‘And so you are intending to exterminate all life on Earth?’
‘Yes, because Earth is the pest hole of life. There is no other planet that supports life. And once all life here is gone, then Universal Harmony will return. Look upon me as an ecowarrior, with a far higher calling.’
‘Higher calling?’ And I laughed. ‘You cannot be talking about God. God created life on this planet. What right have you to destroy it?’
‘God?’ There was laughter from the Homunculus. ‘Perhaps it has escaped your notice, Tyler, but God ceased to be hands-on at the end of the Old Testament. He lost interest in His little playthings. He gave His Son the run of the New Testament, but did all that poverty and misery and war stuff end? Of course it didn’t. Mankind is a mess. A blot on the Universal landscape. You can look upon me also as God’s little helper, sorting out the mess that He made of everything. Restoring peace to the Universe.’
‘And say you did,’ I said. ‘Say that you do your terrible magic, and through so doing wipe out every living thing on Earth. What of you? It will be rather dull for you, won’t it? And won’t you be the last living annoyance? Will you be snuffing yourself out to create complete Universal Harmony?’
‘I will merge into the blackness, into the Universal Silence. I will become at one with the Universe. I will become the Universe.’
‘What a load of old cobblers,’ I said.
‘I don’t expect you to be able to understand. But have no fear, I have given the matter considerable thought. I know what I’m doing.’
‘Do you?’ I said. ‘Do you really? Well, I think you have forgotten one thing. God may be hands-off and all that kind of business, but one thing I have learned is that you can trust some books of prophecy. And I’ll just bet you can trust John’s account of the Revelation.’
The Homunculus nodded, thoughtfully.
‘Things have to be done in a certain order. The great wild beast coming out of the sea. The woman clothed with the sun. All that Ray Harryhausen stuff. God isn’t going to like it if you try to cut straight to the chase and leave out all that prophesied stuff.’
‘You have a very good point there, Tyler,’ said Papa Crossbar. ‘A very good point indeed.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I have you on that one, don’t I?’
‘Not at all,’ said he, amidst much shaking of the head. ‘I’m absolutely certain that God wouldn’t like it one bit. Which is why we’re not going to mention it to Him.’
‘No?’ And I laughed. ‘Well, I’ll tell you this, smart Alec. If you do manage to kill me, I will be going straight up to Heaven to spill the beans. And when I get there I’ll tell Him all about what you’ve been up to and I’ll just bet we’ll be seeing Mankind Two: The Sequel in no time at all. With lots more noise and smell.’
But the Homunculus shook his head. ‘Not going to happen,’ he said. ‘And I will explain to you why. Have you not asked yourself why, if I wish to turn the Earth into a Necrosphere, have I gone to all the trouble of actually reanimating the corpses of people when they die?’
‘I have wondered about that,’ I said. ‘Mr Ishmael suggested that you were raising an Army of the Dead to wage war against the living. Isn’t that it?’
The Homunculus did further shakings of the head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I have gone to all the trouble of keeping the dead up and about so that their souls can’t get to Heaven. If no souls get to Heaven, then no soul is going to warn God about what I’m up to. He never checks what’s going on down here Himself, so by the time I’ve done the business, it will all be too late. And as for Mankind Two: The Sequel, God already did that, you oaf. Remember Noah’s flood? God won’t bother with Mankind Three. He’s too well past it now.’
‘You thoroughgoing thoroughgoing swine,’ I said.
‘I know,’ said the Homunculus. And he did the blowing onto fingernails and the buffing them on his jacket lapel. ‘So that about rounds it all up, really. You can probably work out any little details that remain for yourself. Although you’ll only have a very few minutes to do so, I regret to say. The end for you is nigh, Tyler. You are the sacrifice that triggers the magical mechanism, the creation of my magical son, Homunculus son of Homunculus, instant bringer of all death—’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I was going to ask about that.’
‘Well, now you don’t have to. Goodbye, brother.’
