Magnificent. This was how to do it; stride onto the battle scene and dish out commands like you own the place; ‘Colonel, do this. Colonel, do that. Get me an armchair from which to run things. Take this chair away. It doesn’t possess flattened armrests for whisky glasses.’ And the colonel biting his tongue, following orders. Rely on the military mind never to question instructions given by any man dressed in a general’s uniform; even if the theatrical costumier’s tag was still on the trousers.
Not that Osmosis Park had been a battle scene before his army had started shooting. Those men really did believe they were on the moon. And not one of them had spotted the change in General Biggshott-Phaffing – the sudden appearance of a smoking bucket below his hat. But eccentricity was the prerogative of rank. Perhaps they all dreamed that one day they too might possess a Mighty Helm of Mystery.
And so the Great Osmosis stood just inside the park gates, watching the last neighbouring building go up in flames – the old orphanage where he’d grown up, a sickly child bullied by smaller boys but with a genius for getting his way. Reading the exploits of El Dritch, alone in his bunk, had taught him that his escape route would lie in a mastery of trickery.
Not one missile, supplied by Osmosis Arms and Fireworks Co, had hit its target. Each had overshot by some two hundred yards, causing mass destruction to the park surrounds, almost as though built with that precise purpose in mind.
Soon the suburbs would have a clear view of his tower. Then, in six months’ time, they too would go, giving Wheatley’s satellite towns a view. Then they too would go, providing a view for the whole country and then the world.
That final part would be complicated, requiring the Earth’s flattening out onto an orthographic plane, in order for Australia to see. A partial dimensional collapse of the Universe may be necessary but, with the help of the lovely Dr Rama, it could be done. A plan for her abduction and dungeoning was already fermenting in his mind. Dr Rama and chains, somehow the two thoughts went together.
Finally the orphanage collapsed.
Through binoculars he scrutinized his tower’s peak; with its monster sat three feet above the ground, holding its still struggling hostage. The monster hugged him tighter, unconcerned by the surrounding commotion.
‘Give yourself up,’ megaphoned a colonel. ‘Give yourself up and you will not be hurt.’
The monster ignored him.
Osmosis lowered the binoculars.
Time for the final phase of his masterplan.
Meekly hugged boy and trolley tighter to his fluffy, pink chest, squeezing the air from him, rocking him back and forth like a newborn kitten. ‘Pretty Girl funny. Pretty Girl make me laugh.’
‘Yeah? Well laugh on this, pal; soon they’ll bring more weapons – big weapons. Then you’ll be in trouble.’
‘Me not care. Nothing hurt Mr Meekly, not bullets, not missiles, not atom bombs.’
‘Can’t you take a hint?’
‘No.’
‘I do not love you. I could never love you.’
The monster stopped rocking him, suddenly looking sad. Could it finally be getting the message? ‘Pretty Girl want me let her go?’
‘Pretty Girl would love you to let her go.’
‘Pretty Girl not love me ever?’
Danny gazed warily at its vast chest and those arms that could crush submarines. He asked it, ‘What would you do if I said no?’
‘Mr Meekly would let Pretty Girl go, then sit here forever, crying.’
‘Mr Meekly?’
‘Yes, Pretty Girl?’
‘I could never love you.’
‘Pretty Girl not love me?’
‘For God’s sake, put me down over there.’ He nodded towards a spot ten feet away. The trolley stopped him moving anything but his head. ‘Then someone’ll carry me off and you can sit here and cry until they blow you up.’
Meekly gazed at him. Crunch, it bit a chunk from one of the trolley corners.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Danny demanded shrilly.
‘Me eat Pretty Girl.’ And it bit off another chunk.
‘No! No!’ He struggled desperately against his straps. ‘You said you’d let me go!’
It chuckled. ‘Me meant me’d eat you. Me not always good with words.’
‘No! No! No!’
Meekly lifted him toward its mouth.
And Danny shut his eyes.
But then …
… nothing.
Baffled, he opened his eyes.
