As it was such a nice early evening, and as he was in no particular hurry, Jonny did not drive to the Cottage Hospital in the stolen Chrysler. Instead, he strolled, in the company of Ranger Hawtrey.
And a very nice stroll it was too.
There was a police presence at the Cottage Hospital. There was much in the way of ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape ringing the entrance around and the parked police cars had their roof lights flashing to maximum effect. A crowd of onlookers were onlooking. Police constables, some armed with Lightsabres and death rays, were keeping this crowd back behind the tape.
‘Not more trouble, I hope,’ Jonny said to Charlie.
‘Let’s see,’ said Charlie, and he nudged his way into the crowd.
‘Look where you’re nudging, young man,’ said a lady in a straw hat. ‘Some of us have been here for hours. You can’t just come nudging through.’
‘So sorry,’ said Charlie. ‘What is happening, do you know?’
The lady in the straw hat gave her nose a conspiratorial tapping. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ she said.
‘I could probably find out if you told me,’ said Charlie.
‘That’s true enough,’ said the lady, ‘but such information is only granted on a strictly “need-to-know” basis.’
‘I need to know,’ said Charlie. ‘My brother’s in there.’
‘The loony one, or the castrato?’
‘Eh?’ went Charlie. ‘What and who?’
‘Don’t mind me,’ said the lady in the straw hat. ‘I get these flashes. In my head. It’s my holy guardian angel, I believe, that or Barry the Time Sprout.’
‘So what is going on?’ asked Jonny, who had nudged himself level with Charlie.
‘Cut yourself shaving?’ asked the lady in the straw hat.
‘Leprosy,’ said Jonny. ‘I’m highly contagious – that’s why I need to get into the hospital.’
‘Leprosy?’ said the lady. ‘I don’t know what the younger generation is coming to. Rickets and phossy jaw not good enough for you? I caught elephantiasis in the Belgian Congo back in the nineteen fifties. I was running with the rebels then, fighting for the cause with Che. “Don’t drink out of the puddles,” they told me. But did I listen?’
Jonny shrugged.
‘No,’ said the lady. ‘I did not. So my legs ballooned out like two tracksuit bottoms stuffed up to the crotch regions with pickled shallots. They had to ship me back to Blighty in two separate consignments.’
‘Nasty,’ said Jonny.
‘Nasty indeed,’ said the lady. ‘So don’t think to impress me with talk of leprous sores – I’ve wept mucus from places where you don’t even have places.’
‘What is going on in the hospital?’ asked Charlie.
‘Some loony’s had his head chopped off,’ said the lady.
Jonny looked at Charlie.
And Charlie looked at Jonny.
‘My brother,’ said Charlie, going all pale in the face.
‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ said Jonny.
‘Some other loony, you suppose?’
‘I’m sure there’s plenty to choose from.’
‘There was only the two,’ said the lady. ‘The special ones.’
‘The two?’ said Charlie.
‘The special ones?’ said Jonny.
‘That’s what I heard,’ said the lady. ‘I heard from a friend of mine who is the dinner lady on the Special Wing, that all the other loonys had been cleared out months ago because, according to her, who had overheard two interns chatting, something had been discovered that was going to change everything and the two remaining loonys were the key to it. Or something like that. Mind you, she’s rarely fully coherent – she’s got satellite TV and you know what that means.’
Jonny nodded slowly. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Beams and rays from the satellite dish into the head,’ said the lady. ‘I always cross myself when I pass a house with a satellite dish on it, on the off chance that mankind is the work of a divine creator, rather than simply the product of the “selfish gene” or the swinging sixties. You can never be too sure of yourself, in my opinion. It’s always best to adopt a belt-and-braces approach to life, whilst applying Occam’s Razor, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Jonny.
‘I have to get into the hospital,’ said Charlie.
‘You’d best have an accident, then,’ said the lady.
‘No need,’ said Charlie, and then he took Jonny by the shoulders and took to shouting. ‘Make way there, please. Casualty coming through, burns victim, make way, please.’
Of course, no one did make way.
‘Leper!’ cried Jonny. ‘Come for my medication.’
