Web Site Story (21 page)

'So let's hope that doesn't happen, eh?' said Old Pete brightly. 'Let's all enjoy this unexpected largesse.'

'Good idea,' said Derek.

'Isn't it,' said Old Pete. 'So I expect that you, like me and everybody else in the borough, will be cashing in your share certificate on Monday and pocketing the moolah, before getting on with the tarring and feathering. Not to mention the snippings-off of wedding tackle.' Old Pete made some snippings with his old and wrinkled fingers.

'I think I
will
drink elsewhere,' said Derek, rapidly taking his leave.

Derek ambled through the busy streets of Brentford. And they
were
busy. Lots of whistling workers. And lots of happy shoppers (but no little chefs). The borough had definitely perked up. People weren't hiding in their homes any more, awaiting The Rapture. They were out and about, sunhats and summer frocks, old straw hats and Hawaiian shirts. Everybody looked very jolly indeed. 'Perhaps it
is
all for the best,' Derek told himself. 'Perhaps they'll all get to like it and enjoy the money and
not
tar and feather anyone. And…' And Derek patted his jacket pocket. 'I've just made another ten thousand pounds.'

A certain skip came into Derek's step. But it was accompanied by a certain amount of head-clutching also.

The used-car showrooms of Leo Felix lurked on-the banks of the Grand Union Canal, close to the weir, but closer to the road bridge that led from the High Street into the neighbouring town of Isleworth, that nobody in Brentford knew anything about.

The used-car showrooms of Leo Felix were colourful showrooms, painted in red, gold and green and elegantly decorated with five-foot-high cannabis-leaf motifs. It is believed that Leo oversaw all the decorating himself and never called in a designer, who had once been very popular on the tele.

There were a number of automobiles outside. These were not new automobiles. Nor apparently were they second-hand automobiles. These were, so the brightly coloured cards upon their windscreens informed potential purchasers, 'previously owned vehicles'.

Their prices seemed unreasonably reasonable.

Derek, still with some skips in his step, some-skipped down the incline from the side of the bridge and entered Leo's forecourt.

'Yo, Babylon,' called the ancient son of Zion. 'Come inside off of me forecourt, yo spolin' de look of de place wid yo stubbly face and yo big red bloodclart eyes.'

Derek waved towards Leo, who was lounging in the shadowed doorway. 'Morning Leo,' he said.

'Come on in den, come on in.'

Derek came on in.

It was rather dark in Leo's showroom. Two previously owned cars stood glinting vaguely. Both were Morris Minors.

'Oh good,' said Derek, sighting them. 'You have two already. Only forty-eight to go, then.'

'Babylon,' said Leo, looming at Derek. 'Babylon, yo not bin altogether honest wid I an' I.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Derek.

'Folk museum, Babylon. Dat what I an' I talkin' about.'

'How's it all coming along?' asked Derek, feigning bright and breeziness. 'Any luck with those crad barges?'

Leo held a rolled copy of the
Brentford Mercury
in his hand. He unrolled it slowly and showed it to Derek. 'Babylon try to get one over on Ganga Man,' said he. 'Babylon care to see if he can outrun me Rottweilers?' Leo called out to his dogs. 'Marcus,' he called, 'Marley, Yellowman.' Three big Rottweilers came a-bounding out of the darkness and took to licking Leo's hands.

'Now hold on a minute,' said Derek. 'We had a deal.'

'For de folk museum?' said Leo. 'Or was dat for de multi-million-dollar Mute Corp company?'

'I'm only doing myjob,' said Derek. And as the words came out of his mouth, he really hated himself.

'Dis ain't personal, Babylon,' said Leo. 'Well, actually it is. De white man bin shafting de black man since forever. Dis town here, dis Brentford, I never have no trouble here. People treat me like one of their own and I treat them like one of me own. Respect, Babylon. Do you understand that? Respect? No I don't tink dat you do.'

'I do,' said Derek. 'I do.'

'I an' I tell you what,' said Leo. 'You an' I an' I have a deal. We smack hands together. So I an' I be fair with you. I an' I get you everyting you want by tomorrow, how's dat?'

'Dat's, I mean
that's
perfect,' said Derek. 'I couldn't ask for anything more than that.'

'Good,' said Leo. 'Dat's my half of the deal. Now all you have to do is two little tings.'

'Go on,' said Derek.

'Give me all the money in your pockets,' said Leo.

'Oh,' said Derek.

'Dat's one,' said Leo, stroking the neck of Marcus.

'Now, come on,' said Derek.

'Dat's one,' said Leo. 'You show no respect. Hand it over, Babylon.' Marcus growled and so did Marley and Yellowman.