It had forgotten where its mouth was. It tried to shove him into its left eye. It tried to shove him into its right eye. It tried to shove him up its nostrils, left right and centre. Thank God they were too small. It was bad enough to be eaten, it was worse to spend your life stuck halfway up a monster’s nose. It tried to stick him in its right ear. It tried to stick him in its left ear. It tried to stick him through the centre of its forehead, until it realized there was no hole there.
But finally, it lifted him toward its mouth.
‘Oh Lord.’ That cavern now filled his view. Again he closed his eyes but with them shut saw the mouth clearer than ever. And Danny Yates prepared to die.
Instead, Meekly screamed.
‘Gas. We need gas, big gas, big nets, big helicopters. How about that foam stuff, entangles its victims?’
‘Colonel?’ When General Biggshott-Phaffing approached. Colonel Rodgers was at the mêlée’s hub, by a jeep, radio-phoning HQ while organizing matters in the park. Soldiers ran to and fro around him, getting into position, setting up armaments.
‘Yes, General?’ Colonel Rodgers responded.
‘Any luck with the heat seekers?’
Rodgers’ hand covered the phone’s mouthpiece. ‘None, Sir. They fly about all over the place, almost as though pre-programmed to leave no statues of local dignitaries intact.’
Osmosis looked around. ‘And those snipers?’
‘Sir?’ Rodgers glanced across to the five men knelt behind swings. They checked their gun sights like they’d never seen one before.
‘What sort of damage would they do?’ asked Osmosis.
One of them was staring, baffled, down his rifle barrel, repeatedly pulling the trigger. It turned out not to be loaded. Where had the real Biggshott-Phaffing found these people?
‘Damage to the monster. Sir?’ said Rodgers. ‘Probably none. Private Bucky over there, he reads comics. Tells us what we have here is the Human Tube Line. According to Bucky, he’s unstoppable – the Tube Line, that is, not Bucky. Bucky’s not unstoppable and would never claim to be. Between you and me. Sir, he’s easy to stop. You want me to go over and stop him?’
Osmosis glanced across at the private, who already looked stopped. ‘That won’t be necessary. Colonel. And the hostage?’
‘We don’t know him. Right now the nation’s finest minds are reading comics to see if they can find a reference to him. Apparently, there’s a blind girl – Little Cripple Annie – befriends the Tube Line in Issue 6. We’re trying to locate her and also a big, talking ant who fights the Tube Line to a standstill on a regular basis. That’s a big ant who talks. Sir, not an ant who talks big. Although he does talk big.’
‘Colonel, you will find none of those characters outside the hoary pages of a comic book. Howmsoever, the hostage is The Indestructible Sparkling Boy. No bullet can harm him, from Issue 147.’ He knew there was no Issue 147, the comic having been banned from 146 onward, proven to cause brain damage. ‘The monster, on the other hand, can be brought down by a sniper’s bullet cunningly deflected off Sparkling Boy’s indestructible head.’
‘Private Bucky says otherwise, Sir.’
‘Sergeant!’ Osmosis called imperiously.
A passing sergeant stopped, saluted and stood to rigid attention. ‘Sir?’
‘Private Bucky,’ Osmosis waved a lazy hand in Bucky’s direction. ‘Five years of gagged press-ups in the glasshouse, starting now.’
‘Yes, Sir!’ the sergeant barked, again saluting. A cruel smile curled one side of his mouth.
And the protesting Bucky was dragged away.
‘You’re sure about this, General?’ Colonel Rodgers hung up the phone.
Osmosis asserted, ‘In Issue 147, Sparkling Boy’s transferred radioactivity tranquillized the Tube Line and reverted him to a harmless accountant; a little too liberal perhaps but manageable. Have no fears. Colonel, your bullets will simply bounce off Sparkling Boy’s head.’ And within his Mighty Helm of Mystery, Osmosis’ gaze settled on a distant trolley. ‘Colonel?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Have your men fire at will.’
‘Yeah! Drop me on my head, why don’t you?’ Danny lay on his trolley at Meekly’s feet, where the monster had dropped him during the screaming fit. His scream had been that of a small girl. Danny strained against the trolley straps. He didn’t believe this; his one chance of escape and he couldn’t move.
