Goodnight, John-Boy Chapter 16
In which Dave's dead mum insists he tops Fab Keen, while Dave is far more interested in what's under Joy's top.
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.
DAVE AND SCOTT met again on a hot and airless Saturday afternoon at the King Edward VIII docks, now a deserted wasteland, the long line of cranes towering over them, rusting and silent.
They discussed Scott’s new plan to dispose of Keen. It was ingenious, and Dave had to admit it seemed foolproof. Older teenagers from both schools were involved. Four from Castle Ramparts and three from Mildencroft. They’d kept the numbers down so there was less chance of the wardens finding out. But it still needed an adult to lure Keen into their trap, and this was where Dave came in.
‘Trouble is,’ said Scott, ‘by the time everything’s set up, I’ve calculated it’ll be September. Still, it’ll be worth it.’
‘And there’s a problem,’ said Dave. ‘I went to take his robes back a couple of days later. Waited till he left and sneaked into the building. Only he’d changed the lock. So he knows someone’s been in.’
‘I told you! I told you the vodka would alert him!’
‘Then I guess he checked to see if anything was missing, so he’s bound to see his robes are gone.’
‘Doesn’t make any difference to the plan,’ decided Scott. ‘He doesn’t know who we are. We can still go ahead.’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Dave.
‘You’re not chickening out?’ asked Scott.
That wasn’t the case at all. Dave was firmly committed to Scott’s plan. But something in the back of Dave’s mind – doubtless his mother again – was suggesting something much sooner than September, and much worse.
So he tried to block her out of his mind. He stared out across the eerie, windswept, industrial wilderness, the hot air shimmering as it rose from the cracked concrete. ‘When I was an errand boy, in ’65,’ said Dave, ‘I remember all those cranes dipping in salute when Churchill’s funeral barge went by.’
‘They told us about it at school,’ said Scott. ‘It was powerful. Our teacher had tears in her eyes.’
‘Only it wasn’t true,’ said Dave. ‘The dockers hated Churchill. Said he was a warmonger. I heard them arguing about it. Especially ’cos his funeral was on a Saturday, their day off. The bosses made them do it.’
‘Everything’s a lie,’ said Scott. ‘Hey – wouldn’t round here make a great album cover for Who’s Next?’
‘Teenage Wasteland?’ said Dave. ‘It’s certainly where I wasted my teenage years.’
‘Was The Who where you got the idea for The Damned?’ Scott asked. ‘Kids given medication that turns them into zombies. Albums melted down in furnaces by the Insinerators? Music banned. Like Lifehouse. People living in government-controlled “experience suits” inside “the Grid”?’
‘No. But that’s what my sister said when I sent her a copy of Aaagh!’ Dave said. ‘She’s a big Who fan.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘Emerson, Lake and Palmer.’
Scott looked disapproving. ‘Oh, dear.’
Talking about music was working, Dave realised. It was a safe subject to distract him from the heinous thought lurking in the back of his mind. Mistake. It wasn’t safe at all. The heinous thought refused to be distracted and now turned itself into a music track and his stomach lurched as it played inside his head.
Then, just to be sure he got the message, he saw his mother in the distance, barely visible across the dock. She was standing by one of the rusting cranes and, despite the distance, he knew it was her. Because she looked stunning in an ermine cape with chinchilla trim.
‘D’you see a woman over there, Scott?’
‘Where?’
‘Just there. By that crane.’
‘No.’
She might not be visible to other people, but the track she was playing in his head was real enough. And he knew what she wanted him to do.
Far from being fearful of him getting involved with Keen, she was now actively encouraging him to kill the celebrity.
Whether because he was her murderer or was involved in some way, was not yet clear. She had not chosen to share this information with him.
But it had to be done her way.
The track was “Bang Bang” by Nancy Sinatra.
Jean had used this method before, so Dave was ready for it and ignored it. Over the next week or so, she upped the ante by playing “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance”, “Shadows of Paris” (from the film the Shot In The Dark) and “El Paso” by Marty Robbins. He was ready for her, though, and drowned them all out with Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Her music was no match for Brain Salad Surgery. That good old Moog kept them all at bay. That, and the work. He worked like crazy to block her out. He typed up all the episodes of The Defiant Chums in record time. And had sex with Joy at every possible opportunity. At this rate he’d turn into a workaholic and a sexaholic.
But it was very much on Joy’s terms: location, method and erogenous zones. His own preferences were not taken into account. It had begun with the office sexual encounter. He was disappointed to see she had shaved her armpits, and hadn’t been able to hide his crestfallen expression in time. Joy’s face tightened at his lack of interest in the rest of her. ‘Something wrong, Dave?’
‘No.’
‘You could’ve fooled me.’ She pointed to her breasts. ‘Say goodbye to them, Dave, because you won’t be seeing them again.’ She started to put her top back on.
‘No. Wait. Sorry. I was just so stunned by their beauty,’ he lied.
‘And so you should be.’ She looked at him impatiently. ‘Well, come on then. Do it or don’t do it. You won’t get another chance.’