And but for the lady in the straw hat, who had once caught elephantiasis by drinking from a muddy puddle in the Belgian Congo whilst running with the rebels in the company of Che, the onlookers did make way.
The constables too stood aside.
‘Careful as you go there, sir,’ said one. ‘I wouldn’t want you nudging my trigger finger and have me setting off this doomsday weapon that I’m holding in my hand.’*
‘I don’t recall telling you to break out the doomsday weapons yet,’ said a senior officer. ‘Return it to the munitions van this minute and re-equip yourself with a phase plasma rifle (in a forty-watt range).’†
Jonny did limpings and Charlie aided him towards casualty.
There were a great many medics in the waiting room of casualty. And a great many policemen, too. And all and sundry were jabbering away and no one seemed particularly interested in Jonny or Charlie.
A lady sat behind the admissions desk. She was not wearing a straw hat. But she did look familiar.
To Charlie.
‘Hello, Joan,’ said Charlie. ‘I didn’t know you worked here.’
‘I do evenings,’ said Joan. ‘And I’m prepared to travel, if necessary. If there’s a desk to sit behind that is not already occupied, then I’ll sit behind it.’
‘Splendid,’ said Charlie.
‘Are you referring to my breasts?’
‘I wasn’t,’ said Charlie, ‘but they are splendid.’
‘Why, thank you very much. Can I help you at all? Or have you just come here to gawp at my breasts?’
‘I wasn’t gawping,’ said Charlie.
‘I was,’ said Jonny.
‘You both were,’ said Joan. ‘But it’s acceptable, because I am not on duty at the park, so technically we are not working together. So what do you want?’
Charlie scratched at his cap. ‘My brother is an, er, inmate here,’ he said. ‘One of the two patients in the Special Wing. I’ve come to visit, but I’ve just heard that one of the two inmates has been murdered. Please tell me that it isn’t my brother.’
‘It isn’t your brother,’ said Joan.
‘Praise be,’ said Charlie.
‘In fact, it wasn’t either of the special cases. It was a different loony altogether. An escaped loony. The one who escaped last night. He returned here for some unaccountable, but no doubt loony, reason and got into a spot of bother with a constable who was on duty here guarding the crime scene where Doctor Archy was murdered. There was some kind of altercation and the constable shot his head off with a Prozac.’
‘Do you mean a projac?’ Charlie asked. ‘A science fiction-type weapon favoured by Kirth Gerson in Jack Vance’s legendary Demon Prince series?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Joan. ‘But being a woman, I am unlikely to admit to being wrong. Nor indeed to reading science fiction’
‘I’m confused,’ said Jonny. ‘An escaped loony? But I thought there were only two loonys on this ward.’
‘I don’t make the rules,’ said Joan. ‘All I know is that it was an escaped loony who returned. The one who killed Doctor Archy. His name was Jonny Hooker.’
17
‘Now you’re confused,’ said Mr Giggles the Monkey Boy. ‘You’re more confused than a pantomime horse with two back ends and no snout.’
>
‘Horses don’t have snouts,’ whispered Jonny.
‘All God’s children got snouts,’ sang Mr Giggles. ‘Time we were off, I’m thinking.’
‘Absolutely not!’
‘Sorry?’ said Joan, from behind the desk. ‘Did you say something? Were you undressing me with your eyes? And have you cut yourself shaving?’
‘No on all three counts,’ said Jonny. ‘What have they done with the corpse of this Jonny Hooker?’
‘Some special unit took it away. Chaps in environmental suits, in a white van with “Scientific Support” printed on the sides. They erected an adventure playground for the kiddies—’
‘What kiddies?’ asked Charlie.
‘Manners!’ said Joan. ‘A lady is talking, don’t butt in.’
‘Sorry,’ said Charlie.
‘They took the corpse away. Wrapped it up in clingfilm first and then took it away.’
‘And the adventure playground?’
Joan shook her head and tut-tut-tutted. ‘We’re beyond that now,’ she said. ‘This is a corpse we’re talking about. Don’t go carping back to adventure playgrounds – behave like a man.’