Derek dug deep into his pocket and brought out all the money.

'I tink dat's mine, ain't it?' said Leo.

Derek hung his head once more. 'It is,' said he.

Leo took the money and pressed it into the colourful trouser pocket of his colourful trousers. 'Yo get all de stuff you order,' he said. 'I an' I keep my side of the deal. I an' I show respect.'

'Thank you,' said Derek. 'And I'm sorry. All that cash. The temptation was too much.'

'I an' I understand,' said Leo. 'Business is done.'

'Thanks again,' said Derek, turning to leave.

'I an' I said dere's two tings,' said Leo.

'Oh yes,' said Derek. 'What was the second thing?'

'Yo got ten seconds' start, Babylon,' said Leo. 'Den I release me dogs.'

It's remarkable just how fast you can run at times. Even with a hangover. Derek ran like the rabbit of proverb. And if there wasn't a rabbit of proverb, Derek ran like the hare. He ran and he ran. Away from Leo's showrooms. Out of Leo's forecourt and up Brentford High Street. Derek ran all the way back to the offices of the
Brentford Mercury.

And it's a fair old run, especially with a hangover.

Once inside, Derek slammed shut the outer door and leant upon it, breathing horribly.

But no bowlings or hayings of dreadful hounds •were to be heard from without.

But had Derek had the hearing of Superman, he might have been able to hear the laughter.

The laughter of Leo, back in his showrooms.

Where he still patted his dogs.

Derek took his liquid breakfast, which was now a liquid lunch, in the Shrunken Head. He didn't play the Space Invaders machine though, he just swigged at Scotch.

He
was
doomed, he just knew it. He was done for. The best thing he could do was shape up and ship out. Quit the borough, do a runner, before the excrement hit the rotating blades of the air-cooling apparatus. They'd kill him. The locals would string him up. Mute Corp had no idea what they were dealing with here. This wasn't like other places. This was Brentford.

Derek swigged further Scotch.

'I'm unhappy,' he said to no-one but himself. 'I'm a loser. A total prat. That's what Kelly thinks I am. And I am. I really am. I've fouled up every which way. Oh God, I don't know what to do.'

Derek did even further swiggings and returned once more to the bar counter. 'Same again,' he said.

The barman was reading the
Brentford Mercury.
The celebrations going on at the Swan did not seem to have extended themselves to the Shrunken Head. Different kind of clientele, perhaps. Or some other reason. Derek didn't really care.

'This is all a hoot, isn't it?' said the barman, pointing at the paper. 'This should bring a bit of trade to this establishment.'

'You think it's a good thing then?' asked Derek hopefully.

'God, yes,' said the barman. 'I'm hoping to persuade the residents' committee to give it a week before they start the tarring and feathering. But I'll probably be on my own for that one. I've heard that the lads at the Flying Swan are planning a charabanc trip to the West End.'

'Really?' said Derek. 'Why?'

'I think they're planning to blow up the Mute Corp headquarters. A people's protest, that kind of thing. From what I heard, it seems that the locals are getting well fed up with always having to fight on home territory. So this time they've decided to carry the war directly to the camp of the aggressor. It's a bit revolutionary, but after all, these are the twenty-twenties.'

'The Mute Corp headquarters?' Derek's face fell terribly. 'They can't do that, can they?'

'I'll bet you they can,' said the barman. 'Old Vic's leading the war party. He used to be a POW, you know. He knows all about blowing things up. He told me that he once blew up a Nazi watchtower at his camp, using an explosive formulated exclusively from his own bodily fluids. You wouldn't think that was possible, would you? Although I would, I've heard the old blighter fart.'

'Oh no,' said Derek. 'Oh no, oh no, oh no.'

'I don't know what you're "oh no-ing" about,' said the barman. 'You don't have any friends working at Mute Corp, do you?'

Derek's pale face nodded up and down in time to his nodding head. In perfect synchronization, in fact, because it was all joined on. 'Kelly,' he said. 'The woman I love.'

'The beautiful bird you were in here with yesterday?' asked the barman. 'The bird with the outstanding charlies?'

'Shut up!' said Derek.

'Sorry mate. But she's a babe. You lucky sod. I'll bet she's something between the covers, eh? You wouldn't care to tell me all about it, would you? I'm a married man myself and other than forging my signature and painting our house purple because it's the colour of universal peace, my missus doesn't go in for anything much any more. She seems to be obsessed with charity work. I went home the other evening and found her giving that Mad John a bath.'

'Shut up!' said Derek again. 'I have to warn her.'