He didn’t know how to explain his fur needs to Joy. He had a feeling she wouldn’t understand.
She stood there, waiting, hands on hips. ‘Do you want it? Yes or no?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Then get your trousers off right now.’
Keeping Joy happy in the bedroom and the workplace did the trick, and kept his mother at bay. Joy found an artist, and his story The Defiant Chums appeared in Shandy in record time. It needed to.
Joy explained it to Dave as she looked up at her multicoloured popularity chart. ‘See? Return of Feral Meryl is dive-bombing.’
‘Greg not doing well? That’s a pity,’ said Dave with fake concern.
‘Yes. Got to cancel it,’ grimaced Joy. ‘My fault. I should have realised. Girls like wolves and ponies. They don’t like baboons. They find them scary.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Dave with grim satisfaction. ‘And this time Mandy meets Andrea, a girl who was kidnapped and brought up by baboons in a safari park after a female baboon’s offspring was run over by a visitor. So Andrea is now her best friend.’
‘It seemed a good idea at the time,’ said Joy weakly.
‘And once again, Mandy has to hide who her friend really is,’ said Dave relishing the details. ‘But while other girls put blue eyeshadow on their eyelids, Andrea puts it on her face and draws a red lipstick stripe down her nose, so she looks like a hamadryad baboon. But the other girls aren’t actually suspicious until Andrea starts grooming Mandy, removing fluff from her jumper. A classic Greg script – if I may say so – making no fucking sense at all.’
‘I thought when Meryl returned from the wilds, it might pick up in the votes,’ said Joy. ‘She’s left the wolves of Berkshire because she just wants to be with Mandy. Mandy felt she had betrayed Meryl. Now she had to choose between the two wild girls: Feral Meryl and Andrea Ape Face.’
Dave quoted from the latest issue of Shandy. ‘Who will I choose as my best friend? And – where will it all end?’
‘Very soon,’ said a determined Joy. ‘After that episode where Andrea is jumping up and down on the teacher’s car and chewing her windscreen wipers.’
‘And I believe his Slaves of War Orphan School hasn’t worked out either?’ said Dave, hiding a smirk.
‘Classic artist con trick,’ said Joy.
‘Bummer,’ said Dave sympathetically. ‘Great sample pages?’
‘Yep. Once he’d got the gig and the story was scheduled …’
‘… pissed it off,’ concluded Dave, shaking his head sorrowfully.
‘Thatcher as a witch looks pathetic. She’s about as scary as Valerie Singleton. So it’s dead in the water.’
‘Ding-dong.’
‘I’ve got to break the news to Greg,’ said Joy, lighting a cigarette. ‘Not looking forward to it.’
‘I’ll stay and help,’ said Dave, smiling in anticipation. ‘Ah. And here he is.’
It took a moment for Dave and Joy to absorb the full impact of what Greg was wearing and another moment or two to react to it and respond.
He was wearing black leather lederhosen.
Anticipating their derision, Greg attempted a nonchalant swagger, which was difficult in lederhosen.
‘Greg, why are you wearing a school satchel?’ Dave asked finally, once he’d recovered from the shock.
‘Leni and I are going to the opening night of ‘Bavarian Beer Hall’, Greg explained. He nervously opened a red and white packet of German Mercedes cigarettes and lit one.
‘I’d have thought a meerschaum pipe was more appropriate,’ observed Joy.
‘Don’t start,’ said Greg, inhaling deeply. ‘I just saw Ron and I got enough crap from him.’
‘What did Ron say?’ asked Joy. Greg hesitated.
‘Come on, Greg,’ said Dave. ‘You can tell us.’
‘Yes,’ encouraged Joy. ‘You’re among friends. We’ll understand.’
‘He said, “Fucking hell, chum. You look like a fucking Nazi nancy boy. You big leather fag. Shagging Eva Braun. You’re a fucking disgrace”.’
It was several minutes before Dave and Joy stopped laughing.
‘Look, I don’t care what any of you think,’ said Greg defensively. ‘There is nothing Leni can do or say that will ever, ever embarrass me. So don’t waste your time hoping. Okay? All right? Because I have no shame.’
‘We noticed,’ said Joy.
‘We’re carrying your shame for you, Greg,’ said Dave.
‘After she sent me into Boots to buy an enema kit and I got a lecture on “dubious practices”, nothing will ever, ever embarrass me again,’ said Greg rather bitterly.
Then Leni entered. The statuesque Brunhilda was dressed for the event in landhaus-style, with a leather bodice, low cut blouse with puff sleeves and short skirt, looking every inch the Bavarian serving wench.
‘Ah! There you are, schnookieputz,’ she said. She tugged Greg’s cheek affectionately. ‘Mein kleiner liebchen. Isn’t he sweet?’ she asked Joy and Dave.
‘No, not really,’ said Dave and Joy in unison.
‘He reminds me of my daddy when I was a little girl. I was so cute. I had plaits over my head and a little leather jerkin.’
‘You were … cute?’ said Joy in disbelief, looking up at the giantess.
