Goodnight, John-boy: Chapter 11
Dave meets his first fan and finally faces up to the reality of his crimes
DAVE GUESSED what was going on the moment he stepped back into the lounge and saw who was standing there.
He barely noticed his mother fading away as his mind immediately flashed back to a scene in The Caning Commando, when Grabham replaced the evil scientist Von Vroom’s schnapps with thallium, a colourless, odourless, tasteless – and fatal poison.
Because the kid standing by the bar was pouring a colourless liquid into a bottle of Keen’s vodka. He was a boy with a man in his eyes. Fresh-faced, youthful, yet somehow – imperceptibly – old before his time.
Welcome to Book Two of my dark comedy thriller series, Read Em And Weep.
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If you’re new to the Read Em And Weep series, start with Book One: Serial Killer.
Imperceptible, except to predators and other prey. Just as stoners, public school boys, swingers, soldiers, cops and villains often recognise each other – even before even a word is said – by body language, clothes, hair and, above all, by the expression in the eyes, so Dave and the kid recognised each other as kindred spirits.
So he knew what the kid was doing and why, but he still had to ask: ‘Why?’
‘Why do you think?’ said the boy. He was a handsome lad, about fourteen, a young David Essex. He wore a white hat, like Dylan on the cover of his latest album, Desire. And a similar knotted scarf.
‘I have no idea,’ lied Dave.
‘The parties. The gifts. The visits from “Uncle” Fab to Castle Ramparts.’ The boy loaded his words with bitter sarcasm.
‘Castle Ramparts?’
‘An approved school for gifted but “problem” boys. Uncle Fab takes his favourites out for “treats”. As well as the girls from Mildencroft down the road from us.’
‘You did something wrong?’
‘We’re sent there for drugs, going on the game, trying to top ourselves, that kind of shit.’
Dave nodded at the vodka bottle. ‘So this is the only way to stop him?’
The boy gritted his teeth. ‘We’re a family. We look out for each other, especially the young ones.’
Dave said nothing, but the boy answered his unasked question. ‘You think the cops would believe approved school kids rather than Saint Fab?’He shook his head. ‘Nope. We’ve got to take him down. It's got to be done. No more bullshit. No more skullduggery.’
‘Don’t you mean skullbuggery?’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Dave sighed. ‘I say stupid things when I’m nervous. Actually, I say stupid things when I’m not nervous, My name’s Dave Maudling, and–’
‘I know who you are. I heard you talking to yourself in there. The editor of Aaagh! and The Spanker. I’m Scott.’
‘Hi, Scott.’ They shook hands.
‘What the hell was that noise?’
‘The comptometer.’
‘What's a comptometer?’
‘You don't want to know.’ Dave gently felt his neck. He changed the subject. ‘A Spanker and Aaagh! fan, eh?’
‘They’re better than the shit comics they give us.’ Scott frowned ‘Old Homework annuals and Davy Crockett Picture Libraries.’
‘They are shit,’ agreed Dave.
‘Those old geezers have no idea.’
‘You mean, for services rendered? I’m shocked.’
‘We were, too.’
‘And you know what? Homework annuals don’t even smell as good as good as the other annuals. I love the smell of an Angus, Angus and Angus annual. The Corker, The Bazooka or The Tosser. Reminds me of Christmas. I could sniff them all day. I think it’s something they put in the ink. Much better than Fleetpit annuals. But the Homework annuals smell kinda … posh. Horrible.’
Scott was looking at him coldly.
‘Sorry, Scott. There I go again. Me and my stupid mouth. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’
’We get other stuff as well. But the wardens get the serious money.’
‘Wardens?’
‘They’re in charge of us. They supply Fab’s parties.’ Scott glowered. ‘It’s why I fucking hate cowboy comics. Kit Carson. Buffalo Bill. Davy Crockett.’ He spat out the names.
‘Yes,’ admitted Dave. ‘We usually put our worst writers on Davy Crockett Picture Library. I myself have written several. But you’ve got to admit they smell pretty good? They’ve got that nice, fusty letterpress smell? That’s ’cos the paper’s already starting to decay, you see?’
