Goodnight, John-boy: Chapter 6
Dave is making progress with Joy and getting away with murder. Maybe everything will turn out out alright after all?
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.
VERA WAS wary of bringing teas into The Spanker office since Dave had hijacked her tea trolley and pretended he was the tea lady. So she had positioned the trolley outside the Shandy office and was chatting to Joy as Dave lumbered down the corridor to join them.
‘Leni didn’t want proper tea,’ she explained to Joy. ‘Said she only drank Celestial Seasonings peppermint tea.’
‘Better for her health?’ Joy asked.
‘She needs something,’ said Vera. ‘When I went in there just now she was groaning and panting heavily.’
‘Is she all right?’ asked a concerned Joy.
‘I don’t know, dearie,’ said a puzzled Vera. ‘I think she could be having a funny turn.’
Greg emerged from Leni’s office and swaggered over to join them at the trolley.
‘Is Leni okay?’ asked Dave.
‘She is now,’ Greg smirked.
Vera looked at him strangely. ‘I didn’t see you in her office. Where were you hiding?’
The only possible place was behind the modesty panel fitted to the front of all female staff’s desks to put a stop to the unwanted attention of male pen-droppers.
‘So how was the casting desk, Greg?’ Joy asked sweetly.
‘Coming up for air?’ Dave grinned.
‘So it’s inglenookie with your schnookie now?’ Joy suggested. Greg shrugged off their jibes. ‘I think you can safely say you’re looking at the next managing editor,’ he said confidently.
He’d lost his punk look and was wearing a poncho, which somehow managed to look both Clint Eastwood and New Age at the same time. He had nearly got Ron’s job before, but for his fashion faux pas at the eminently conservative restaurant, Rules, when he had turned up for the interview looking like a cross between Engelbert Humperdinck and Peter Wyngarde. Clearly, he was making progress with Leni.
‘I’m worried about Ron,’ said Joy. ‘He just sits there in his office, day after day, with the door locked. Maybe you should take him in a cup of tea, Vera?’
‘He hasn’t drunk tea for weeks, dearie,’ sighed Vera. ‘He’s on the hard stuff now.’
‘Drowning his sorrows,’ nodded Greg. ‘Ah, well, it was time for a new generation to take over.’
‘Law of the jungle,’ agreed Dave, having no sympathy for his soon-to-be-redundant boss.
‘He could be having some kind of nervous breakdown in there,’ insisted Joy
‘If he’s feeling suicidal, he’s got a direct line to Cross Line,’ said Greg.
‘Don’t you two care?’
‘It’s a dog-eat-dog world,’ shrugged Dave indifferently.
‘And he is a bit long in the tooth,’ added Greg.
‘Time he was put out to pasture,’ confirmed Dave.
‘Yes,’ said Greg, ‘If he doesn’t take the hint and give in his notice, they’ll just keep moving him into smaller and smaller offices, until he ends up in the lift.’
‘Then you know the only way is down,’ said Dave sagely. They smugly collected their teas.
‘You two really are a couple of shits,’ observed Joy.
‘On the subject of failures,’ said Dave, ‘Are we all still on for the Hoop and Grapes tonight? To celebrate the death of Everlasting Love?’
‘Oh, you bet,’ said Joy.
‘It must be kinda like a beautiful dream for you, eh?’
‘It is, now I’ve got shot of it,’ she agreed.
Everlasting Love had lasted just eight weeks – something of a record in Fleetpit’s history of comic disasters. Joy was delighted: it meant no more stupid stories from the Major about Wedding Belle, the supermarket checkout girl who yearned to go from shopping aisle to wedding aisle. Science fiction was what Joy yearned for and hence why she had already opened Time Machine, her comics and movie memorabilia shop, in Covent Garden.
‘It just wasn’t gear,’ said Dave.
‘But I can see you are these days,’ said Joy looking appreciatively in his direction before she disappeared back into her office. It was a signal even Dave couldn’t fail to recognise. Jean had made him adopt a whole new cool look, insisting on him buying new clothes every month, and it was clearly paying off.
Dave had been down for a few days after learning that Cooper was his father, but he’d picked himself up now. He had decided that rekindling his relationship with Joy was the answer to his problems. She was beautiful: the only woman remotely in his mother’s league, and she would help him forget his awful past. He was in the middle of finalising plans that would definitely win her heart.
Back in his office, ‘Deep Throat’ Barclay came through from the studio with the latest original art pages of Black Hammer, Dave’s favourite strip in Aaagh!, inspired by the West Ham player Clyde Best and his mum’s former lover Ernie Gambo. Dave looked them over. ‘The football action and the crowd booing from the terraces are great, but Bob’s still got to improve his depiction of the Hammer.’
‘It’s difficult,’ sighed Barclay. ‘He’s never had to draw black people before, you see?’
‘Well, it’s time he learnt,’ Dave snapped, ‘or we’ll replace him with another artist.’
‘Not so easy,’ said Barclay. ‘I doubt you’ll find any artist at Fleetpit or Angus, Angus and Angus, who knows how to draw black heroes.’
‘Can’t you alter the artwork?’
‘Not my thing. Sue’s the artist and she’s still away on maternity leave. Does it really matter?’
‘It matters. See if another art assistant can make the changes. Find a way.’
It mattered to Dave: it rekindled fond memories of Ernie, who had worked on the docks and taught him to play football. He would tell him stories of his old life in Nigeria, where he had first met Jean Maudling when he’d been her houseboy. How he used to snake-charm cobras and puff adders. And how he once walked safely past a man-eating lion because he was wearing a charm of invisibility.
‘But you must never turn your head, Davey, or you’ll break the spell, and then the lion will eat you!’
Dave was definitely invisible. His was the perfect crime. He was completely under the police radar. No one had any idea what he was doing on The Caning Commando: giving kids ideas so they could wreak their revenge on adults, just as he had wanted to wreak revenge on Mr Cooper. He saw himself now as their secret leader, a kind of super hero, helping them to fight injustice. Except he didn’t actually have to do anything. Just make sure he didn’t turn his head.
Dave was torn away from his thoughts by Deep Throat talking to Greg about his assistant, Sue. ‘I was the first to realise she was pregnant,’ Barclay recalled. ‘I could see how her breasts were swelling.’
‘Well, you are the pen dropper-in-chief,’ said Greg, ‘so I suppose you would notice.’
Oblivious to the insult, Barclay persisted. ‘I wonder if she and her husband have resumed marital relations? It was a very large baby. She’s probably quite sore. Probably needed a couple of stitches.’
‘What the hell has it got to do with you?’ shuddered Greg, clicking his pen. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Just wondering…’ mused Deep Throat, a far away look on his face. ‘… And do you think she’s using formula or breast feeding? Formula might be best. You can get very sore nipples, apparently.’
‘Oh, give it a rest,’ grimaced Greg.
‘Pervert,’ muttered Dave, as he reached over to answer his phone. ‘Maudling.’
‘This is reception. There’s a Detective Inspector Ferguson here to see you.’
‘What does he want?’
‘It’s about The Caning Commando.’
Next week: Dave tells some whoppers in Ye Olde Cock Tavern
Goodnight, John-boy is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.