'It was highlights over coffee — and anyway, you've done it before. What was that about an inflatable boat from Argos to paddle yourself to the underworld?'
'Well,' said Spike slowly, 'that was more of a hypothetical journey, really.'
'You haven't a clue what you're doing, have you?'
'No. But for ten grand, I'm willing to take a few risks.'
We didn't have time to argue further as several shots came our way. There was a frightened scream from a customer as one of the bullets reduced a magazine shelf to confetti. Before I knew it Spike had fired his shotgun into the ceiling, where it destroyed a light fixture in a shower of bright sparks.
'Who shot at us?' asked Spike. 'Did you see?'
'I think it's fair to say that it wasn't the light fixture.'
'I had to shoot at something. Cover me.'
He jumped up and fired. I joined him, fool that I was. I had thought that being out of my depth was okay because Spike vaguely knew what he was doing. Now that I was certain this was not the case, escape seemed a very good option indeed. After firing several shots ineffectively down the corridor, we stopped and dropped back round the corner.
'Chesney!' shouted Spike. 'I want to talk to you!'
'What do you want here?' came a voice. 'This is my patch!'
'Let's have a head-to-head,' replied Spike, stifling a giggle. 'I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement!'
There was a pause, then Chesney's voice rang out again:
'Hold your fire. We're coming out.'
Chesney stepped out into the open, just next to the children's helicopter ride and a Coriolanus Will-Speak machine. His remaining henchman joined him, holding the President.
'Hello, Spike,' said Chesney. He was a tall man who looked as though he didn't have a drop of liquid blood in his entire body. 'I haven't forgiven you for killing me.'
'I kill vampires for a living, Dave. You became one — I had to.'
'Had to?'
'Sure. You were about to sink your teeth into an eighteen-year-old virgin's neck and turn her into a lifeless husk willing to do your every bidding.'
'Everyone should have a hobby.'
'Train sets I tolerate,' Spike replied, 'spreading the seed of vampirism I do not.'
He nodded towards Chesney's neck.
'Nasty scratch you have there.'
'Very funny. What's the deal?'
'Simple. I want President Formby back.'
'And in return?'
Spike turned the shotgun towards me.
'I give you Thursday. She's got bags of life left in her. Give me your gun, sweetheart.'
'What?' I yelled in a well-feigned cry of indignation.
'Do as I say. The President must be protected at all costs — you told me so yourself
I handed the gun over.
'Good. Now move forward.'
We walked slowly up the concourse, the cowering visitors watching us with a sort of morbid fascination. We stopped ten yards from Chesney just near the arcade game area.
'Send the President to me.'
Chesney nodded to his henchman, who let him go. Formby, a little confused by now, tottered up to us.
'Now send me Thursday.'
'Whoa!' said Spike. 'Still using that old SpecOps-issue revolver? Here, have her automatic — she won't need it any more.'
And he tossed my gun towards his ex-partner. Chesney, in an unthinking moment, went to catch the gun — but with the hand he used to keep his head on. Unrestrained, his head wobbled dangerously. He tried to grab it but this made matters worse and his head tumbled off to the front, past his flailing hands, and hit the floor with the sound of a large cabbage. This unseemly situation had distracted Chesney's number two, who was disarmed by a blast from Spike's shotgun. I didn't see why Spike should have all the fun so I ran forward and caught Chesney's head on the bounce and expertly booted it through the door of the arcade, where it scored a direct hit on the SlamDunk! basketball game, earning three hundred points. Spike had thumped the now confused and headless Chesney in the stomach and retrieved both my automatics. I grabbed the President and we legged it for the car park while Chesney's head screamed obscenities from where he was stuck upside down in the SlamDunk! basket.
Spike smiled as we reached his car. 'Well, Chesney really lost his—'
'No,' I said, 'don't say it. It's too corny.'
'Is this some sort of theme park?' asked Formby as we bundled him into Spike's car.
'Of a sort, Mr President,' I replied as we reversed out of the car park with a squeal of tyres and tore towards the exit ramp. No one tried to stop us and a couple of seconds later we were blinking in the daylight — and the rain — of the M4 westbound. The time, I noticed, was 5.03 — lots of time to get the President to a phone and oppose Kaine's vote in Parliament. I put out my hand to Spike, who shook it happily and returned my gun, which was still covered in the desiccated dust of Chesney's hoodlum friend.
'Did you see the look on his face when his head started to come off?' Spike asked, chuckling. 'Man, I live for moments like that!'
29
The Cat Formerly Known as Cheshire
DANISH KING IN TIDAL COMMAND FIASCO
In another staggering display of Danish Cupidity, King Canute of Denmark attempted to use his authority to halt the incoming tide, our reporters have discovered. It didn't, of course, and the Dopey Monarch was soaked Danish authorities were quick to deny the story and rushed with obscene haste to besmirch the excellent and unbiased English press with the following hies: 'For a start it wasn't Canute, it was Cnut,' began the wild and wholly unconvincing tirade from the Danish minister of propaganda. 'You English named him Canute to make it sound less like you were ruled by foreigners for two hundred years. And Cnut didn't try to command the sea — it was to demonstrate to his overly flattering courtiers that the tide wouldn't succumb to his will. And it all happened nine hundred years ago — if it happened at all.' King Canute himself was unavailable for comment.
We told the President that yes, he was right — the whole thing was some sort of motorway services theme park. Dowding and Parks were genuinely pleased to get their President back, and Yorrick Kaine cancelled the vote in Parliament. Instead, he led a silent prayer to thank providence for returning Formby to our midst. As for Spike and me, we were each given a post-dated cheque and told we would be sure to receive the 'Banjulele with Oak Clusters' for our steadfast adherence to duty.
Spike and I parted after the tiring day's work and I returned to the SpecOps office, where I found a slightly annoyed Major Drabb waiting for me near my car.
'No Danish books found again, Agent Next!' he said through clenched teeth, handing me his report. 'More failure and I will have to take the matter to higher authority.'
I glared at him, took a step closer and prodded him angrily in the chest. I needed Flanker off my case until the Superhoop at the very least.
'You blame me for your failings?'
'Well,' he said, faltering slightly and taking a nervous step backward as I moved even closer, 'that is to say—'
'Redouble your efforts, Major Drabb, or I will have you removed from your command. Do you understand?'
I shouted the last bit, which I didn't want to do — but I was getting desperate. I didn't want Flanker on my back in addition to everything else that was going on.
'Of course,' croaked Drabb, 'I take full responsibility for my failure.'
'Good,' I said, straightening up. 'Tomorrow you are to search the Australian Writers' Guild in Wootton Bassett.'
Drabb dabbed his brow and made another salute.
'As you say, Miss Next.'
I tried to drive past the mixed bag of journalists and TV news crews but they were more than insistent so I stopped to say a few words.