Dave realised Scott was still looking at him coldly.
‘Anyway, I’m glad you like The Spanker,’ Dave added lamely.
‘No, actually, The Spanker’s a bit shit, too,’ said Scott. ‘We only read it for The Caning Commando.’
‘’Cos it’s so ridiculous, it’s actually pretty funny, right?’
‘It’s okay. But we get it ’cos it tells us how to kill people.’
Dave looked taken aback. Scott grinned at him. ‘What? You didn’t think we’d notice?’
Dave’s face gave nothing away. Or rather, he thought it didn’t. If he had checked in the mirror, he would have seen he looked guilty as hell.
‘Aaagh! is better,’ Scott continued. ‘We all read it – especially the girls.’ He looked enthusiastic. ‘They love White Death. Oh, man – we loved that scene where Airforce One crash lands in the Pacific!’
‘And the shark bursts in through the cockpit?’
‘He swims down the aisle ...’
‘And eats the President of the United States!’ Dave laughed.
‘And he’s screaming, “No! Not … the jaws!”,’ whooped Scott. ‘I've got to congratulate you, Dave. That was seriously sublime.’
‘Thanks. But actually, Joy writes White Death.’
Scott grinned ‘You are really fucking with our heads, you know? Carjacks. Wicked! You know your cars, man.’
‘That was Greg.’
‘And Black Hammer! A black hero in comics. Too much!’
‘That was me,’ said Dave, pleased to finally take some credit.
‘So cool. For the first time a comic is telling kids not to look up to people in authority, like Homework. All the people Homework approves of: magistrates, MPs, titled geezers, bishops, they’re the bastards who are at Fab’s parties.’ Scott clenched his fists at the thought.
‘Pillars of the community,’ said Dave. ‘I bet they’re all tweedy and suited and booted.’
‘They ask how we’re getting on at school. Are we doing our homework?’ said Scott sarcastically. ‘Like they’re such good, such kind people. “Terribly decent people”,’ he said with a mock refined accent. ‘Like they actually give a shit.’
‘Party chat-up lines,’ explained Dave. ‘They can’t really ask, “Have you come far?” or “What’s your star sign?” or “I just love your jacket.” ’
‘Oh, they come out with some of that crap, too. It’s just like a normal party. And they talk about maybe adopting us if we’re good. What they mean is, if we do what they want,’ said Scott. Then added darkly as an afterthought: ‘And if we pretend to be enjoying it.’
‘Evil fuckers,’ said Dave, finally losing his facetious armour.
‘And Aaagh! is telling us to fight back against these evil fuckers. You do know that’s what you’re telling us to do, Dave?’ said Scott looking seriously at him. ‘To fight back?’
Dave hesitated. He knew that’s what he was telling kids, but it had always been a very distant knowledge. Now it was hitting him right between the eyes. He inhaled, enjoying the free transit of air straight down his windpipe. ‘I know.’
‘But not like this, Scott,’ he added, taking the bottle of vodka, tearing himself away from being a man-child and reluctantly playing the adult. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but he felt he had to, more because of his seniority of years, rather than from any genuine adult feeling of responsibility. ‘I mean … anyone could drink it.’
He pursed his lips, nodded his head, and looked seriously at Scott, the way he imagined adults looked reprovingly at kids. That typical teacher or policeman look, which comes so easily to most adults, but somehow came out weirdly when Dave did it.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Scott anxiously.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Your face … you look like you’re about to throw up.’
‘I’m fine.’
Dave was also conscious of the time. Nationwide was nearly over and Fabulous Keen would be home soon. They had to get out of there.
‘I’m a “gifted kid”, remember?’ continued Scott. ‘Vodka and tonic is what Keen always drinks. I’m not going to put the poison in the Babycham, am I?’
Dave couldn’t let Scott do it, even though, via The Caning Commando, he had been encouraging kids to kill. But brought face to face with it, he couldn’t let it happen. Not because the kid would get into serious trouble, but because he would be complicit in the crime.
