scumdiddly Kent leftovers?’ enquired Mr Gywnplaine D’hark.

‘I am
Mr Arthur Brown,’ said Mr Arthur Brown, ‘of the accountant’s firm, Brown,
Urquart, Montmorency, Harris and O’Leary Erickson.’

‘Which
forms an acronym I believe,’ said the magistrate.

‘I
believe so, your Honour,’ said Mr D’hark. ‘Apparently it gets a very cheap
laugh at dinner parties.’

‘And
why not?’

‘And
why not indeed, your Honour.’

‘Well,
we won’t wait for the laughter to die down, kindly cross-examine your witness,
Mr D’hark.’

‘Thank
you, your Honour.’ The Queen’s Counsel from beyond the grave addressed the
fellow in the witness box. A well-dressed, middle-aged city gent of a fellow. With
a briefcase. ‘Now, Mr Brown—’

‘I
object, your Honour,’ said Cornelius. ‘The witness hasn’t taken the oath.’

‘Stuff
the oath, this is dragging on far too long. Mr D’hark, your witness please.’

‘As
your Honour pleases.’

‘Greasy,’
said Cornelius. ‘Very greasy.

‘Mr
Brown,’ said Mr D’hark, ‘your firm, I believe, deals mainly with large-scale
fraud, and income-tax evasion?’

‘This
is the case, yes.’ Very polite voice.

‘And
you have acquired a bona fide account of the defendant’s current assets, am I
correct?’

‘I
have, yes.’ The smart man withdrew a slip of paper from his briefcase and
passed it to Mr D’hark.

‘Exhibit
A,’ said the Queen’s Counsel. ‘Might I show this to the defendant, your
Honour?’

‘Please
do, Mr D’hark.’

‘So
kind, so very kind.’

‘So
greasy, so very greasy.

‘That’s
quite enough of that, Mr Murphy.’

‘Pardon
me, your Honour.’ Cornelius accepted the slip of paper and gave it a brief
perusal.

‘Mr
Murphy,’ said the QC with the evil grin, ‘would you consider this statement of
your current assets to be a fair estimate regarding the extent of your wealth?’

Cornelius
gave the slip of paper a less brief perusal than before. ‘It looks about right,
to within a million or two.’

‘Would
you care to read out the sum in question?’

‘Well,
it says here twenty-thee million pounds.’

‘Oooooh,’
went the balcony, who had not said a thing since lunch.

‘I’ve
given a lot of it away,’ said Cornelius. ‘But it keeps mounting up. I’ll give
some more away tomorrow, if you want.’

‘I’m
sure that you will, Mr Murphy. But where did it all come from? That’s what I
want to know. We have no records to show that you have ever taken any regular
employment.’

‘I’m
self-employed,’ said Cornelius. ‘Self-employed as what, exactly?’

‘I’m an
adventurer,’ said the tall boy proudly. ‘And what kind of adventurer are you?’

‘An
epic one. Most definitely.’

‘Hoorah,’
went the crowd in the balcony.

‘I’ll
have the courtroom cleared if that rabble don’t put a sock in it.’

‘Murmur,
murmur,’ went the crowd in the balcony. Quite quietly. ‘An epic adventurer?’ Mr
D’hark did more lapel preening. ‘And where exactly do these epic adventures of
yours take you to?’

‘I’d
prefer not to say, actually.’

‘Oh,
don’t be coy, Mr Murphy. You left school six months ago without a job, there is
no record that you have ever had a job, and here you are before us now worth
twenty-thee million pounds. This is no small achievement. Won’t you share with
us the secret of your success?’