'Well, you have plenty of time,' said the barman. 'They're not going to do the dirty deed until Monday. They want to cash in their shares first.'

Derek breathed a big sigh of relief. 'Phew,' he said.

'So there you go,' said the barman, handing Derek his Scotch. 'That's one pound one and sixpence, please.'

'Yes,' said Derek. 'All right.' And he rooted about in his pockets in the hope that he still had some change. He didn't have much, but he did have enough and he also had something else. A screwed-up note that he'd picked up from his doormat, but hadn't yet read.

Derek paid the barman and then he read the note.

And then the bleary bloodshot eyes in his pale and designer-stubbly face grew wide and Derek screamed very loudly.

Horrible, it was.

There was no-one home at Mrs Gormenghast's.

Derek banged and hammered at the door, but no-one answered. He thought he saw the net curtains move in the upstairs front window and he thought that he saw the face of Mad John peeping out. But Derek dismissed this as only his fevered imagination.

Derek was all in a lather. Kelly's note was a warning. It warned him not to use his mobile phone. Indeed, not to use
any
telephone. And not to touch his computer, nor indeed anything that might have computerized innards. And it said, 'Come at once, as soon as you read this note,' and it said, 'You are in terrible danger.'

Derek fretted. He didn't know what to do. Go to the Mute Corp headquarters? Surely that was where Kelly was. But would she be there? If she was warning him not to touch any computers and that there was terrible danger, surely she wouldn't be there, amongst all those computers. Derek thought not.

So at least she would be safe if Old Vic and his cronies actually blew up the building.

She
would
be safe.

Wouldn't she?

But where was she?

Where?

Derek fretted further. If she wasn't at Mute Corp and she wasn't at Mrs Gormenghast's, then where was she? Oh no! Not
that
? Derek fretted furiously. Not
vanished"?
Not her too. He'd turned his thoughts away from all that mad stuff. Kelly had to be somewhere, and somewhere safe. She had to be. Surely. He loved the woman, for God's sake. Nothing bad could have happened to her. It couldn't have. No. No. No.

Derek went home.

At six of the evening clock, Derek returned to Mrs Gormenghast's. Mrs Gormenghast opened the door to him.

'No,' she said, when he asked her. 'Kelly has not returned.'

Derek went home again.

At just before eight of the evening clock, Derek returned once more to Mrs Gormenghast's.

'No,' she said once more. 'Kelly has not returned.'

Derek went home again.

He returned to Mrs Gormenghast's at half-hour intervals. And then quarter-of-an-hour intervals and then by eleven of that same evening clock, he -wouldn't go away.

'I know you, don't I?' said the police constable that Mrs Gormenghast called. 'You were in that punch-up at the Arts Centre, weren't you? I'd go home if I were you, sir, or I'll have to run you in. And I don't think you'd like that very much, as all the cells but one are currently being given a makeover by this long-grey-haired designer, who used to be very popular on the tele. And the only one we could put you into is currently occupied by a bearded tattooed poet from Mute Corp Keynes, who turned up at the station claiming that someone had nicked his wristwatch the last time we had him in the cells…'

Derek tried to get a word in. But the constable continued.

'And he got really stroppy and we had to bang him up again and he keeps shouting out that he's the daddy now. And he says he wants his bitch.'

'My girlfriend has gone missing,' Derek bawled to the constable. 'Do something. Do something.'

'Move along quietly now, sir,' said the constable. 'Or I'll have to run you in.'

Derek made fists but kept them to himself, and then he went home to bed. Not that he slept very well, he didn't. Strange dreams came to him. He saw Kelly standing in the Butt's Estate and she was talking to this old gentleman and the old gentleman was telling her something, something terrible, that scared her and there was violence and Derek saw Kelly running and running and then being swallowed up by something awful that he couldn't see but could only feel. And it didn't feel good, it felt horrible.

Derek awoke in a bit more of a lather.

And he went without a shower for the second day running and as he hadn't washed, he was rather smelly too.

Derek didn't breakfast either, he just ran out of the house.

'Police, police,' called Mrs Gormenghast down her telephone. 'That madman is back at my front door.'

'Madman?' asked Mad John, looking up from his puce breakfast bowl.

Saturday was Hell for Derek. He went around to the police station to report Kelly missing, but was told to get onto the end of the queue. People were now going missing all over the borough. They were here one minute and gone the next. Several Brentford Poets and poetesses had vanished and some muleskinners and a wandering bishop and a bunch of pimply-faced youths (although no-one seemed too bothered about them). And some nurses and interns from the cottage hospital had vanished too. It was The Rapture, the desk constable told Derek. But not to worry, because it was all going to be heaven on earth in Brentford for all the un-raptured, thanks to Mute Corp. The company that cares. And while Derek was here in the police station, would he care to purchase some extra Suburbia World Plc shares? As the Brentford constabulary had just been issued a licence by Mute Corp to sell them.