Still agitated. Meekly glanced around. ‘Pretty Girl see a rabbit?’
‘What?’
‘Me thought me saw a rabbit.’
‘Where?’
‘There.’
‘Where?’
‘There.’ He pointed at the rabbit.
Straining to see, Danny gazed at its vast, green flatness. And he sighed. That’s the ground, you berk. It’s been there all along.’
‘It has?’
‘If it wasn’t, there wouldn’t be anything to stand on.’
‘Me learn something new every day,’ he chuckled.
Then he screamed.
‘Now what’s up?’
‘Another rabbit.’
‘Where?’
Meekly pointed upwards.
And Danny sighed. ‘That’s the sky.’
‘Oh.’ Meekly settled down again.
‘So what’s this about rabbits?’ Like Danny cared. He just hoped to keep Meekly talking.
‘Me know the truth about rabbits.’
‘What truth?’
‘Me not like to say.’
Suddenly he realized. Comic book writers always gave their characters a weakness; Superman hated kryptonite, if Thor dropped his hammer he turned into a doctor. Iron Man’s pacemaker ran down at all the wrong moments. That was why Teena’d told him to keep Proton and Neutron close by. She knew they’d scare off Meekly. That was why he’d fled Danny’s room that night – the rabbits had been there.
And where were they now when he needed them? In the wardrobe where he’d locked them because they got on his nerves. Why did they let him do that?
But this was his chance. He’d brilliantly trick Meekly into returning to the house and the rabbits. How hard could it be to outwit someone that thick? ‘Mr Meekl – ’
‘Pretty Girl still here?’
‘Of course I’m still here. Now I want you to take me – ’
‘Pretty Girl must love me or she would’ve run off like Pretty Girls always do.’
‘I can’t run off, you pillock. I’m strapped to – ’
Meekly grabbed him and hugged him.
‘Bloody Norah.’
Meekly rocked him back and forth, delightedly crushing the air from him. ‘Pretty Girl love me. Me and her stay here for ever.’
‘You mean?’
‘Now Mr Meekly never let her go.’
‘Oh,’ said Danny. ‘Great.’
In Danny’s wardrobe. Proton and Neutron played tug-of-war with his spare jeans. They were so happy in there they were determined never to leave.
By the children’s play area, Osmosis Park fell into expectant silence. A cold wind whistled through the swings’ chains.
Elbows resting on the swings’ plastic seats, hands perspiring, heads pounding with tension, mouths dry, each sniper closed one eye.
They pressed a sight against the open eye.
They took aim.
‘Hug me tighter!’ demanded Danny, panicking as a hail of bullets ricocheted off both trolley and Meekly. One narrowly missed Danny’s head.
‘Really?’ The monster was increasingly delighted with how things were turning out.
Danny wished he could share its optimism but, not being impervious to bullets, found it impossible.
Scrunch, the monster hugged tighter.
Barely able to breathe, Danny felt like a steam-rollered road but at least was shielded by Meekly’s bulk. Heart and mind racing, he gazed at the distant, reloading snipers who, after a string of wild misses, aimed closer with each barrage, as though learning to use weapons they’d never seen before.
How many were there? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? It was like someone had emptied the nation’s least successful mental institutions, handed out guns, then sent each inmate to the park to get play therapy. But why? Couldn’t they see Danny was the only one likely to get hurt?
Then he realized.
They knew he’d killed Teena Rama, a woman the whole world loved. Now they’d assumed he’d kidnapped this thing, dragged it to the top of Osmosis Tower, and was holding it hostage.
They weren’t there to rescue Danny.
They were there to rescue the Human Tube Line.
‘Pretty Girl love Mr Meekly?’ It still rocked him like a kitten.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever.’ His attention was on the snipers lining up their next shots.
Meekly’s eyes again did the rotating thing. ‘Then, me kiss Pretty Girl.’
Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam Blam!
‘It’s not working. General,’ said Colonel Rodgers, above the gunfire. He sat in the jeep, watching the action through binoculars. ‘My snipers can’t get near Sparkling Boy’s head while that monster holds him so close.’
