With dynamite, perhaps?
The Big Aaah-Choo!
‘Oh shit!’ I went. ‘Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!’
‘You have me fair and square,’ said a voice. An Irish voice as it happened. A fellow stood up, a fellow in a frock. A fellow wearing green lipstick and brandishing a blow-pipe. ‘O’Shit’s the name,’ he said. ‘Cross-dressing Secret Government hit man. How did I give myself away? Should I have shaved off me beard?’
‘Forget it,’ I told him. ‘Don’t you realize what’s going to happen?’
‘Well,’ said O’Shit. ‘My guess would be that you’ll try to take me in. But I’m thinking you won’t get as far as the door, before me mate O’Bastard over there takes the head right off you with his Uzi.’
‘No,’ I said, shaking him by the sequinned shoulders. ‘We’re all gonna die.’
‘You before the rest of us, I’m thinking.’
‘Get out of my way. Get out of my way.’ I pushed O’Shit from his feet and shouted over to Norman. ‘Norman,’ I shouted. ‘Come here quick, we’re in trouble.’
‘All right,’ called Norman. ‘I’m coming.’
Down, but not out, O’Shit was struggling. He had fallen amongst toffs. Which can prove tricky if you’re a man and you happen to be wearing a dress.
‘Well, hemooooo,’ went the toffs.
‘Get your fecking hands off me bum,’ went O’Shit.
‘Norman. Get over here.’
‘I’m coming. I’m coming.’ Norman shuffled over.
Shuffled. That’s what he did.
‘Have you found her then?’ Norman asked as he shuffled. ‘Oh sorry, did I tread on you?’ he continued as his foolish platform shoe came down on some poor blighter’s fingers.
‘Norman. Hurry up.’
Behind Norman came his all-girl conga line. And behind this now came men of the mightily miffed persuasion.
I did some more of those big breaths up the nose and out of the mouth and grabbed at Norman as he stepped upon O’Shit.
‘Norman,’ I puffed and panted. ‘Norman, I’ve worked it out. I’ve worked it out.’
‘I told you I didn’t want to hear about your bowel movements.’ I punched Norman right on the nose. I’m sorry, but I did. Heat of the moment.
‘Oooooooooooooooh,’ went Norman’s female followers. ‘Leave our lovely boy alone.’
‘Stay out of this,’ I told them. I had Norman by the lapels; I didn’t let him fall. ‘The time?’ I gasped. ‘What is the time?’
Norman clutched at his nose. ‘You hit me. You punched my hooter.’
‘Tell me the time. Quickly, or—’
‘OK. OK.’ Norman fumbled out his watch. The women were gathering round us now, stepping on the sitters and getting in a state. Their boyfriends, lovers, husbands or whatevers were tugging at them and telling them to come away.
‘It’s five to twelve,’ said Norman, dabbing at his conk with his sleeve. ‘All this fuss just because you wanted to know the time. But hang about. Shouldn’t we be organizing the “Auld Lang Syne” business?’
‘Norman.’ I shook him all about. ‘I’ve worked it out. There’s not going to be any “Auld Lang Syne”. I know what’s going to happen.’
‘You always say that when you’ve had a few.’
‘Norman, you shithead, just listen to me.’
‘You leave Norman alone,’ said some woman, welting me one with her handbag.
‘Don’t worry, love,’ said Norman. ‘I can handle him, he’s just a bit pissed.’ And then Norman became aware for the very first time of just how many women now surrounded us. ‘Well, heloooooo, ladies,’ said Norman.
‘Listen, listen.’ I flapped my hands about. ‘Listen to what I’m saying. The professor’s play, right? It was all about the Doveston.’
‘Well, I’d worked that out,’ said Norman. ‘But then I did go to grammar school.’
‘Yes, all right. But the bit at the end, where the boy in the play blows everybody up. And the professor. The Big Aaah-Choo! Don’t you understand what I’m saying?’
Norman nodded thoughtfully. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Everybody here,’ I said. ‘Everybody here,’ and I had to speak up quite a bit, because the mob about us was pushing and stepping on people. ‘Everybody here, all these people. This is them. This lot. The Secret Government. The rulers and makers of men, the grand mucka-mucks, like the professor said. The Doveston invited all these people here, and they all came, even though he was dead. Because they knew they’d get the bash of the century. But don’t you see, that’s what they really are going to get. The big bash. The Big Aaah-Choo!’
‘What exactly are you trying to say?’
I kicked at O’Shit, who was biting my ankle. ‘I’m saying, Norman, that this place is going to blow. The professor warned us. He never sneezes when he takes snuff. He warned us, you and me, so we could get out in time. Don’t you see? The Doveston is going to get his revenge from beyond the grave. I’ll bet this place is packed with dynamite. And I’ll bet, I’ll just bet, it’s timed to go off at midnight. Come on, Norman, you knew the Doveston as well as I did. Isn’t it exactly what he’d do?’
‘There has to be a flaw in this logic,’ said Norman. ‘But for the life of me, I can’t see what it is.’
I looked at Norman.
And Norman looked at me.
‘Fire!’ shouted Norman. ‘Everybody out! Everybody out!’
‘What are you doing?’ I clapped my hand across his mouth.
‘Just leave him alone,’ said some other woman, welting me with her handbag.
‘Keep out of this,’ and I pushed her.
‘How dare you push my wife, sir,’ and some twat took a swing at me. I ducked out of the way, but O’Shit had a hold on my ankle and I fell forwards, bringing Norman with me. We went down amongst the toffs, who were floundering about and trying to stand up, whilst being kneed this way and that by Norman’s female fan club and the men of mighty miffedness.
‘Get off me,’ cried Norman. ‘We’ve got to warn everyone.’
‘Why?’ I gasped. ‘Why? This lot are the Secret Government. They’re the enemy. This bunch murdered the Doveston.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Norman. ‘You’re right there.’ He dodged a foot that swung in his direction. ‘Stuff ‘em,’ said Norman. ‘Stuff ‘em.’
Now, it does have to be said that Norman and I were up the minstrels’ gallery end of the great hall. Which was not the end we wished to be at. The end we wished to be at was the other end. The end with the big entrance doors. The struggling and pushing and kicking and general bad behaviour that was going on around us was an isolated sort of chaos. The majority of the party guests weren’t involved. They were showing considerable interest by now, but they were mostly just lolling about. And there were an awful lot of them and they were packed pretty densely and if Norman and I were to make our escape we were going to have to get through them.
‘Come on.’ I hauled Norman up. ‘Act casual. Make for the door.’ We fought our way out of the scrum in as casual a way as we could. Which was not, perhaps, quite as casual as it might have been, but time was ticking away.
‘I think we should forget “act casual”,’ said Norman. ‘I think we should go for “run for our lives”.’
‘I think you’re right.’
We ran for our lives.
But could we run?
Could we bugger!
We were reduced to doing a lot of leaping about, trying not to step on people’s faces. It was a bit like that ludicrous hop, skip and jump thing they do in the Olympics.
I had hoped for a clean getaway, but Norman’s fans weren’t having that. They came in hot pursuit.