Derek left in a terrible fretting frame of mind.

And the day didn't go very well for him at all. Mr Speedy and Mr Shadow were waiting at the offices of the
Brentford Mercury.

'That's another hour's pay docked,' said Mr Speedy. 'And you're on an official warning. One more strike and you're out, as our American cousins like to say.'

'My girlfriend has gone missing!' shouted Derek. 'Don't you understand?'

Mr Speedy scratched at his little head. 'Not entirely,' he said. 'I didn't know you had a girlfriend. I thought you were just one of those sad and lonely lads who spend all their time playing computer games.'

'Well, she's not exactly my girlfriend
yet,'
said Derek. 'But she will be. I love her. And she's gone missing. She's vanished. It's terrible. Don't you understand?'

'Raptured, probably,' said Mr Shadow. 'We'll have to add her name to those of the blessed on the memorial.'

'Memorial?' said Derek. 'What is this?'

'It's being erected in the memorial park,' said Mr Speedy. 'Did you know that Brentford was the only town to have a memorial park without a memorial in it?'

'Yes,' said Derek. 'Actually I did.'

'Well, that's all remedied now. Mute Corp has generously donated a memorial. To those who have been Raptured in Brentford. It's very tasteful. One hundred and fifty metres high, black glass.'

'An homage to the nineteen-eighties Lateinos and Romlith building,' said Mr Shadow. 'The names of the blessed running up and down in liquid quartz lettering. And it will have constantly moving scenic lifts and a burger franchise at the base. Selling sprout burgers for vegetarians. Was your girlfriend vegetarian, by the way?'

'Aaaaaagh!' went Derek.

'Oh and there's a message for you,' said Mr Speedy. 'From your business associate Mr Leo Felix.'

Derek ended his Aaaaaagh! with a groan.

'He said, and I quote, "Tell Babylon to get his ass down to me showrooms, I an' I got de crad barges in."'

'Chop chop then,' said Mr Shadow. 'Pacey pacey. The devil makes work for idle hands. And things of that nature, generally.'

'But Kelly. But… Oh God.'

'Have you reported her missing to the police?'

'Yes but…"

'Yes but then that's all you can do. Off to work with you now.'

'I'll need some more money,' said Derek. The words just came out of his mouth. 'Quite a lot more money.'

'Would that be for the holographic Griffin?' asked Mr Speedy. 'The one that failed to appear at three p.m. yesterday?'

'Yes, that's it,' lied Derek. 'And the electric cable for the perimeter fence and the giant feral tomcat and…'

Mr Speedy took out a wad of money notes. 'Ten thousand,' he said. 'Your last. If you foul up, Derek, it will be prison for you.'

'My bitch,' sniggered Mr Shadow.

'What?' went Derek.

'CCTV,' said Mr Shadow. 'Mute Corp run all the police-station circuits. Now get on your way and make things happen.'

Derek got off on his way.

As to actually making things happen…

Well…

'What are
those!'
asked Derek.

'Crad barges,' said Leo.

'Houseboats,' said Derek.

'Crad barges,' said Leo.

'Houseboats,' said Derek.

'House barges?' said Leo. 'Where de travellin' crad men lived.'

'No,' said Derek. 'No.'

'Listen, Babylon,' said Leo. 'You ever seen a crad barge?'

Derek scratched at his fretful head. 'Well, no,' he said. 'Not as such.'

'An' yo know anyone who ever seen a crad barge?'

'Possibly Old Pete,' said Derek.

'Old Pete an old friend of I an' I,' said Leo. 'Old Pete tell you Babylon, dese are crad barges. Yo have a problem wid dis?'

Derek shook his fretful head. 'No,' he said. 'Stuff it. They look like crad barges to me.'

'Dere,' said Leo. 'Dat not too painful. Yo want to see the steam train?'

Derek shrugged. 'Why not?' he said. 'It can't be any worse than the crad barges.'

Leo drew Derek's attention to the low-loader parked before the showrooms. The low-loader hadn't failed to draw Derek's attention when he had entered Leo's forecourt. It was not the kind of thing you could miss, it being so huge and all.

On the low-loader was something rather big and something all covered by tarpaulins.

Leo began to tug at ropes and unfasten hawsers and unclip those springy things that nearly have your eye out every time you use them to fasten the hatchback of your car to the bumper, because you've just bought something far too big from the DIY store and it's the only way of getting it home without paying the delivery charge.

