“All I need is a week, kid,” said I. “And if I don’t solve the thing in a week, you can do whatever you want. Tell your tale to the News of the World. Whatever you damn well please.”
“A week?” said Icarus. “One week?”
“That’s all I need.”
“No,” said Icarus. “Out of the question.”
“Listen,” said Captain Ian. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Icarus nodded. “I suppose so, yes.”
“Then if I were to ask you to let Mr Woodbine deal with this, would you do it, for me?”
“Well …”
“He did save our lives,” said Johnny Boy.
“All right,” said Icarus. “I’ll do it for you. But when my brother here screws up, as he most certainly will, Johnny Boy and I will sort everything out by ourselves.”
“And how exactly will we do that?” asked Johnny Boy.
“I’ll think of something. All right, captain, I agree.”
“Good lad,” said Captain Ian. “Then I suggest this. I will liaise with Mr Woodbine, you and Johnny Boy take yourselves off to a place of safety and we’ll all meet back here in exactly one week’s time. How does that sound?”
“All right,” said Icarus. “But if after a week he hasn’t solved the case and everything is not put to rights, Johnny Boy and I will deal with it.”
“Kid,” said I, “I will solve the case.”
And I would. I knew that I would.
Yes siree.
By golly.
14
Icarus Smith and Johnny Boy sat in the scarlet bar and grill of the Station Hotel.
“So what are we going to do?” asked Johnny Boy.
“Lie low,” said Icarus Smith. “Leave it to Lazlo Woodbine.”
“As if. You lied to them, but you can’t lie to me.”
“Lying to them seemed hardly out of place. Everyone in that office was lying about something.”
“I wasn’t lying at all.”
“Everybody but you, then.”
“Hold up there,” said Johnny Boy. “Are you telling me that the captain was lying? Angels don’t lie, do they?”
“He did. It was nonsense, all of it. Think about it, Johnny Boy. God having to mortgage Heaven. Angels and demons getting evicted. It’s all rubbish.”
“It sounded quite convincing when he told it.”
“Well, it might have done in there with my brother. I told you that if you spend time with him, you get drawn into his madness.”
“But surely angels don’t lie.”
“And do angels murder people with golden swords?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of such a thing. But do you think your brother was lying too? I could see his colours. It looked as if he thought he was telling the truth.”
“I think you’ll find that he gave a somewhat edited account of his side of the story. He neglected to mention Barry, for instance.”
“And who’s Barry?”
“Barry the voice in his head. His Holy Guardian Sprout. Barry talks to him and helps him solve his cases. Except he doesn’t solve any cases. He’s not a real detective. He’s my mad brother.”
“I find it all somewhat confusing,” said Johnny Boy. “And I still don’t understand how nothing happened to him when he took the drug.”
“Now that”, said Icarus Smith, “is a mystery.”
“It’s a mystery. It’s a mythtery.” I sang it in my finest Toyah Wilcox.
“Ease up on the singing there, chief.”
“Why, Barry, my little green buddy pal. Where have you been all this time?”
“Sleeping, chief. That Sam Maggot bopped us on the head, didn’t he? Did I miss anything?”
“Not a lot,” said I. “But I seem to be missing quite a bit.”
“How so, chief?”
“Well, Barry, I have taken a drug which enables me to see angels and demons, which would otherwise be mistaken for ordinary folk.”
“Good golly Ms Molly, chief.”
“Ms Molly indeed, Barry. Yet, even though I have taken the drug, I can’t see any angels or devils at all.”
“I can’t say that I find that altogether surprising, chief. You probably can’t see any pink elephants or fairies either.”
“Point taken, yet only a moment ago I was in the company of an angel. And also two men who had also taken the drug. And what they saw on the surveillance video footage, I was quite unable to see. How would you account for that, Barry?”
“Perhaps they were all just pulling your plonker, chief.”
“Or perhaps someone or something was stopping me seeing what they saw. What do you think about that, Barry?”
“Well, chief … I—”
“It’s you, Barry! You little green ball of phlegm! It’s you stopping the drug from taking effect on me.”
“Come now, chief, as if I would.”
“You would and you have. Switch it on, Barry. Switch it on now. Or by crimbo, I’ll winkle you out of my ear with a pencil and boil you up for my lunch.”
“I was only looking out for your best interests, chief. I didn’t want you getting all upset, seeing horrible demons and everything. You wouldn’t like them, chief, they’re really nasty.”
I took a pencil and began to sharpen its point.
“I’m waiting,” said I.
“Chief, please, you really won’t like it.”
“This is a 9H, Barry. Very sharp and pointy. I’ll put a saucepan on the stove, shall I?”
“No, chief. Please. All right.”
“All right,” said Johnny Boy. “So what do you intend to do?”
“I am a relocator,” said Icarus Smith. “That is my vocation.”
“Relocating all the devils and angels might prove a bit of a challenge.”
“Possibly,” said Icarus. “But there might be a way.”
“You cannot be serious, surely?”
“Do I look serious?”
Johnny Boy studied the colours of Icarus. “Yes you do,” said he. “Very serious. And very concerned also. Something is troubling you deeply.”
“Yes,” said Icarus. “It is. With all the nonsense going on with my mad brother and everything, I’d quite forgotten about Cormerant. He’ll be coming after the left luggage locker key. The one I mailed to myself.”
“God. You’re right. We’d better get round to your house.”
“No,” said Icarus. “We’d be too late. But I have another idea.”
“I’ve a really good idea, chief,” said Barry. “Why don’t you just turn off the video and have a slug of Old Bedwetter?”
I rewound the videocassette and played the tape once again.
“But you’ve watched it thirty-seven times, chief. Surely you’ve memorized the plot by now.”
“Look at them, Barry. Just look at them.”
“I can see them, chief. They’re demons, I know.”
“And they’re murdering God and we have it on tape.”
“Yes, chief, so you keep saying.”
“And I couldn’t see them for what they really were.”
“No, chief, not until I let the effects of the drug kick into your tiny tiny brain.”
“Look at them. They’re horrible. Look at all the quills and the scales.”
“Yes, chief, I quite agree, they’re not a pretty sight.”
“But there’s no doubt of what’s really happening. And so I’ve solved the case.”
“Yes, chief, you do keep saying that. Would you care to take me through your reasoning and explain to me exactly how you’ve solved the case?”
“No, Barry, I would not.”
“But, chief, we don’t have any secrets. Well, you don’t from me, anyway.”
“Then read my thoughts, Barry.”
“You won’t let me, chief, you’re blocking me out.”
“Damn right I am. No-one ever finds out how Woodbine solves the case, or even who the villain is, until the final rooftop showdown. That’s the way it’s always done and that’s the way it always will be done.”
“Well, I’m not bothered, chief. You’ll give it away when you go to sleep. You can’t keep me out of your dreams.”