Serial Killer Chapter 45
While Dave recovers from punching Mr Cooper, there's a new publisher in the building...and she's about to shake things up.
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There was much for Dave to reflect upon after his victory over Mr Cooper. In the shadowy pub, through the tobacco smoke, he had seen his mother watching, beautiful as always, in a 1940s suit with a fur stole. But the expression on her face was not that of an admiring mother who had seen her cowardly son finally turn into a knight errant and defeat the Dark Lord.
Rather, for a moment, the mask of her beauty dropped and he saw a vampire, a princess of the undead, a femme fatale, a dame from the pages of a pulp fiction novel laughing wantonly as Cooper slunk away. Whether or not Cooper had carried out his homicidal intentions on his mother, there was no doubt of her homicidal intentions towards him. That much was clear from the surge of violence within Dave when he punched the ex-newsagent. That same surge of violence he had felt when the priest had confronted him in the church, and he had torn the chalice from him and drank the blood of Christ.
He was still pondering on her true nature when, the next day, he and Ron were summoned to meet the new publisher who had just been appointed to head the juvenile and teenage publications group. ‘Who is it, Ron? Do you know?’
‘His name’s Len Lang, Dave. American. He was a publisher for an American magazine company.’ Ron noticed Dave’s bandaged hand. ‘Sprained it? Gave yourself one too many off the wrist?’
‘Something like that, Ron. What’s this Len doing here?’
‘The board headhunted him. They want to break into the American market and he’s got the know-how. Had a big success with Heroines in the States.’
‘Oh, I know. Bit like Cosmopolitan.’
They entered the publisher’s office where the browncoats were putting framed magazine covers on the wall, in preparation for Len to move in.
The magazine was entitled Tampon, with a top line above the logo. ‘It’s that time of the month’ said one. ‘Your favorite periodical’ said a second, and ‘Your monthly treat’ proclaimed a third. Dave noticed one issue came with a ‘Free map of where to find your G-spot.’
The covers all featured the same tall, statuesque, blonde model. In one, she was skiing, in another about to go deep sea-diving, in a third, at the controls of a light aircraft. They were all eye-catching, although Dave’s eye was actually caught by a magnificent fur coat hanging next to them.
Ron was mystified. ‘Have we opened up a branch of Boots? Or am I in the women’s bogs? I’d hate to be pissing up the wrong wall.’
Embarrassed, he looked away, as a woman entered. She was in her mid-thirties, very tall, statuesque, blonde and power-dressed. Dave recognised her as the model for Tampon.
Ron didn’t. ‘I’m Ron Punch and this is Dave Maudling. We’re here to meet the new publisher. Put the kettle on, would you, darling? I could murder a cuppa.’
‘I am the new publisher,’ she smiled, towering over the little cockney and stretching out a hand. ‘Leni Lang.’
‘But … you’re a woman,’ gasped Ron.
‘Observant,’ said Leni.
‘You sound … German,’ he gasped again.
‘Ja. But I left Munich when I was a teenager.’ She saw Ron looking open-mouthed at the framed covers of Tampon, finally realising Leni was the model. She explained. ‘It’s my joke, Ron. I like to see people’s reactions. I like to shock.’
‘I get it,’ grinned Dave, shaking her hand, as Ron clearly wasn’t going to. ‘I like to wind people up myself.’
‘So relax, Ron. It’s not real,’ smiled Leni mischievously.
‘Thank Christ,’ said a relieved Ron. ‘Tampon …! For a moment, I thought the world was going mad.’
‘Actually, it is real, Ron,’ laughed Leni. Ron looked furious.
‘Ha, ha, ha!’ she waggled a finger in his shocked, angry face. ‘Caught you, didn’t I?’
‘Prove it,’ he glowered.
‘Okay.’ She pointed at the pilot cover with ‘Free map of where to find your G-spot’, took out a chart from a filing cabinet, and spread it across her desk. ‘This is a gynaecological map, presented free with issue one of Tampon.’ Ron and Dave looked mystified at it.
‘It was easier to find my way up Sword Beach,’ said Ron.
‘It’s how you can pleasure your wife,’ smiled Leni.
Ron looked outraged. ‘My wife? She’s the mother of my children.’
He still hadn’t shaken her hand, so Dave felt an explanation was called for. ‘He’s a D-Day veteran. He needs time to adjust.’
‘Ah.’ She smiled. ‘Normandy. Yes. My daddy also. He was on the Atlantic Wall. Perhaps you met?’
‘If we had, you wouldn’t be here,’ scowled Ron.
‘Oh, no, I was born in 1943,’ Leni replied cheerfully.
Dave had to get Ron out of there before he reopened hostilities. He pulled him away. ‘Needs his pills,’ explained Dave. ‘Suffers from blackouts.’
‘Blackouts?’ asked a puzzled Leni.
‘You know: blackouts, like when London was bombed,’ growled Ron.