And Papa Crossbar pointed the trusty Smith & Wesson right at my heart and pulled upon the trigger.
71
And click went the trusty Smith & Wesson.
And Papa Crossbar squeezed the trigger again and again and again. ‘Oh,’ I told him. ‘I forgot to mention it - the trusty Smith & Wesson doesn’t have any bullets in it.’
‘What?’ Papa Crossbar glanced down at the trusty Smith & Wesson and then up again. At my fist, as it sped towards his face and caught him right upon the snout. Very hard.
He went down and I followed on and I punched him and I kicked him. ‘Couldn’t read my mind on that one, could you, sucker?’ I went as biff went my fist. ‘I just wanted you to tell me the whole story so I could stick it all in my best-selling autobiography.’ And clump went my foot. (In his groin.) ‘I didn’t want there to be any loose ends knocking about to disappoint the reader or have them doubting the truth of my tale.’ And whack went my elbow, down deep into his left eye-socket. Nasty.
‘And,’ I continued, ‘I am now going to beat you messily to death as a punishment for all the horrible things that you intended to do. And no one is ever going to think any the less of me for doing it. In fact -’ And clump went my knee in one of those WWF knee-drops on his throat ‘- they’ll probably make a video game about me. And five-year-olds will be pressing handsets, beating you up upon screen. So what do you think about that?’
And then the bloomin’ ninjas had me over.
Freed, I suppose, from the headaches the Homunculus had been inflicting upon them, because he had other things on his mind, like—
And I managed to get one more really decent kick in before they pulled me off him.
‘Okay, okay,’ I went, ‘no need for this. He’s dead now and I’m taking over this place. And you can both have thousand-dollar bonuses and two weeks off. I know a barman who’s giving away fortnight breaks to Butlins.’
But wouldn’t you darn well know it, Papa Crossbar wasn’t dead at all. Bloodied, yes. Broken-nosed, yes. With a big plum bruise growing out of where his left eyeball sat, yes also. Somewhat uncomfortable in the throat and groin regions, also yes, too. But not, very sadly not, dead.
And he rose up before me, and my, didn’t he look angry.
‘You bloodied me,’ he cried. And he spat out some of this blood. ‘You bloodied the Universal Destroyer.’
And I spat in his face once again.
Two face-spittings in a single night! Gross, I know, but justified.
‘I think we’ll burn you up again,’ said Papa Crossbar, spitting blood and spittle. ‘For real this time, rather than for fun.’
‘Shall I fetch the flamethrower?’ asked one of the ninjas.
‘Yes,’ said Papa Crossbar. ‘Do that.’
‘The big one or the small one, sir?’
‘The biggest one you have.’
‘Right, sir.’ The ninja saluted and turned away. And then he stopped and turned back. ‘I’ll need a requisition form then, sir. To sign out the flamethrower from Ordnance Processing.’
‘Just get the flamethrower now!’ boomed Papa Crossbar.
‘But I can’t without a requisition form, sir. You’ll have to sign the authorisation and then it will have to go through Thompson in Ordnance Admin. And he won’t be here at this time of the night, so we’ll have to do it tomorrow. And tomorrow is Saturday, so—’
And the ninja paused. Because there had been a bit of a flourish and a swish from Papa Crossbar. And now the ninja had a big golden ceremonial knife sticking out of his forehead.
‘I’m glad he didn’t pull that on me,’ I said to the other nin
ja, who was looking on with what was probably a surprised expression. Because it can be quite tricky to tell with ninjas, as they have those bandana things tied around their gobs, don’t they?
‘My brother,’ said the ninja. ‘You’ve killed my brother, Pete.’
‘These things happen,’ said Papa Crossbar, and he withdrew the golden blade from Pete’s forehead, and Pete toppled sideways.
‘He’s a thoroughgoing swine,’ I said to the bereaved ninja. ‘Why don’t you punch his lights out and leave the rest to me?’