‘Mein schnookie,’ said Leni, running her fingers through Greg’s hair. ‘Now, schnookie. I wanted to ask you. Did you take it into the electrical repair shop?’
‘Yes, yes. They said they can fix it. I’ll pick it up later,’ said Greg hastily. ‘Er – you wanted to see me, Joy?’
But Dave was too quick for him. ‘Fix what, Greg?’
‘Pick up what exactly, Greg?’ asked Joy.
‘Nothing,’ said Greg, barely maintaining his composure.
But a smiling Leni was happy to tell them. ‘My vibrator. It’s an excellent model. German, of course. Industrial strength. I burnt out the motor.’
‘Really? Now, you see, I would find that embarrassing, Greg,’ said Dave.
‘Definitely,’ said Joy.
‘I don’t see why,’ shrugged Greg, desperately maintaining his cool. ‘It’s because it’d been adapted for American use. 110 volt.’
‘Mmm,’ said Dave skeptically.
‘Wrong voltage. So when she plugged it in–’
‘Please, spare us the details,’ said Joy raising a hand in protest. ‘You’re making me blush.’
‘Me, too,’ said Dave.
‘So, what did you want to tell me?’ said Greg, desperately changing the subject.
‘It’s not good news. I’m afraid I’ve got to cancel Slaves and Feral Meryl.’
Greg looked shocked. ‘What? Oh, no. Shit. But they’re in mid-story,’ he protested.
Joy indicated her chart. ‘Sorry. But they’re way down in the charts.’
‘Dropping like a stone,’ Dave added helpfully.
Greg looked at their low position on the graphs and his face went white.
‘So they’ve got to finish, next episode,’ said Joy. ‘Have Meryl return to the Wolves of Berkshire. Andrea goes back to her safari park. And Mrs Thatcher fucks off on her broomstick.’
‘But I need more time to kill them off properly,’ protested Greg. ‘I want to do it with some style, some finesse.’
‘How much style can you have, wearing lederhosen?’ Dave asked.
‘No time for finesse. The readers don’t give a shit. Just get rid of them,’ ordered Joy.
‘Thank goodness The Defiant Chums has started, eh, Greg?’ smiled Dave. He nodded to the chart, which showed his story soaring ahead of all the others. ‘My story’s a huge hit.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Leni. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Thanks, Leni. I appreciate that,’ said Dave.
Greg’s mouth tightened petulantly. Then he quickly recovered. ‘Defiant chums? Chums?’ he sneered contemptuously.
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Chums. That’s so uncool. So dated. Sounds like Ron.’ He hooked his thumbs into his leather braces. ‘It’s a really shit title,’ he added venomously.
‘Well, it seems the readers disagree with you, Greg,’ said Dave. ‘And not for the first time.’ He gave a smug smile. ‘It would seem I’m now Joy’s star writer, so any way I can help you get your mojo back, you only have to ask. I’m so happy to pass on my wisdom. For instance, you might want to focus more on your research.’
‘I won’t need to, when they’ve got rid of Ron and I’m your boss,’ retorted Greg ‘Which is going to be happening very soon. Right, Leni?’
‘Ja, Ja, I’m working on it, schnookie,’ said Leni.
‘Plus,’ smirked Greg, ‘I’m going to the States, to LA, with Leni, for the American launch of Megahits and Sassy Girl.’
‘It’s going to be a big launch,’ said Leni, ‘and I need my schnookie by my side.’
‘Particularly if they don’t repair your vibrator,’ said Dave.
‘Then we’re driving to Arizona on vacation,’ smiled Greg.
‘Las Vegas. Grand Canyon. Hopi Land,’ Leni added.
‘Holiday of a lifetime,’ said Greg triumphantly, ‘So I will be moving on from writing for cheap ‘bog paper’ comics like Shandy, Pinafore, and The Spanker, which I’m surprised you two don’t find … embarrassing.’
‘That’s because we’re too busy being embarrassed for you, Greg,’ said Dave.
‘There’s no need. I’m with the glossies now,’ said Greg arrogantly.
‘And while we’re in LA,’ smiled Leni, caressing him fondly, ‘I can have lots of nookie with my schnookie.’
Dave and Joy looked intently at Greg for any sign of embarrassment at the intimate term of endearment, but, to their disappointment, he maintained his cool. Instead, he looked at them defiantly and silently mouthed something.
‘Pardon? Was that, “I have no shame,” Greg?’ asked Dave.
‘It was, fuck you, Dave’, said Greg.
‘You’ll be embarrassed eventually, Greg,’ Dave warned. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
‘What is there to be embarrassed about normal bodily needs and functions?’ shrugged a puzzled Leni. ‘It’s like the other morning I was in the toilet, and I asked Greg to …’
‘We have to go. We have to go. We’ll be late,’ said Greg hurriedly, and hauled Leni out of the office before she could elaborate further.
‘Watch you don’t get Teutonic todger rot,’ said Joy sweetly.
Goodnight, John-boy is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and you can buy it digitally or as a paperback.