Beside him. Osmosis gazed the other way. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. Colonel.’ He smiled a reptilian smile. ‘I believe matters are about to pick up, pick up most delightfully.’
And a slow, low, long black shark of a car glided silently into Osmosis Park, drawing to a halt on a grassy knoll.
Slam! Clancy Watts, all in black, shut the door of her black Plymouth Barracuda, walked around the back, inserted key in lock, turned it, and opened the black boot. It contained one spare tyre, black; one foot pump, black; a tool kit, black; and one rag bundle, black.
She took the bundle and unwrapped it to reveal one rifle, high powered, custom made, long, sleek, polished, deadly and black.
She tossed the rags back into the boot. From her knoll she surveyed her surroundings blackly. Charlie Osmosis and some colonel-type were jogging up toward her.
‘Clancy, my dear,’ Osmosis blustered upon reaching her. He threw both arms round her and hugged her tighter than that creature was hugging that kid. His cold bucket pressed against her face, he said, ‘A pleasure to see you, as always. How are you?’
‘My jugs hurt.’
‘Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.’ Then, suggestively, ‘Anything I can help you with?’
‘Yes. You can stop squashing them.’
He released her, his clammy, white-gloved hands coming to rest on her upper arms. ‘Apologies, my dear. I never realized they were so sensitive.’
‘They weren’t.’ She removed his hands from her arms.
‘I trust it won’t be affecting your performance?’
‘You pay money, you get a job done, jug squashing or no.’ And slam, she shut the boot.
‘Marvellous. I knew I could count on you.’
‘So, what’s the latest, Charlie?’
‘Field Marshal, Sir.’ The colonel-type stepped forward, saluting her. ‘We need you to deflect bullets off Sparkling Boy’s head. The general tells me you’re the best shot in the army.’
She looked at Osmosis, baffled, asking, ‘Field Marshal? General? Deflect? Sparkling Boy?’
Osmosis placed a paternal arm round her, guiding her away from the car, towards his jeep and leaving behind the colonel-type. ‘Never mind him, my dear.’ Not looking back, he called, ‘Colonel?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Go over and give your men a pep talk. We’ll join you momentarily.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
She watched the colonel-type leave, all the time considering how she’d kill him, should she be required to. Garrotting would be best. Garrotting was always best with colonels. Shoot generals, garrotte colonels. He jogged down the hill, hopped over a fallen tree trunk and joined a group of snipers. One was gazing down his barrel while pulling the trigger, seemingly wondering why it wouldn’t fire.
She and Osmosis walked on. ‘In a moment,’ she corrected.
‘You’ll see him in a moment.’
‘That’s right. I believe I said that.’
‘No. You said “momentarily”. Momentarily means for a moment, not in a moment.’
‘Whatever you say, my dear. Now …’
‘No. Not whatever, Charlie. Precision is everything. In this business, you know where sloppy gets you?’
He shrugged.
She said, ‘Dead.’
‘Dearest child, death is for the unimportant people, as you’ll learn when you’re a little older and almost as sage as myself. I always have a Plan B, to ensure success.’
‘I have a Plan A and stick to it. Prepare properly and you don’t need a Plan B.’ She stopped walking. ‘So, what’s happening?’
He stopped a few yards ahead, his back to her. He studied the tower. ‘You see that boy up there?’
‘Who could miss him?’
‘Not you I hope.’
‘He’s Danny Yates? Jesus. How’d he get in that predicament?’
‘How many shots will you require? Only, I’m told you use silver bullets these days and I wouldn’t want to be wasting money on him.’
‘I never miss, Charlie. I only carry one bullet per job.’
And Clancy Watts, the most dangerous woman alive, performed a one-handed, gun-swinging, vaguely masturbatory action that made rifle parts klitch into place and sent the Great Osmosis’ legs pleasantly weak.
Meekly’s huge face drew nearer, ever nearer, eyes still rotating in opposite directions. ‘Pretty Girl kiss. Pretty Girl marry. Pretty Girl live with me on desert island, with coconuts.’
