Goodnight, John-boy: Chapter 45
‘Hi, Scott. How are you doing?’ ‘Not good.’ Dave could feel the pain and anger in his voice. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘The parties have started again.’
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.
It was their last day at Fleetpit House. Dave and Greg were packing their files and personal possessions into boxes and crates, ready for transporting to the Black Monolith and their new freelance careers as producers of Space Warp.
Dave felt a new lightness in his life, which was not even marred by Greg, who was endlessly talking about Trust, and had a glazed look in his eye.
Then Joy entered.
Dave eyed her with mixed emotions: so desirable and yet so deadly. Both he and Greg had been fearing this moment. ‘All right, Judas and Quisling,’ she snapped. ‘How much did you sell out for?’
‘I’m not sure I get your drift, Joy?’ said Dave warily, playing for time, while Greg simply smiled inanely at her.
‘On the science fiction comic we were meant to be working on together. Together.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Oh, yes. “All for one and one for all.” ’
‘What’s the problem, Joy?’
‘I’m out.’
‘Oh.’
‘Finished.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Don’t come the fucking innocent with me, you turncoats. I’ve just heard it from the space cadet as she was dancing into work.’
‘Dancing? Don’t you mean jogging?’ smiled Greg.
‘I mean dancing. She doesn’t jog. She’s not like normal people, Benedict Arnold. She dances along the street listening to music from outer space she’s channeling from “The Boys”.’
‘Maybe she’s starting a new craze?’ speculated Dave.
‘Dancing and jogging: dogging?’
‘Nah, that’s when men spy on couples having sex in parks, so they know how to fuck properly,’ explained Greg.
‘I got you two out of The Hole.’
‘And we are so grateful, Joy.’
‘You would have rotted in there for the rest of your lives if it hadn’t been for me.’
‘We’ll be forever in your debt. Right, Greg?’
‘Right. Just like Britain and the IMF.’
‘And we will repay you one day.’
‘How?’
‘A drink down the pub?’
‘How much did she offer you to cut me out?’
‘I’m afraid that’s confidential,’ said Dave.
‘That much? What was the deal?’
Dave turned to Greg. ‘We can’t really discuss the details, can we, Greg?’
‘You have to Trust, Joy,’ said Greg agreeably. ‘Trust that all is well with the world.’
‘But all is not well with the world, Mr Smiley,’ said Joy, upturning a crate. ‘What are you two like? The Vatican? All hush-hush, sitting in secret conclave until white smoke comes out your arses? Did she make you sit in the keyhole chair to check you had testicles?’
‘There was no need, Joy,’ said Dave. ‘She already knew we don’t have any.’
‘And you're going ahead with Dan Darwin, is that right?’
‘Trust us, Joy,’ said Greg. ‘It'll be great.’
Joy stood on the crate. ‘Have you any idea how you’ll offend old fans, after Dave tore up Dan Darwin on TV?’
‘Leni told me not to worry about the old fans,’ said Dave. ‘She says they’re a niche audience.’
‘Like the crack in your arse that I’m going to open up with one of those wing corkscrews. And if that works, I’m going to use it on your cock next. Come here,’ she beckoned. ‘Come on.’
‘I’d rather not, Joy,’ said Dave apprehensively.
‘Oh, don’t be so silly, come here, you fucking wimp. Look, what the fuck am I going to do to you, standing on a crate?’
‘That’s what I’m not sure about,’ said Dave. ‘This isn’t some new kind of knee trembler you have in mind, because I understand the usual procedure is to stand on a brick.’
‘It’s in the same ball park, I promise,’ said Joy seductively.
‘We need to learn to Trust,’ smiled Greg. He made a ‘T’ sign with his hands.
‘Come on,’ Joy encouraged Dave. ‘See? Empty hands. I’m not going to glass you. You heard Greg. Trust me.’
He reluctantly moved forward, so she was slightly above him. She placed a hand on either shoulder, gave him a wide smile, then swiftly and expertly head butted him.
She stepped off the crate. ‘See? I was right wasn’t I? I gave you head.’
‘It’s all about Trust, Dave,’ Greg smiled and made the ‘T’ sign again.
Joy glowered at Greg. ‘I can think of two other signs for you. I’ll deal with you later. I want it to be spontaneous. But I want you to think about it, and know it’s coming. Clue: there’s some unusual orifices in the human body that fur-boy’s actually missed, that I’m gonna penetrate on you.’
She turned at the door and pointed menacingly at Greg.
‘Trust me on this.’ And made the ‘T’ sign.
‘Well,’ said Dave thickly after she’d gone, dabbing his bloody nose with a handkerchief. ‘That went better than expected.’
‘It was one of her better days,’ agreed Greg.
‘So what’s all this Trust shit you’re on about?’ asked Dave.
Greg lowered his typewriter into a packing case. ‘It’s my new system. I read it in one of Leni’s New Age books.’
‘It wasn’t in Green Snot for the Soul?’
‘No. The Me Me Me Generation: How to put Me first. It says we have to trust what’s right for us.’
‘Like cutting Joy out?’
‘That’s what our instincts told us. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘So we have to Trust them. It works for Leni. I needed to figure out how she was so successful, so I could copy her.’
‘At being a selfish bitch?’