'Damn,' said Leo, dodging his dreads about. 'Damn ting nearly had I an' I's eye out.'

Leo tugged upon the tarpaulin and Derek joined him in the tugging. Tug tug tug went Leo and Derek.

Fall away and expose to the world, went the tarpaulin and.

'Oh,' went Derek. 'Oh my God!'

'Pretty damn good, eh?' said Leo.

Derek, all flappy jaw, made his head go nod nod nod.

'It's a…'

'Steam train,' said Leo.

'No,' said Derek. 'It's the…'

'Steam train,' said Leo.

'Yes but

'Listen,' said Leo. 'Dis a goddam steam train. Don't go tellin' I an' I it ain't.'

'It is,' said Derek. 'It is. But it's the Flying Scotsman.'

'Don't talk silly,' said Leo. 'Dere ain't no Flying Scotchmen. I seen a housefly. I seen a horsefly. But I tink I see'd about everythin' when I see a Scotchman fly.'

'Stop singing,' said Derek. 'That isn't funny. Where did you get this from?'

'Yo said, no questions asked.'

'The Science Museum?' said Derek. 'Or the National Railway Museum? Or…'

'It de property now of de Brentford Folk Museum,' said Leo. 'And it won't be the Flyin' Scotchman tomorrow. It be de Brentford Flyer. I an' I had me mate Cecil knock up a couple of new nameplates.'

'Doomed,' said Derek. 'I'm doomed.'

'We all doomed, Babylon,' said Leo. 'It just dat some of us more doomed than others.'

Derek didn't stay around to view any more of Leo's acquisitions. And Leo told him that he wouldn't be able to acquire the five miles of perimeter fence until the following evening, so if Derek wanted it putting up 'all around de goddam borough, yo can't fool me, Babylon', Derek was going to have to have his whistling Mute Corp employees working all through the night to get it up before Monday morning. So if Derek was leaving anyway, he'd best get on his way and make things happen.

Derek returned to the police station. The police station was closed for renovations. A sign upon the door instructed callers to post details of missing persons through the letter box, but to mind the wet paint.

Derek didn't mind the wet paint and got some on his sleeve.

Derek wandered off across Brentford. He was in a real state now. He'd quit the job. He would. He'd run. He would, he'd run. He had ten thousand pounds in his pocket. But Derek ached, inside and out. He wouldn't run. He might quit, but he wouldn't run. He couldn't run. He had to find Kelly. He had to find her, but he didn't know how.

He didn't know what to do.

'I know what to do,' said Derek, suddenly knowing what to do. 'No I don't,' said Derek, realizing that in fact, he didn't.

It was very busy busy, all around the streets of Brentford. Very busy busy, with a lot of whistling.

Derek went back to Mrs Gormenghast's.

Mrs Gormenghast drove him away with a big stout stick she had lately acquired, 'in case'.

Derek returned to the offices of the
Brentford Mercury.
He brought Mr Speedy and Mr Shadow good news regarding crad barges and a steam, train called the Brentford Flyer and of five miles of perimeter fence that would be arriving after midnight of the following day, in one big roll which, according to Leo, could then be picked up from his forecourt. The thought of just how big a five-mile roll of perimeter fence might be was far too much for Derek, who had enough things on his mind to be going on with anyway.

'Brentford Griffin?' asked Mr Speedy. 'Don't forget that.'

'It's all under control,' said Derek, in a manner that suggested that it was.

'Well, keep us informed,' said Mr Speedy. 'You don't have to keep coming back here, just call us on your mobile.'

Derek chewed upon his lip, remembering Kelly's note. 'I'd prefer to speak to you in person,' he said. 'But I will be very busy for the rest of today and most of tomorrow. So I won't be in, so don't dock me any more pay, please.'

'Any news of your missing girlfriend?' asked Mr Speedy.

'No,' said Derek. 'None.'

'You didn't tell us her name.'

'It's Kelly Anna Sirjan,' said Derek. 'But please don't put her name up on your memorial yet. I'm sure she'll be back. I'm sure.'

'Kelly Anna Sirjan,' said Mr Speedy. And he exchanged glances with Mr Shadow.

'Why are you exchanging glances?' Derek asked.

'Oh, no reason,' said Mr Speedy. 'You just go off about the company's business. We'll see you when we see you.'

Derek clutched at his stomach. All the worry was making him feel very sick. 'Goodbye,' said Derek. 'I'll see you when I see you.'

'Nine o'clock on Monday, at the very latest,' said Mr Speedy. 'That's when Suburbia World Plc will open to the public.'