Robert Rankin - Necrophenia

‘The news,’ I said to Fangio. ‘Now, I have not exactly been too privy to the news lately. Let’s have a look at what’s going on in the world.’ And Fangio smiled and pushed the evening paper across the counter top to me.

And I perused the front page.

And guess what. And wouldn’t you just know it.

There was a great big photograph of me on the front page. And below this were printed the words-

PSYCHOTIC TERRORIST SERIAL-KILLER ESCAPES FROM STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION CIA Head Orders Cops to Shoot on Sight

‘Oh sweet,’ I said. ‘Just perfect.’

So I was Public Enemy Number One.

Which rather spoiled my afternoon.

Not that I’d been having the best afternoon of my life, you understand, what with discovering that one in every three New Yorkers was a walking corpse. But, looking on the bright side, I was up out of my hospital bed and I was in a bar, having the first beers I’d had in ten years.

And my those beers tasted good.

But Public Enemy Number One? On the front page of the newspaper? That wasn’t funny. That wasn’t fair. That was downright spiteful.

Fangio cast eyes across the newspaper and whistled the whistle of surprise. ‘Psycho-terrorist?’ said he. ‘I wonder if there’s a reward.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ I told him. ‘And bring me another beer.’

‘You won’t go blowing the place up when my back is turned?’

I gave Fange that certain look and he fetched further beer.

‘This is a fine kettle of fish,’ I said, upon his return. ‘A right how-do-you-do and a rare turn-up-for-the-book.’

‘Are we talking the toot now?’ asked Fangio. ‘Because you are getting me confused.’

‘I’m upset,’ I said. ‘And I’m angry. A wanted man? That is going to make things rather difficult for me, isn’t it?’

‘These things happen,’ said the barlord. ‘The secret is not to let them get you down. I’ve recently joined a travel club. That takes my mind off my problems.’

‘A travel club. But you never travel anywhere, except to the toilet.’

‘Ah,’ said Fangio. ‘But that is one of the beauties of the present age. I don’t have to travel. I can employ other people to do it for me.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense at all,’ I told him, in no uncertain tones.

‘Ah, but it does.’ And Fangio rested his elegantly wasted elbows upon the bar counter. ‘I pay for someone to travel to exotic lands and in return they send me postcards telling me all about it and thanking me for being so wonderful as to finance their journeys for them. So it satisfies on so many levels, really.’

‘It’s nonsense,’ I said. ‘And anyway, where would you get the money to finance them from?’

‘Out of your insurance pay-off…’ said Fangio. And then his voice trailed off.

‘My what?’ I said.

‘Curious thing,’ said Fange. ‘And I would have told you about it. I just forgot, with all the excitement of you being up and about and everything.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘Well, there’s a chance that I might have mentioned it,’ said Fange. ‘There’s always a chance.’

‘I’ll just bet there is. But not now. Tell me all about this insurance pay-off.’

‘Well,’ said Fange, and he did that grin that roadkill does to perfection. The rictus grin, it is called. ‘Well, when you were struck down by that car. Curious thing. A fellow standing in the doorway of this bar, beside me – because I followed you out, you see, when you went a bit weird and just walked out – this fellow saw the crash and said, “What a coincidence, I happen to represent the insurance company that covers that old woman in the Ford Sierra. And we’re having a special offer this week and there’s a half a million pay-out to whoever she runs down.” ’

‘What?’ I said. ‘That is rather unlikely.’

‘Well, be that as it may. He asked whether I knew you. And I said, for the sake of convenience, that I was your only brother. And your only living relative.’

‘For the sake of convenience?’

‘I like to call it that, yes.’

‘Go on,’ I said. And I sighed.

‘He made out the cheque on the spot. What a happy happenstance, eh?’

‘What a far-fetched load of old cobblers.’

‘Would you like to see my bank statement?’

‘Very much indeed.’

And so Fangio showed me his bank statement. And wouldn’t you just know it-

‘Golly!’ I said.

‘Where? ’ said Fangio.

‘But there’s only a quarter of a million dollars in this account.’

‘I’ve had expenses.’

‘Such as paying people to go on holiday for you.’

‘Well, actually, no,’ and Fangio shook his head. ‘I was just about to finish organising that this very afternoon but I got all distracted by you walking in.’

‘So many distractions,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how you cope.’

‘Oh, I think it’s being so cheerful that keeps me going.’

‘Right,’ I said. In the way that I always said, ‘Right.’

‘So I’m glad that’s all sorted out.’ And Fangio turned his attention once more to the newspaper. ‘There is mention here of a reward,’ he observed.

‘Travel club,’ I said, thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, Fangio, would you still care to invest in someone going on holiday for you?’

‘Oh yes, I certainly would. I was getting rather excited about the whole thing. The travel. The digging up. The discovery. The glory.’

‘The what?’ I asked.

‘I was thinking of financing an expedition,’ said Fangio. ‘I thought it would be more exciting than just a plain old holiday.’

‘An expedition?’ I said.

‘An archaeological expedition. To seek the Lost City of Begrem.’

The dark sun went behind a cloud and a dog howled in the distance.

‘Don’t you just hate it when that happens?’ Fangio asked.

‘Right,’ I said once more. ‘And so, and I have to ask you this, have you had anyone volunteer to go on this expedition for you?’

‘No, like I said, I was hoping it would get organised this afternoon – I put an ad in Freeloader Today magazine (incorporating Australian Backpacker Today magazine and Off-to-Kathmandu-to-Get-My-Head-Together Today magazine) and applicants were supposed to turn up here by-’ And Fangio checked his watch.

‘Isn’t that my watch?’ I asked him.

‘Hard to be sure, what with all the excitement and everything. But-’ and he checked this watch once more ‘-they should have been here by now. So no takers, I suppose.’

I sighed deeply and drew some more on the neck of my bottle of beer. Fate can play strange tricks, can’t it? And if I didn’t know better, and know, as I did know, that God did not intervene in the ways of men except by tampering with the weather, I might well have come to the conclusion that this opportune coincidence was the work of Divine Providence.

‘Oh well,’ said Fange. ‘You can’t win them all. I’ll go back to my original plan and advertise for someone to take their family to Butlins in Bognor, England.’

‘Not so fast,’ I said to Fangio.

‘Oh, it wouldn’t be that fast. I’d want to spend some time composing the words of the ad very carefully. I don’t want to blow it a second time, do I?’

And I shook my head and sighed a bit more.

‘That’s very plaintive sighing, Laz,’ said Fangio. And I rather liked it that he called me Laz. ‘You want to cheer yourself up. Get away from things. Escape from your troubles. My God!’ And Fangio brought his right fist down into his left palm. ‘I’ve just had an idea. You will never believe what has just occurred to me.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll just bet that I won’t.’