‘I have a damn fine mind to, as it ha—’
And then, wouldn’t you just know it—
And down went that ninja also, to lie beside his brother.
‘I really thought he’d have you,’ I said to Papa Crossbar. Backing away as I said it. ‘Seems they were better at blending in and hiding than at the actual fighting side of it, eh?’
‘A piece at a time,’ said Papa Crossbar, golden weapon in his hand, blood dripping from the blade. ‘I will skin you alive. A most painful way to die, I understand. Mr Ishmael certainly put up a right old fuss when I did it to him.’
‘You thoroughgoing—’ And I ran.
Not dignified, I agree. Not noble, not heroic. But come on - I really had given all this my best shot. And if I got away and he couldn’t sacrifice me, then perhaps all the horrible stuff wouldn’t happen.
Well, that’s my story, at least. And I’m sticking to it.
And, ‘Come back, you!’ he cried and gave chase.
And I somehow went out of the wrong door. Not the one that I came in by. And suddenly I found myself outside the conservatory and on the rooftop of the CIA building. In a veritable hurricane, with the thunder booming fit to bust and the lightning forking around and about and much too close for comfort.
And I have to say that once out and upon that storm-swept rooftop, I found myself with few if any places to run to. In fact none at all. So I backed away towards a corner of the roof.
‘Nowhere to hide, Tyler,’ shouted the Homunculus, his voice somehow rising over the storm. ‘Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. Nothing to do but die.’
‘There always is another option,’ I shouted back, ‘if you are prepared to work at it.’
‘Perhaps the Tyler Technique? Or perhaps you might be a wee bit too distracted up here. Too much input, eh?’ The blade came swishing towards me.
And I backed away just a little bit more. Then had no more away to back to.
And I glanced down. And it was a long way down. Down and down and down. With the roof of Mornington Crescent East (discontinued usage) so very far below.
And rain lashed me and thunder growled in my ears and I was now most scared.
And the blade swished once and then swished twice. And my left ear came off.
‘Oh my God, no!’ I howled and I snatched at that ear as it whirled through the air. And I did manage to catch it. But the blade whirled again and took off my right thumb.
And I howled, ‘No!’ And I howled, ‘Help!’ And then I just howled and howled. And I sank down to my knees on that roof all bloody and wretched and scared.
And the evil villain loomed over me. And he rose upon his toes and he laughed. And he cried, ‘I win, Tyler. I win all.’
And down came the terrible blade.
72
And in that maelstrom, with the very elements lashing all around me, I knew that I was done. That I was lost, that I had lost. And now all would be gone. All life, all love, all everything.
And that terrible blade came down. And then fell to the rooftop beside me and bounced down over the edge. And I looked up from my fearful cower and viewed the Homunculus. And he was clutching at his chest.
And blood was flowing from his chest.
From a nice neat hole within it.
And I saw him turn. And then I heard two shots ring out above the fury of the storm. And the Homunculus turned back and gawped at me. And this time he had a hole in his forehead.
And he lurched at me. And then he swayed, right there upon the very edge of the rooftop.
And yes, I confess it - I gave him a little push.
I leaped up and kicked his bum.
73
And down he went and down. Through the elemental turmoil, down and down. And far below he struck the roof of Mornington Crescent East (discontinued usage) and he passed right through that roof and he struck the concourse below. And then bounced down the stairway, onto the platform, off the platform and into the hole that I had dynamited in the tracks.
And down to the City of Begrem.
And that in itself was a long way down.
And if, as is so often the case, there was any chance at all, in the way of super-villains, that he had somehow survived the gunshots to the head and chest and the fall to Mornington Crescent and then down to Begrem, this chance of survival was denied him by the lady in the golden straw hat, who had been awaiting the fulfilment of the prophecy in The Book of All Knowledge (and Selected Lyrics) regarding the second being that descends into Begrem.
The bad one.
That this bad one must be hacked all to pieces.
