Goodnight, John-boy: Chapter 31
'Always improvise. Learnt that in Burma. Think fast.’ The Major made a fist. ‘Billiard ball punch with the fist. Broke two of my fingers. Worth it. Solid uppercut. Broke his jaw.’
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.
‘So did I tell you how I danced with Ivor Novello? At the Victory Ball in 1919?’
‘You may have done, Paula,’ said Dave, looking nervously at the entrance to the club.
‘All the flappers were in their fancy dress: Britannia, The United States, Cleopatra, Peace, The Sun and the Stars. And I was there with my mistress, you see?’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Dave.
‘Calm down, dearie,’ smiled the elderly boss of The Eight Veils. ‘The Major said he was on his way. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘There’s everything to worry about, Paula.’ Dave had called the Major directly afterwards. He needed to meet up with him. Warn him his life was in danger. By some nutcase who had discovered what he was up to in The Caning Commando. No – what he, Dave, had been up to.
‘Joy dust, they called it,’ continued Paula. ‘They’d all go into the powder room and snort powder, all right, and drop their empty pill boxes in a bin. So I collected the dust from the boxes and decided to have a sniff myself. I said to the other servants, “If it’s good enough for our mistresses, it’s good enough for me.”’
Where was he, thought Dave. He should be here by now. The killer couldn’t have struck already, could he? Maybe he’s not really a killer? Maybe he was just making idle threats? Maybe there’s something harmless in the boot of his car? Oh, sure.
‘So I put on the butterfly gown. Gorgeous it was. Huge floaty, silvery wings on the back.’ Paula smiled, still beautiful in her seventies. ‘Maybe the joy dust helped a bit, but I’ve always been mad, you see? Always taken risks.’
‘Well you shouldn’t,’ said Dave, turning his attention to her. ‘It just leads to huge fuck-ups. It leads to disaster.’
‘It led to me being held in Ivor Novello’s arms. Everyone was watching us as we glided round the ballroom. Me, a humble servant girl, the butterfly belle of the ball.’
‘Sounds straight out of a girls’ comic,’ said Dave cynically. Paula looked far away. ‘I’ve remembered that moment all my life. He was so handsome. Course, I didn’t know he was one of them. The handsome ones always are.’
‘And you got away with it?’ asked Dave curiously.
‘No,’ laughed Paula. ‘My mistress was furious. Sacked me and warned me I’d never find work in service again.’
‘There, you see?’ said Dave triumphantly. ‘That’s what happens when you take risks. I bet you were blacklisted in all the servant halls. Mr Hudson and Mrs Bridges wouldn’t have given you the time of day.’
‘Who fucking cares?’ laughed Paula. ‘I’ve done all right since.’ She leaned forward over the bar. ‘You’ve got to take chances, Dave, you’ve got to dare, otherwise you never win. I think it was one of my army regulars who said that.’
‘And that just proves my point, Paula. If you dare, you don’t win, you just end up in the shit.’
Who knew just what awful fate the killer had in mind for the Major and himself?
‘That’s not what I taught your mum, Dave. I said to her, “Reach for the stars, Jean. You’ve only got one life and you’ve got to live it to the full.” ’
‘I wish I could believe that,’ said Dave.
‘Pearls for my girls. Furs from sirs.’
‘Same again, Paula.’
‘Mind you,’ grinned the elegant old lady, pulling a pint. ‘Your mother didn’t need much teaching. She was a natural.’
‘What’s the matter with me, Paula?’ said Dave. ‘Why can’t I play by the rules? Why can’t I be a boring, play-it-safe wage slave and just do what I’m told, like all the other boring wage slaves?’
Paula looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Because you’re Jean Ryan’s son.’
The Major hurried into the drinking club. ‘All right, everyone,’ he announced. ‘Stand by your beds.’
‘Major!’ said a relieved Dave.
‘I think I’m being followed,’ the Major panted, looking fearfully back down the stairs.
Shit, thought Dave. It’s started! It’s started! The killer is about to burst into the club, clutching his shotgun, like Street, when he kicks open the door of the officers’ mess and snarls, ‘Here’s your dessert, Hooray Henries!’
‘Yes, definitely being followed,’ said the Major, hanging up his camel hair coat. ‘Thought I’d shaken him off, but I fear he’s still on my tail.’
‘Oh my God!’ said Dave. ‘Maybe there’s a back way out of here? Yes, down the fire escape. Quick! Run, Major! Run!’
‘Why, dear boy?’
‘I’ll try and slow him down,’ said Dave, desperately looking around him.
‘Why would you do that, dear boy?’
‘Because this is my doing, Major. It’s all my fault. I am so sorry.’
‘Why is it your fault?’
‘It’s my fault this man is after you! Now just go!’
‘A taxi driver’s after me. Jumped out in Dean Street. Thought I’d lost him in the crowds. Could you do the necessary? Damnably short of the readies.’
After Dave had paid off the cab driver and bought the Major a double, he coldly reminded him: ‘I thought you said you earned more money than the British Prime Minister?’
‘Easy come, easy go, dear boy,’ he boomed. ‘Wives. Horses. Poker. Hotels. Flat broke now.’ He held up his portable typewriter. ‘Just my trusty typewriter left. In fact, talking of hotels, they just threw me out. Misunderstanding about the bill. Couldn’t stay at your place tonight?’
Dave thought of his turret up in Fleetpit House. ‘Actually, Major, I don’t really have much of a place.’