‘No. No. It’s okay, thank you.’ Danny squirmed on his trolley, trying to pull his face away from Meekly’s. ‘We don’t need to.’
‘Pretty Girl want me let Pretty Girl go again?’
A hail of bullets meant for Danny ricocheted off the monster’s shoulder.
‘No, no,’ he insisted. ‘You keep hold of me but…’
It was no use. Meekly’s cavernous mouth was closing in on him, purple saliva drooling from one corner, two tongues drooling from another. Tonsils drooled from the middle corner.
The boy closed his eyes, squirming and wincing, hot breath across his face, wishing he were dead, or someone else, or both.
Oh God! Something new had jumped onto him, something small, warm and furry, scampering up his legs. There was two of it, one for each leg.
The monster had brought friends. And they were all going to snog Danny and were all bound to be even uglier than Meekly.
The new thing scampered onto Danny’s chest, and headed for his face.
Clancy Watts knelt on her grassy knoll, gun on knee, one eye closed, one eye against a telescopic sight. The sight was filled by a boy’s closed-eyed head. He was bobbing and weaving, trying to avoid monstrous lips. She felt it best not to speculate on what circumstances had led to that state of affairs.
A red laser dot drifted across his cheek then upward, settling on his left temple.
And her finger began to squeeze.
She broke off.
His head had moved.
Patient, she settled down for another try, again moving the red dot over his face, awaiting the one split-second of stillness she needed.
The dot again settled on his left temple.
And her finger began to squeeze.
‘Miss Watts! Miss Watts! Are you planning on taking all day? It’s been positively minutes.’
She broke off, mouthing a silent tirade of abuse at any gods too slow to duck.
Osmosis, in a flap, was heading up toward her. ‘I hope you’re not expecting to charge by the hour, young lady, because I warn you I will not be impressed.’ Now he stood over her, all pig-stupid, puffed-up conceit. ‘Murder Cod would have had it done by now.’
‘Murder Cod?’
‘A marvellous group of truly professional killers. And considerably cheaper than you.’
‘Do you mean Murder. C.O.D.?’ She glared at him, contemptuous, regretting having only brought one bullet with her.
‘Murder Cod would have handed me a loyalty card, and a promotional car sticker. Really, my dear, you must sharpen your business practices. This is the age of the eight-second attention span, one-hour film processing, one-hour spectacle manufacture and half-hour picture framing.’
‘Murder, C.O.D. are dead,’ she told him.
‘Nonsense, I saw them alive, just the other week, collecting their giros.’
‘I killed them, Tuesday morning.’
‘Oh.’
‘Someone took a contract out on them.’
‘… After the “fastest guns in the EU” shot their client’s mother-in-law, daughter, sister-in-law, father-in-law, brother, chauffeur, dogs, fish, next door neighbour, son, car, house, gnomes and garden furniture. They shot everyone their client knew, except his wife. It was his wife they’d been hired to kill.’
‘In that case,’ huffed Osmosis, arms folded high across his chest, ‘I could have hired Death Inc, another fine group of…’
‘And Inc is spelt?’
‘I.N.K.’
‘You got a wife, Charlie?’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’ He seemed rattled.
‘Because, if you interrupt me one more time, she’ll be a widow.’
‘Well, excuse me.’ And he marched off in a huff.
Asshole.
She shook her head then once more settled into position.
Again she lined up her shot.
And the woman who never missed, squeezed …
Meekly screamed. He dropped Danny’s trolley. The sudden weight reduction twanged the tower upright and flung Meekly skyward.
Crash! The trolley hit the ground hard. A bullet sliced the air where Danny’s head had just been. If Meekly hadn’t dropped him, the bullet would have killed him. But why had he dropped him?
Meekly was in no mood to answer. He was too busy roaring and flailing. Danny lay dazed, battered and bewildered, watching him roar over Wheatley. With each second. Meekly grew smaller.
Now he was a distant, arcing blob above the suburbs.
Now he was a dash.
Now a dot. Now nothing.