‘At self-fulfillment.’
‘So no more self-sacrifice and doing our duty?’
‘Are you kidding? That’s for old people. Self-gratification is the way forward.’
‘Do what you like and fuck everyone else.’
‘It’s an exciting new way of looking at life.’
‘I doubt it. Aleister Crowley’s “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law,” is from Rabelais in the sixteenth century.’
Greg looked thoughtfully down at his typewriter. ‘On the subject of the law, I remember being round the back of Fleet Street and seeing journalists lowering their typewriters down on ropes to their mates in the street below, so they could go and flog them down the market.’
‘They were self-gratifying themselves?’
‘Achieving their full potential.’
‘It’s good to know the spirit of corruption and venality is universal in ’70s Britain.’
‘Trouble is,’ said Greg, considering his ancient Imperial, ‘I don’t think we’d get much for ours. They’re not even electric.’
‘That’s because they want us working through the next power cut. It’s forward thinking of them,’ observed Dave. ‘We’ll be creating Space Warp, the comic of the future, by candlelight.’
‘I’m just not buying all these depressing strikes and the inflation shit anymore,’ said Greg. ‘The Black Monolith is a new beginning for us, Dave. A bright future of self-entitlement. Everything looks so … amazing now.’
‘You’ll be waxing lyrical about Brotherhood of Man and the Worzels next,’ Dave sighed. ‘Well, I’m sorry to inform you, Greg, I don’t have a combine harvester, I’m not a cider drinker and I hope you’re not saving your kisses for me, because there is nothing ambivalent about my sexuality.’
‘I know,’ agreed Greg. ‘You’re armidextrous.’
‘So enlighten me, Greg, as you throw your bone up into your Walt Disney-Julie Andrews-Hills are Alive-future: what is so amazing?’
‘For a start, it’s been a fantastic, long hot summer …’ Greg began.
‘And?’ pursued Dave relentlessly.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ shrugged Greg.
‘Come on. Apart from the drought and the standpipes and the shared baths? Just how much saccharin helps the medicine go down?’
‘There’s space hoppers, chopper bikes, ‘Dancing Queen’, Noel and Cheggers.’ Greg said warmly.
‘There are so many cynical responses to that, Greg,’ said Dave, ‘I’m salivating at the prospect. We’ll put Noel and Cheggers to one side, shall we? Because I really don’t want to drown in my own drool.’
‘And it’s not like when we – or you anyway – were growing up. Today, it’s a safe world out there for kids to just be kids and have fun.’
‘Is that what this Me Me Me book tells you? And you believe it?’
‘It tells me how to set myself free. Look, I’ve got a chart that helps.’ Greg unfurled a monthly calendar: each day had a box next to it with plus or minus signs marked on it. ‘This is my Mancipation chart.’
Dave recoiled. ‘A constipation chart? I thought you already kept a turd diary.’ Greg shook his head.
‘Oh, it’s a masturbation chart, is it? I see. How often before you go blind? Or grow hair on the palms of your hands? Judging by all these plusses, you should be turning into a fucking werewolf just about now.’
‘It follows my monthly emotional cycle,’ Greg patiently explained. ‘You see, men have a unique testosterone and hormonal cycle, just like women. So we can follow it and relate to those changes in our bodies, and it sets us free from them.’
‘D’you mind if I check your arm for track marks?’
‘Each day has an emotional value, positive or negative, no matter what’s happened.’
‘You mean if I won the pools on a misery day, I’d still feel miserable?’
‘Probably,’ said Greg guardedly. ‘It’s why we have to Trust our feelings.’ He made the ‘T’ sign again.
Dave was lost for words. Greg pointed proudly to the chart.
‘The Mancipation chart sets men free.’
‘Have you shown it to Joy yet?’ asked Dave, ‘and could I please be there when you do?’
‘Joy needs to know when we’re having our emotional periods.’
‘And what happens if I Trust my feelings and say you’re talking shite?’ asked Dave.
‘I think you could be suffering from Irritable Male Syndrome.’
The phone rang. ‘I think I’m just about to come on,’ said Dave. ‘Excuse me.’
He tensed, mentally preparing himself, in case it was the Major’s killer on the other end of the phone.
His hand patted his foot-long spanner, dropped down through a hole into the lining of his jacket so it was suitably concealed. He could handle the killer: he was not afraid, now he had rediscovered that kid inside himself who had nearly been throttled to death by the Sister of Sorrow.
It was Scott on the phone. ‘Dave …?’
‘Hi, Scott. How are you doing?’
‘Not good.’
Dave could feel the pain and anger in his voice.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘The parties have started again.’
‘I’m so sorry, man.’
‘So are you still up for … you know? The Plan?’ This was different. Scott was afraid.
‘Dave …? Are you there?’ He was very afraid.
‘Dave …?’
It would mean risking his life. Keen had made it very clear that if he tried anything again, he was dead. And he would be risking his liberty. Not to mention his future career on Space Warp.
‘Dave …?’
But who else was there for them? The law gave them zero protection. Keen, like his rich, important clients, was above the law.
Dave was their only hope.
‘Let’s do it, Scott.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Let’s Carpet Bum the Hun.’
Goodnight, John-boy is the second book in the Read Em And Weep series and you can buy it digitally or as a paperback.