Charlie gave his head a scratch. ‘Do you know a lady who wears a straw hat?’ he asked.
‘My mum wears a straw hat,’ said Joan.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jonny, ‘but I remain confused. How did they identify this corpse as being that of Jonny Hooker?’
‘By his clothes and by his wallet.’
‘Ah,’ said Jonny.
‘So what have you done to your face?’ asked Joan. ‘And also who are you? You’re wearing a park ranger’s uniform, but I’ve never seen you before.’
‘You must have caught a glimpse of me earlier at the Big House,’ said Jonny.
‘Please don’t contradict me – I find it so confusing.’
‘I’d really like to see my brother,’ said Charlie, ‘if it would be all right. I’m sure all this unpleasantness must have upset him.’
‘I doubt that’ said Joan, ‘with the amount of pharmaceuticals he’s dosed up on.’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘Because it’s my job to keep him topped up when the doctors slip out to the pub.’
Charlie sighed. And Jonny sighed with him. To keep him company, so to speak. Or offer support, or whatever.
‘Can I please see my brother?’ asked Charlie.
‘Of course you may, as it’s you. It’s outside normal visiting hours, but I will make an exception. As it’s you.’ And Joan did eyelash-flutterings at Charlie.
‘As it’s me?’ asked Charlie.
‘I think—’ said Jonny.
‘Let him work it out in his own time,’ said Joan.
‘Oh,’ said Charlie. And he took to smiling. A lot.
‘Don’t get carried away with yourself,’ said Joan. ‘I’d expect at the very least to be taken out to dinner first.’
‘Right,’ said Charlie. ‘Where would you like to eat? What time do you get off?’
‘Oi,’ said Jonny. ‘We have business to conduct here.’
‘We?’ said Joan.
‘I’m with him,’ said Jonny, ‘come to see his brother. Well, my brother, too, as it happens. I’m Charlie’s brother.’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s right. He is.’
Joan glanced Jonny up and down.
‘The castrato?’ she asked.
*
They were given special visitors’ badges. Special visitors’ badges to admit them to the Special Wing. They were sort of laminated. They had the words ‘Special Visitor’ printed on the cards that were within the laminate. Although there wasn’t really anything particularly special about them.
Except, of course, that they did gain you entry to the Special Wing outside of visiting hours. Which was a bit special.
But not much.
‘Special badge,’ said Charlie, giving his an approving stroke. ‘I do like a special badge, me. Or a backstage pass. Now that’s really special, a backstage pass.’
‘Come and see me play,’ said Jonny. ‘I’m in a band, Dry Rot. We’re playing on Friday at The Middle Man. We weren’t going to be playing, due to me being wanted by the police, but as I’m no longer wanted, on account of me being dead, I suppose we will be playing on Friday. I’ll give you a backstage pass if you want.’
‘So I can come backstage?’
‘Well, if there was a backstage. But as we’re playing at The Middle Man the backstage is the gents’ toilet. But the pass will enable you to use it.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Charlie.
‘Tragic,’ said Mr Giggles.
They strode along a corridor. Here and there they passed constables who carried improbable weapons of the futuristic variety.
‘My brother’s room is along this way,’ said Charlie. ‘Do try not to look too surprised when you see inside it.’
‘Why?’ asked Jonny. ‘What exactly is in it?’
‘Aha,’ said Charlie. ‘We’re here.’
A police constable stood on guard before the door to Charlie’s brother’s abode. The police constable was not armed. But he was a master of the Vulcan Death Grip.
‘Stand away from the door, sir,’ he told Charlie, ‘or I will be forced to maim and disfigure you with little more than a fingertip’s pressure.’
Charlie whistled. ‘Dimac?’ he enquired.
‘Amongst many other martial skills. Have you ever heard the expression “there’s more than one way to skin a cat”?’
‘More than once,’ said Charlie.
‘Well, I know seven different ways. And I could knock the skin off a rice pudding by sheer will-power alone.’
‘You’d be a bad man to cross in a fight, then,’ said Jonny.