And the lady in the golden straw hat had her big golden knife all sharpened and ready.
And followed that prophecy, gorily, right to the letter.
74
And I looked up at my deliverer.
And I said, ‘You took your time.’
And Lazlo Woodbine looked down upon me and said, ‘Could you use a hand?’
And he helped me back to the high-domed conservatory. And he slammed shut the door. And he released the golden girlie. And then he set about sewing my left ear back on and also my right thumb, and I do have to say that although it hurt like the very Devil, he made a damn fine job of both.
‘As long as no one ever notices that I have a thumb sewn on where my left ear should be, I think we’ll be fine,’ I said.
And oh how we laughed.
‘And thank you,’ I said. ‘Mr Woodbine, thank you for saving my life.’
‘No sweat, kid,’ said Lazlo Woodbine. ‘And you can call me Laz.’
‘Well, Laz,’ I said, ‘once again, thank you. I just wish that you’d got here a bit earlier.’ And I tapped at my resewn parts.
‘But I did, kid,’ said the great detective. ‘I got here a while back. But you had to have your moment. Get the truth out of that thoroughgoing swine. For your autobiography. It will probably be written up a bit differently in the forthcoming Lazlo Woodbine thriller, but no matter about that. Only thing is, I can’t figure just how I got here. Last thing I remember is being at Papa Crossbar’s Voodoo Pushbike Scullery and then falling into that whirling black pit of oblivion that we nineteen-fifties genre detectives so often do. And then I’m suddenly here.’
‘You have me to thank for that,’ I said.
‘And how?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said, ‘and it has to do with a theory invented by a man named The Flange that things are where they should be, because they should be where they are. He tried to create the perfect sitting room for Jesus in order to bring about the Second Coming, but he failed. Before him, the members of the Cult of Jon Frum tried it. But tonight I achieved it through the Tyler Technique. The theory is that given the absolutely correct circumstances and situation, what is sought will come to pass. And in a situation where the world was at peril from the ultimate super-villain and there was a final rooftop confrontation (with a storm) going on, who could be there to sort things out other than Lazlo Woodbine? I just hoped that the magic would work. I figured it out earlier in the super-villain’s office. The idea came to me that if I could just get him up onto the rooftop, you would appear. It was a long shot, but I believed in it and it worked.’
‘Well, here’s looking at you, kid,’ said Lazlo.
‘And that’s not really your line, is it?’ I said.
‘But hey,’ said Laz, ‘I’m not even working in the first person. How good am I to you?’
And he shook me by the hand.
And I returned this handshake and felt very good about everything.
And then the golden girlie threw her arms about Lazlo Woodbine’s neck and started kissing him.
Which I did not feel very good about.
‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘I don’t have to be a virgin any more.’
‘What?’ said Lazlo.
‘Nothing,’ said I.
And Lazlo Woodbine smiled. ‘So all’s well that ends well,’ he said. ‘And I suggest we take ourselves off to Fangio’s Bar and celebrate this victory. And then you can settle your bill. Remembering, of course, that I am paid by the day. And I’m thinking, how long is it since I fell into that pit of whirling blackness in Fangio’s? Because frankly, kid, you don’t look quite so young as you once did.’
And he left that rooftop with the golden girlie on his arm.
And I went, ‘Oh dear me.’
And followed him.
75
I wrote, at the very beginning of this book, that I almost saved Mankind. And, as you can see, I almost did.
I’m certainly not going to take all of the credit. Lazlo Woodbine did the actual shooting in the head of my demon brother, Keith. But I played my part, and my part was special.
If you read the final Lazlo Woodbine thriller, you will note that Laz takes all of the credit. But I don’t mind about that, because in exchange for me agreeing to let him take all of the credit, he agreed to retire.
And so he did, to the Sussex Downs, to keep bees. And of course he did go out on the high point of his career, having saved Mankind and everything. And so, having done his stuff, Lazlo Woodbine moved on into myth.