‘Goodbye, Fangio,’ I said to him.
‘Goodbye, Laz,’ said Fange.
I think the police backup must have arrived because there was suddenly a whole lot more gunfire and from lots of different directions. And I make no bones about it, it frightened six bells of Shadoogie out of me. I was really scared. And I crawled along behind the bar counter and edged through the rear door, passed into the unspeakable kitchen, of which there has been no former description and of which there will be none now, and slipped out of the rear doorway and into the alleyway beyond.
The alleyway where Lazlo Woodbine used to get into sticky situations.
That alleyway made me feel almost nostalgic. Almost. I crept along that alleyway, moving from the cover of one trashcan to another, and mostly beneath those cast-iron fire escapes with the retractable bottom sections. I paused, briefly, to check whether I was being followed. And savoured the atmospheric ambient sounds of a solitary saxophone.
And then, when I was almost at the end of the alleyway, a police car swerved to a halt right before me and cops piled out, all carrying guns, and I was forced to run.
And my, can’t you run fast when cops are shooting at you!
And me, not being particularly physically fit and, in truth, a wee bit tiddly from the bottles of Bud – although this was all rather sobering – even so, I did run fast, I can tell you. And I did dodgings, too. And police bullets ricocheted off trashcans and cast-iron fire escapes. And a bum who camped in that alleyway, and whom fate had not perhaps treated as fairly as it might, copped a round or two to the head, which was tough, but such is life.
And I ran. Right down that alleyway and out of the other end. And yes, there were more police cars. And I really had to get a burst of extra speed on to try to lose myself amidst the New York traffic and all the comings and goings.
And presently I found myself in Times Square, breathing very heavily, but at least breathing. And I took deep breaths to steady myself and steadied myself. And then I looked up at that big television jobbie that Times Square is so famous for. As opposed to the Pepsi Cola sign that Piccadilly Circus is so famous for.
And yes. Wouldn’t you just know it-
There was my face right up there on that screen.
Interspersed with shots of Fangio’s Bar.
And I sighed. Once more, I confess it. And I turned up the collar of my trench coat and pulled down the brim of my snap-brimmed fedora, which all but fell off because it was so mouldy. And I trudged along amidst the crowd, keeping my head hung low and feeling not altogether the jolliest fellow around.
And I found a Donut Diner and I slipped into it. And with my head bowed, I ordered a donut and coffee. And after some considerable time negotiating exactly which type of donut, and which variety of coffee would ‘truly fit my personality’, which caused me to wish that there were bullets inside my gun, I paid an outrageous sum for something-or-other to eat and something-or-other to drink and retired with these to a quiet corner table.
And of course there was a television set in that Donut Diner.
And yes, of course it was tuned to a news station that was broadcasting pictures of my face. But I kept my head down and feigned interest in my donut and coffee. Whilst trying to formulate a plan.
I would have to get out of New York as quickly as possible. This was a given. And seek Begrem? Yes, I had the financial means and the aching need. But not the knowledge of where to seek it. Sumeria would probably be a good starting point. But I did not have a passport. And even if I’d had a passport, it was odds-on that this passport would lead to my arrest at the airport. Difficult times.
And I sat with my head way down low and glowered at my donut.
I was all messed up here, I knew it, the whole thing was hopeless, I was done for. I had no intention of giving myself up, so all I could do was run. Far away from here. Get to Begrem. How? All I could do for now was try to escape to somewhere safe. But where? And how? I knew not.
And sighing and glowering, I diddled with my donut.
‘Difficult times for you, Tyler.’
‘Difficult times indeed,’ I agreed.
‘Difficult, difficult times.’
‘Yes, I know they’re difficult.’ And then I looked up. Because I wasn’t having this conversation with myself. Someone else was speaking to me. Although not speaking. I could hear them thinking.
‘That will prove a most valuable asset.’
And I looked all round and about.
And there he was, sitting beside the counter, eating some kind of something that was probably a donut. And he was grinning at me. And I rose to greet him, but he beckoned me to stay. And so I sat still and he joined me at my table.
Mr Ishmael.
‘You don’t look quite as well as you might,’ he said. And I saw that he said it because I saw his mouth open up. And I saw too that he hadn’t changed much. He looked very well. ‘It is good that we meet again,’ he said. ‘Very good.’
I gazed at Mr Ishmael and I hated him.
‘Harsh thoughts,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘I have always had your interests at heart.’
‘You are a liar,’ I said. ‘You have always had your own motives at your own heart. I have been nothing more than a pawn in your game.’
‘You are a great deal more than that, young Tyler.’
‘Young?’ I said. And I laughed a hollow laugh. ‘You have stolen away my life. Look at me – I am old and wrecked. What life have I had?’
‘You have yet to have your finest hour.’
‘I hate you, Mr Ishmael,’ I said. ‘And if I had bullets in my gun, I would surely shoot you.’
‘Oh dear, very harsh words.’
‘It is because of you that I am a wanted man. The Homunculus will surely have me killed. I hold you responsible for this. And if there is any kind of an afterlife, be assured that I will return to haunt you.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘This is not the merry reunion I was hoping it might be.’
‘Leave me alone,’ I said. ‘Go away and leave me alone.’
‘But I can help you, Tyler. That’s why I’m here, to help you. I have kept a careful eye on you all these years. You have been under my protection.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I said.
‘I watched you leave the hospital, I followed you to Fangio’s Bar, I followed you here.’
‘Only so you could get me into even more trouble.’
‘I don’t think it would be possible for you to get into even more trouble than you are in now.’
‘Then take satisfaction in what you have achieved.’
‘It is not me who will achieve our goal, but you. Everything that has happened to you so far has all been a part of what is to come. A preparation for what you must do. And you are prepared now. You are ready. You have all the skills. All the abilities. You are the weapon of our deliverance. You are the Bedrock of our Salvation.’
‘Oh, yeah, right. I spent twenty years of my life as a puppet for Papa Crossbar, then another ten in a hospital bed. I have been robbed of my life and it is all your fault. And I would so love to kill you. And as I have no bullets, I think I’ll just bludgeon you to death with the gun.’
‘So much anger,’ said Mr Ishmael. Without moving his mouth. ‘And justified, too. But you are directing your anger in the wrong direction. You know you are special, Tyler. You don’t know why, because no one has told you. Major Lynch didn’t tell you, did he? But he almost did, he almost let it slip. I disciplined him for that.’
‘Who are you?’ I asked. ‘What are you?’
‘You do know who I am. You just haven’t given it sufficient thought. But I am not the issue, Tyler, you are the issue. You are the future. You must succeed.’
‘Bend your head down,’ I said, ‘and I’ll welt it with my gun.’
And Mr Ishmael sighed.
‘I hold the present franchise on sighing,’ I told him. ‘You are infringing my copyright.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then. You clearly do not want my help.’
