Robert Rankin - The Brightonomicon

'Police say it happen all time,' the chief continued. 'Say scientists know of it for years. New evolutionary leap forward, clothes becoming sentient. Explain all those single shoes you see on motorways, trying to meet up with other clothes, form manlike shapes. Have hands, see, gloves, opposable thumbs. And not just clothes. Fruit and veg and minerals, too. Many famous celebrities not men at all, say scientists, many just piles of fruit and veg and minerals, too.'

'Like "rock" musicians,' I suggested. 'The Strawberry Alarm Clock, or The Rolling Stones.'

The chief nodded approvingly. 'Have liking for young squaw here,' he said. 'Know how to talk the toot.'

'I have been practising,' I said. 'Hey, what do you mean, "squaw"?' 'What news of Count Otto Black?' asked Mr Rune.

'Him plenty mad. Scout report see him drive round and round Whitehawk each day 'til evil black car run out of petrol. Then rant and rave. Then storm off towards Kemp-town. Scouts follow but then lose him each time. He enter timber house, then timber house sink into ground and he gone.' 'The Bevendean Bathyscaphe,' I said.

'Damn tootin',' said the chief. 'And now,' and he grinned up at Mr Rune, 'need help from Great White Brother, in exchange for satisfying Great White Brother's voracious appetite for almost a month now.' 'Almost a month?' I said.

'You did have a very long sleep,' said Mr Rune. 'You needed to get your energy back. It would have been a shame to wake you.'

'Ludicrous!' I said. 'And what of the headline in this morning's Leader?'

'All right,' said Mr Rune. 'I did it for the sake of continuity. We deal with one case a month. We had to get rid of the rest of November. And anyway, if you had bothered to look properly, you would have observed that that newspaper is almost a month old. I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

'Young squaw been overdoing firewater?' asked the chief.

'I am still half-gone from the peyote flakes,' I said. 'I have to concentrate really hard to stop you changing into a spaniel. And stop calling me a squaw – I am a brave.'

'Enough toot for now,' said the chief. And to Mr Rune, 'Big mystery baffle chief and braves, even medicine man not know what to do. I call in on him where he work in pharmacy in Boots and he say him only able to prescribe aspirin. Aspirin not much help to battle demon.' 'Demon?' said Mr Rune. 'What of this?'

'Demon plague tepee of Chief,' said the chief. 'Not mention it to Great White Brother before because embarrassing, but as Great White Brother stuff face endlessly with Chiefs grub, and always boast know every damn thing, Chief now request that Great White Brother put money where mouth is and trounce demon.'

'As indeed I will,' said Mr Rune. 'What is the nature of this demonic manifestation?'

'Man with head of bird.' The chief did beakish mimings. 'Big beak hooter and smell like buffalo's backside. Him ride upon motor scooter, wear parka with fun-fur trim on hood and word "VESPERADO" in studs on back. Many lights on front of scooter, many mirrors, too.' 'That is no demon,' I said. 'That is a Mod.'

'Young brave with girlie hair know this "Mod"?' asked the chief.

'I have not got girlie hair,' I said. Although I had slept for a month and my hair was getting pretty good at the back now. 'But I do not understand – why does a Mod on a scooter bother you so much? You could always just shoot his tyres with an arrow, or something.'

'You not understand,' said Chief Whitehawk. 'Arrows pass through demon and scooter, as if him moving inter-dimensionally, possibly employing some technology creating time/space interface, most likely through transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter. Although that only supposition as Chief don't know jack about science.'

'Clearly not,' said I. 'So what does he get up to, then, this demonic Mod on his transperambulating Vespa?'

'Him come into tepee. Use Chiefs kitchen. Use labour-saving devices and contents of Chief s Frigidaire 2000 Series fridge-freezer with built-in ice-cube dispenser. Also Chiefs spice wheel, use up all fenugreek last week, preparing ragout of spaniel with Hollandaise sauce, a dish Chief never seen before. Chief take note and write down recipe. But that not the point.'

'Extraordinary,' I said. 'And have you ever tried to speak to him?'

'Why young brave with squaw-cut ask all questions?' asked the chief. 'Great White Brother should ask questions. Organ-grinder speak, not monkey.' 'Steady on,' I said.

'There, him speak again. Silence loquaciousness with tomahawk if say more.' 'But…' But I said no more.

'It's an interesting conundrum,' said Mr Rune, 'When he does the cooking, does he still wear his decorated parka?'

'No, him take off parka. And bird's head. Put on chef outfit. Oh, and him swear a lot. Swear all time, in fact. Many bad words which Chief no like.' 'This is bonkers,' I almost said. But I did not. 'One question,' said Mr Rune. 'Is he always alone?'

'Ah,' said the chief. 'Forget to mention: him never alone. Have kitchen staff with him. He swear at them. And diners, too. All this-' the chief made expansive gesturings '-all this change, become like restaurant. Many tables and chairs. Nice white tablecloths on tables. Irish linen. Only come from Harrods, such tablecloths. And diners dine and Chief stride amongst them, striking at them. But they not see or hear Chief, nor feel Chiefs blows. As if Chief not exist. Most exasperating.' 'How have I never seen this?' asked Mr Rune.

'Great White Brother always turn in early after mighty feastings. That reason him no see. But Chief cheesed off with it now.'

'And well might you be, Chief. Now, Rizla,' Mr Rune said to me, 'your observations on this.' 'You will not let him hit me with his tomahawk?' Mr Rune rolled his eyes. 'Your observations,' he said.

'Well,' I said, 'if the Chief can see these people, but he cannot touch them, they must be ghosts, surely. Was this tepee built upon an ancient restaurant mound or something?'

'Very good, Rizla, but about as far off the mark as it is possible to be.'

'Thank you very much,' I said. 'You have drawn some conclusion of your own, then?'

'Only the most very obvious. We shall sit up tonight and view this phenomenon for ourselves.'

'I think I am up for that,' I said. 'It might be weeks before I need another sleep.' At seven of the evening clock, Mr Rune sent the chief and his braves off to the pub and he and I settled down to wait.

'You would not care to give me a clue, would you?' I said to Mr Rune. 'Or is it something that I should have read in The Book of Ultimate Truths, so you are not going to tell me out of spite?'

'Hugo Rune is never spiteful,' said he. 'Hugo Rune is a gentleman. And a gentleman puts kindness above all else.' 'So will you give me a clue?'

'No,' said Mr Rune, but kindly. 'Fear not. Observe and then present me with your own conclusions.' I shrugged and we waited and presently we heard the approaching engine noises of a Vespa motor scooter, which rather put the wind up me. And then its rider entered the tepee without first opening the flap. Which put the wind up me somewhat further. He took off his helmet and parka and entered the kitchen area. And others followed him and began worrying at saucepans and gratin dishes and labour-saving devices. And then the diners appeared and suddenly there were tables and chairs for them to sit at and on. And I viewed this and shivered a little and shook my head a lot. And feared that if this was indeed a ghost's restaurant, then there was always the chance that Norris Styver might have escaped from Lewes and might just turn up here in search of a snack.

Seemingly oblivious to all fear, Mr Rune played 'Eat Your Greens Up, Sonny Boy'* upon his reinvented ocarina.

When the ghostly diners were all seated, a ghostly waiter moved amongst them taking orders and conveying them to the kitchen area where the Vesperado chef shouted swearing words at his kitchen staff and the cooking began.