‘The worst,’ said the constable, ‘because not only am I skilled in all these martial arts, I’m also just aching to use them on some unsuspecting individual who gets my back up over some trivial matter.’
‘Didn’t I say that martial artists are always looking for an excuse to do that?’ asked Jonny of Charlie. ‘Or was it you?’
‘It might have been me,’ said Charlie, ‘but since I met you I no longer appear to be able to keep a firm grip on reality.’
‘So,’ said the constable, ‘away on your toes in a sprightly manner or suffer the consequences in the form of badly broken bones that will take months to knit. And then not too successfully.’
‘We’ve special visitors’ badges,’ said Jonny. ‘We’ve come to visit the patient in this room.’
‘We don’t use the “P” word here,’ said the constable. ‘Here we call a loony a loony. Or at least I do. And frankly, who, other than a superior officer, is liable to argue with me?’
‘Not me for one,’ said Jonny. ‘So can we go in? Please?’
‘Of course,’ said the constable. ‘A pleasure to talk to you. I do trust that we will meet again sometime, under more violent circumstances.’
‘Yes,’ said Jonny. ‘I do hope so.’
‘Are you being sarcastic?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Jonny.
‘Shame,’ said the constable.
He slid back a bolt, the constable did, and he pushed the cell door open. For such indeed it was. A cell. There’s no bandying about in mental wards, and in isolation rooms. An isolation room is a cell. A padded one, generally. And they smell of disinfectant. Of bleach and of that certain hospital smell. It’s a frightening smell. It stays in your nostrils.
Jonny smelled that smell as the cell door opened. Jonny had smelled that smell before. On far too many occasions. And one of them far too recent.
And Jonny followed Charlie into the cell. The cell that smelled of that certain smell.
And then Jonny smelled more and he saw more also. As one will when one enters a new room for the first time and views the unexpected.
And Jonny’s jaw hung slack and Jonny gaped in awe.
And Charlie said, ‘Jonny, this is my brother.’
&nb
sp; And the constable, who was skilled in martial arts, slammed shut the cell door and slid the bolt home.
And Jonny looked towards Charlie’s brother.
And Charlie’s brother was as Charlie.
For he was an identical twin.
Which, perhaps, was a little surprising to Jonny, as Charlie had not thought to mention that his older brother was his twin, and therefore older by little more than a few minutes. But, perhaps, as surprising as this was to Jonny, it was not, as it were, the thing that surprised him the most and had his jaw hanging slack and his mouth all gaping wide.
This thing was another thing altogether.
And this thing was the fact that Charlie’s identical twin brother was not anchored to the floor of his cell by the force of gravity, as one might reasonably expect. Charlie’s identical twin sat in the lotus position, floating three feet above the floor.
And as the draught from the closing door caught him, he fluttered like a leaf on a breeze and fair put the wind up Jonny.
18
‘Smoke and mirrors,’ said Mr Giggles. ‘Seen it all at the music hall.’
Jonny mouthed the words, ‘Shut up now,’ but did not speak them aloud.
‘My brother, Hari,’ said Charlie. ‘Hari, this is my friend, David, David Chicoteen.’
‘I don’t think there’s any need for that,’ said Jonny. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Hari. My name is Jonny Hooker.’
Jonny edged a little closer to the floater and put out a tentative hand for a shake. But it was only a tentative hand, as there was this fellow, stabilized somewhat now, but still clearly hovering in the air.
‘I …’ went Jonny. ‘I … I really don’t know what to say.’
‘Give me a minute, please.’ The arms of Hari were folded over his chest. These arms he now unfolded and stretched wide, clicking his neck and giving a bit of a yawn. And then he uncrossed his legs and extended these to the floor of the cell. And all at once he was standing.
‘It wasn’t so much the voices that put Hari in here,’ said Charlie, and he shook Hari’s hand and gave him a bit of a brotherly hug. ‘It was his constant law-breaking.’
‘The law of gravity,’ said Hari. ‘Never could be having with it, wished like crazy to try to break it, tried like crazy and, as the old saying goes, if at first you don’t succeed, you must be doing it wrong.’