‘London was bombed …? Now Leni was mystified. ‘Who by?’
‘Your fucking lot,’ snarled Ron.
‘Really …?’ She was genuinely surprised.
‘You’re taking the piss out of me again?’ scowled Ron.
‘No,’ she said, looking shocked. ‘I really did not know London was bombed in the war.’ She put her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, that is so awful.’
Then she saw Ron’s fuming face. ‘But you are angry with me,’ she smiled. ‘That is good, Ron. It is very good. Because it’s your chance to heal. We must lighten your frequency.’ She produced a bundle of dried herbs and set them alight. ‘Come, let me smudge you. I can release the negative energy from your chakras.’
‘Leave my fucking chakras alone,’ said Ron, backing away as the giantess advanced on him with the smouldering herbs.
‘Later,’ said Dave to Leni, escorting Ron out the door. ‘Love the fur, by the way,’ he added, as he looked longingly back at it.
‘It died of natural causes,’ Leni explained.
‘Heart attack farm in Siberia …? Oh, good,’ said Dave.
Ron and Dave retreated to the Gents. Standing in the Edwardian urinals they commiserated with each other.
Ron, a calming cigarette in his mouth, explained his view on women. ‘They wear mini-skirts. They make the tea. They don’t talk about jam rags. And now this. I’ll be fucking ironing next. If you see me with a fucking vacuum cleaner, Dave, put a fucking bullet through me head. I stormed Sword Beach for this? I’d rather have stayed on the fucking landing craft. The Germans won, didn’t they? When did that happen?’
‘And she wore a trouser suit,’ Dave added. ‘And you can’t send her home.’
‘I’d like to. Back to fucking Germany,’ agreed Ron.
To Ron’s horror, Leni put her head around the door of the Gents. ‘Hello …? Am I interrupting anything?’ Receiving only a stunned silence, she entered. ‘I like to be where the decision-making is happening.’
‘What is she doing coming in here?’ asked an outraged Ron.
‘Germans, Ron.’ Dave explained. ‘They don’t have our hang-ups about bodily functions.’
‘Well, they fucking should have,’ said Ron.
Leni stood in the empty urinal that separated Ron and Dave, happily chatting to both of them. ‘I need my finger on the pulse. There is much to discuss. Firstly, I require an end to smoking in comics.’
The cigarette dropped out of Ron’s mouth with unfortunate consequences. He yelped in pain.
‘Then this violence towards Germans must be toned down,’ as Ron looked murderously at her. ‘The war has been over a long time.’
‘You’ll be pleased to know we have a German hero … Panzerfaust,’ said Dave, keen to suck up to his new boss.
‘Fucking collaborator,’ Ron snarled at Dave.
‘Very good,’ noted Leni. ‘Now, I have been reading The Caning Commando and I found it both stupid and offensive.’
‘We do our best,’ said Dave, going over to the wash basins.
‘This character, Corporal Punishment, who refers to women as “Bumpy Men”? Has he never seen women’s breasts before?’
‘We lead very sheltered lives in Britain, Leni,’ Dave explained. ‘I’m a little confused by the statues in the park, myself.’
‘I require changes to The Spanker,’ she said imperiously as they washed their hands. ‘Big changes.’
Ron couldn’t take anymore. He stormed out as Greg entered and took in the modern day Brunhilda. Dave sighed. This was all he needed.
‘Tell me who this lovely lady is, Dave?’ said Greg, his eyes glued to hers.
‘No, I don’t think I will, Greg,’ said Dave coldly.
Greg opened a packet of Virginia Slims.
‘Women’s cigarettes …?’ scowled Dave. The final, damning evidence that Greg was queer.
‘My purse pack,’ Greg explained to Dave, knowing it would infuriate him.
‘I am Leni Lang. I’m your new publisher,’ smiled Leni.
‘Our new publisher, eh? I’m Greg.’ They shook hands, and he only slowly let go of her hand as he looked appreciatively at her. ‘Where are you from …?’
‘California,’ she replied.
He looked deep into her eyes as he replied in smooth and honeyed tones. ‘You’ve come a long way, baby, to get where you’ve got to today …’
‘Ja, originally I am from Munich.’
‘Of course,’ said Greg, drawing on a Virginia Slim. ‘Leni. Like Leni Riefenstahl? Triumph Of The Will.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know it,’ she said.
‘Really …? It’s a pre-war film. I’ve seen it … ah … a couple of times.’
‘Our history teacher taught us very little about the war.’
‘That is so interesting,’ said Greg predictably.
‘Ja. He said it was much better to forget everything that had happened in our past. Not to think about it anymore. We had to start again and build a new Germany.’
‘Sensible advice,’ said Greg. ‘Although unusual for a history teacher.’
‘Then, unfortunately, his wartime past caught up with him, and they took him away.’
‘You know, Leni, I’m fascinated by your culture …’ Greg purred.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Dave.
Serial Killer by Pat Mills & Kevin O’Neill is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.