‘Not to worry. Railway waiting room tonight. Know them all. St Pancras, I think. One of the ladies of the night will take pity on me.’ He took some black cardboard out of his shoes that covered the holes in them. ‘I’ll make you two more, Major,’ smiled Paula.
‘Major, I have to warn you,’ said Dave, ‘there is some guy out there who’s making death threats.’
‘Death threats?’
‘Against you and me. I think you could be in danger.’
‘What did he say?’
‘It was an anonymous phone call. He said, “You and the Major. You’re both fucking dead.” I think it’s ’cos he hates The Caning Commando,’ Dave lied.
‘Is that all?’ The Major laughed. ‘Nothing to worry about. Just forget it, dear boy.’
‘He also said he had something in the boot of his car he was going to use on us.’
‘That’s what they always say. Probably a shotgun.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Hot air, dear boy. Hot air. I used to get those threats from Keen after I had him thrown out of here.’
‘Yes. Paula said you dealt with him.’
‘Ill-treating the girls. Beating them. Wasn’t going to stand for it. Saw too many beatings on the railway. Japanese guards. Bullies. Oh, by crikey yes. Wasn’t going to stand for it again. Oh, by crikey no. Caught up with him playing snooker.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Improvised, dear boy. Always improvise. Learnt that in Burma. Think fast.’ The Major made a fist. ‘Billiard ball punch with the fist. Broke two of my fingers. Worth it. Solid uppercut. Broke his jaw.’
‘Wow!’
‘After he was wired up, started making threats. Shotgun. All the rest. Not for long. Called the lads. Ron. Murray. Nobby. Dusty. Ex-soldier-chums. Just like The League of Gentlemen. Jack Hawkins. Under my command. We saw Keen off. Slunk away. Like the rat he was, oh, by crikey yes.’
‘I saw Ron’s comic. Was that them?’
‘Absolutely. We all stayed in touch. Dusty wrote Borstal Boys. He wasn’t in the services until the end. Too young. Sent to borstal for stealing coal off the railways.’
‘It looks like a good story.’
‘I was surprised Ron allowed him to go that far.’ The Major looked at Dave and wagged a reproving finger. ‘Probably your bad example on Aaagh!, dear boy. You’re a bad influence on young Ron.’ He chuckled. ‘Loved the punch you gave Quentin, by the way.’
‘Thanks, Major. I was surprised you weren’t in the comic with your POW experiences.’
‘Ron wanted me to do another Bridge Over the River Kwai. I tried, but it wasn’t in me’ said the Major thoughtfully. ‘Thought it would be easy, knowing how I feel about them. And that hasn’t changed. No, sir. You remember I wrote the ‘Bumzai’ Caning Commando story?’
‘Vividly,’ said Dave.
‘Corporal punishment was a daily occurrence. Why I dreamed up The Caning Commando. My way of trying to cope with the beatings. I’d make up those stupid stories. The more stupid they were, the better. ‘Bumpy men’. ‘Carpet bumming the Hun.’ So I could laugh at death. Whatever they did to me, it didn’t matter quite so much; in my head I was somewhere else. That’s how I survived. Thanks to the Caning Commando.’
‘Maybe Ronald Searle did the same with St Trinian’s?’ suggested Dave.
‘Maybe,’ the Major brooded. ‘But afterwards, just before they sent us back to Blighty, we saw our old jailers in Changi. We were invited to watch their executions. They thought we’d like it. Payback.’
The Major looked haunted as he remembered. ‘Only we didn’t like it at all.’
‘Why not?’
‘Caused a bit of a scandal at the time,’ the Major reminisced. ‘Each Japanese guard had just a half-hour trial, and was sentenced to death. Of course they were guilty. Oh, by crikey, yes. Especially the Big Fella. He could crank an engine with just one turn. But he’d prefer to make us do it. Then he’d beat us when we failed. Finally, he’d do it, effortlessly. Like King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the stone. He could knock down a coconut tree with his hands and feet. Imagine what he did to us …Yes, I’m afraid so.’
Dave winced.
‘So there we are, thin as rakes, covered in green and purple dabs from ring worm, entering the prison courtyard. And there’s the Big Fella, immaculate in his uniform. He recognises us, of course. Clicks his heels and bows to us.’
‘Like he’s finally showing you respect?’
‘Maybe. Who knows? Then he runs at the wall. Dashes his brains out.’
‘What?’
‘Two more of his chums do the same. Our chaps didn’t know what to do at first. Couldn’t shoot them. They were sentenced to be hung. So they herded them back inside at the point of the bayonet. But carefully, so they couldn’t impale themselves and commit hara-kiri.’ The Major breathed out heavily.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Dave.
‘For some reason, I can’t get that image of the Big Fella out of my mind. His head down, running full speed at that wall and then the sickening thud, and …’ he tailed off. ‘I can still hear it. Even now.’ He knocked back a double whisky.
‘I can’t hate them as much as I should. And I really want to hate them, Dave. I don’t understand it. That’s why I can’t write about any of it. I need to keep it shallow. Like The Caning Commando. Let’s change the subject, shall we, dear boy?’
‘About the death threat, Major?’
‘Like I said, Dave. Relax. I’ll be fine. And so will you. It’s just a lone nutter. Don’t encourage him. That’s what he wants. Ignore him.’ The Major waved a dismissive hand. ‘There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Same again, eh? Your round?’
Goodnight, John-boy is the second book in the Read Em And Weep series and you can buy it digitally or as a paperback.