And there he was on the cover.
In big glossy all full colour.
Keith Presley, brother of Elvis.
Otherwise known as Papa Keith Crossbar.
The Homunculus.
And there was a big blurb on that cover. And that blurb said-
LOOK OUT VILLAINS BEWARE AND TERRORISTS FLEE Keith Crossbar Crowned New Head of the CIA
‘Head of the CIA?’ I said. ‘That’s him, you know. That’s the Homunculus.’
‘Of course I know,’ said Fangio. ‘All of us in the Underground know now. But what can we do? Assassinate him?’
I glugged down another bottle of Bud.
And Fangio served me up another. ‘I’ll put it on your tab,’ he said.
‘Head of the CIA,’ I said. ‘How did that happen?’
‘Folk died,’ said Fangio. ‘Anyone who stood in his career path met with an unfortunate accident. Not always fatal, though, because when they had “recuperated”, they no longer stood in his way – they endorsed his rise to power.’
‘And I bet they all cast two shadows?’ I said.
‘I’ve heard that story, too,’ said Fangio. ‘And I’ll just bet that they do.’
‘How much would you be prepared to bet?’ I asked on the off-chance.
Fangio scratched at what he had left of hairs on his head.
‘Surely I would win that bet,’ he said.
‘You might,’ I replied.
‘I think I’ll pass anyway.’
I raised my bottle of Bud to Fange. ‘It is very good to be sitting here in this bar talking to you,’ I said. ‘Even if we are not talking the toot. It’s good. Cheers to you, my friend.’
‘And cheers to you, too,’ said Fangio.
And we shared a moment. A special moment.
And then the shatter-glass door opened and a newsboy entered and hurled the evening paper onto the bar.
Fangio almost caught it, but didn’t. And the newsboy departed, chuckling.
‘The news,’ I said to Fangio. ‘Now, I have not exactly been too privy to the news lately. Let’s have a look at what’s going on in the world.’ And Fangio smiled and pushed the evening paper across the counter top to me.
And I perused the front page.
And guess what. And wouldn’t you just know it.
There was a great big photograph of me on the front page. And below this were printed the words-
PSYCHOTIC TERRORIST SERIAL-KILLER ESCAPES FROM STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION CIA Head Orders Cops to Shoot on Sight
‘Oh sweet,’ I said. ‘Just perfect.’
55
So I was Public Enemy Number One.
Which rather spoiled my afternoon.
Not that I’d been having the best afternoon of my life, you understand, what with discovering that one in every three New Yorkers was a walking corpse. But, looking on the bright side, I was up out of my hospital bed and I was in a bar, having the first beers I’d had in ten years.
And my those beers tasted good.
But Public Enemy Number One? On the front page of the newspaper? That wasn’t funny. That wasn’t fair. That was downright spiteful.
Fangio cast eyes across the newspaper and whistled the whistle of surprise. ‘Psycho-terrorist?’ said he. ‘I wonder if there’s a reward.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I told him. ‘And bring me another beer.’
‘You won’t go blowing the place up when my back is turned?’
I gave Fange that certain look and he fetched further beer.
‘This is a fine kettle of fish,’ I said, upon his return. ‘A right how-do-you-do and a rare turn-up-for-the- book.’
‘Are we talking the toot now?’ asked Fangio. ‘Because you are getting me confused.’
‘I’m upset,’ I said. ‘And I’m angry. A wanted man? That is going to make things rather difficult for me, isn’t it?’
‘These things happen,’ said the barlord. ‘The secret is not to let them get you down. I’ve recently joined a travel club. That takes my mind off my problems.’
‘A travel club. But you never travel anywhere, except to the toilet.’
‘Ah,’ said Fangio. ‘But that is one of the beauties of the present age. I don’t have to travel. I can employ other people to do it for me.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense at all,’ I told him, in no uncertain tones.
‘Ah, but it does.’ And Fangio rested his elegantly wasted elbows upon the bar counter. ‘I pay for someone to travel to exotic lands and in return they send me postcards telling me all about it and thanking me for being so wonderful as to finance their journeys for them. So it satisfies on so many levels, really.’
‘It’s nonsense,’ I said. ‘And anyway, where would you get the money to finance them from?’
‘Out of your insurance pay-off…’ said Fangio. And then his voice trailed off.
‘My what?’ I said.
‘Curious thing,’ said Fange. ‘And I would have told you about it. I just forgot, with all the excitement of you being up and about and everything.’
‘Really?’ I said.
‘Well, there’s a chance that I might have mentioned it,’ said Fange. ‘There’s always a chance.’
‘I’ll just bet there is. But not now. Tell me all about this insurance pay-off.’
‘Well,’ said Fange, and he did that grin that roadkill does to perfection. The rictus grin, it is called. ‘Well, when you were struck down by that car. Curious thing. A fellow standing in the doorway of this bar, beside me – because I followed you out, you see, when you went a bit weird and just walked out – this fellow saw the crash and said, “What a coincidence, I happen to represent the insurance company that covers that old woman in the Ford Sierra. And we’re having a special offer this week and there’s a half a million pay-out to whoever she runs down.” ’
‘What?’ I said. ‘That is rather unlikely.’
‘Well, be that as it may. He asked whether I knew you. And I said, for the sake of convenience, that I was your only brother. And your only living relative.’
‘For the sake of convenience?’
‘I like to call it that, yes.’
‘Go on,’ I said. And I sighed.
‘He made out the cheque on the spot. What a happy happenstance, eh?’
‘What a far-fetched load of old cobblers.’
‘Would you like to see my bank statement?’
‘Very much indeed.’
And so Fangio showed me his bank statement. And wouldn’t you just know it-
‘Golly!’ I said.