Dave took the bottle over to the Jacuzzi. ‘It’s just too risky.’ He poured the poison down the plughole, filling up the vodka bottle with tap water. ‘We’ll find another way to deal with him, Scott.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know yet, but we’ll find it.’
‘Are you sure?’ Scott looked at him skeptically. ‘You’re not just saying that because you don’t want to be involved in his murder?’
‘Course not. Not at all. No way.’
‘Three negatives,’ observed Scott shrewdly, looking carefully at Dave’s face. ‘That makes me doubt you.’
‘Why would three negatives be wrong?’ asked Dave guiltily.
‘It’s like when people come out with three excuses why they can’t do something. One excuse is genuine. Three excuses, you know they’re always lying.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ mused Dave. ‘I’ll watch out for it. But no, I’m not just saying that.’
‘Okay,’ said a satisfied Scott. ‘Because you know you’re already responsible, Dave. Because the idea for the poison came from you in the first place.’
Dave nodded uneasily. ‘I know.’
‘And Keen needs to die. You do know that?’
‘You and I are on the same page, Scott. Trust me.’
‘Okay. But when he drinks water instead of vodka,’ pondered Scott, ‘he’ll know someone knows where he keeps his key, and has been helping themselves to his drinks.’
‘He’ll think it’s the cleaner,’ Dave reassured him. He nodded towards the window. ‘Watch out for his car. I’m going to have a good look around and make sure we haven’t left any clues we’ve been here.’
He scanned everywhere with eagle eyes to ensure there was no incriminating evidence. The unfamiliar adult behaviour actually felt good to Dave.
Scott looked out the window overlooking the car park. ‘They never tell us their names when they come here. I recognise one or two from TV. But usually, I know them by their cars: Reliant Scimitar, Marcos Mantis. AC Cobra, Vanden Plas Princess. I’d say the more expensive the car, the bigger the bastard.’
‘That’s an interesting theory,’ said Dave. ‘James Bond is licensed to kill and he’s got an Aston Martin. What’s Fab’s?’
‘Jensen Interceptor. He’d drive me home sometimes.’ Scott’s face grimaced with rage. ‘You know what I really hate, Dave? More than anything in the whole world? I really hate the dashboard of a Jensen Interceptor.’
Dave was now thinking of his exit strategy, how he could best extricate himself from the situation, without it making it look too obvious, especially as Scott was so clearly intelligent. ‘Apart from the cops, you never considered asking anyone else for help?’ he asked casually as he switched off the TV and took a final look around.
‘No. Because I’m asking you.’
‘I meant – someone official.’
‘Like who?’
‘Oh, you know: Cross Line? “Whatever your cross, we’ll help you carry it”.’ Scott turned away from the window. ‘How do we know they’re not in league with Keen? Every other fucker is.’
‘Teachers?’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Social services?’
‘Those jobsworths?’
‘Your own social worker?’
‘You mean the one Keen supplies with heroin? Who jacks-up in front of me?’
‘Heroin? That will destroy him? Won’t it?’
‘Like in the leaflets? Not immediately. And not always.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You know, I think I’m more worldly-wise than you, Dave.’
‘There must be someone you can trust.’
‘Yeah. You.’
The words were like an arrow. It went straight into Dave’s heart. He knew he could not extricate himself now. He had to help the kid.
Dave looked down into the car park. A Jensen had just pulled up. ‘He’s back.’ Scott looked afraid for the first time. ‘The stairs. Don’t want to meet him coming out of the lift.’ Dave nodded.
‘Hurry!’
Dave looked down again at the Jensen and saw Keen alight. He was shocked to see a familiar figure from his past gracefully slipping out from the passenger side. It was Mrs Czarnecki, the wife of the coroner.
‘Dave! Come on!’
Grabbing his sports bag, Dave rushed from the room, slamming the door, pausing for the briefest of moments as Scott replaced the key under the flower pot.
Then they hurtled down the stairs, even as they could see the lift was being summoned from the ground floor.
Goodnight, John-boy is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.