Robert Rankin - The Brightonomicon

'It's a suave name, Malcolm,' said Fange. And he looked at me closely. 'Not that close,' I said, backing away. 'Are they your own bosoms?' said Fangio. 'No, I am wearing them in for a friend.' 'Rizla, is that you? 'It is ' I said. 'I am in disguise.'

'I didn't notice,' said Fange. 'What are you supposed to be? Let me guess. A fireman, is it? Or a Presbyterian?'

'Two pints of your finest ale,' said I. 'And it is very good to see you again.'

'Two pints of Old Daughter-Slaughter coming up,' said Fangio. 'Is that your own navel, by the way?' 'Just pull the pints.'

'Great coat, Mister Rune,' said Fangio as he presented our pints to us. 'And it's very good to see you again. I no longer have my bar at Grand Parade – it burned down when the fire spread from your rooms – but happily I was able to save the accounts book. Would you care to settle up what you owe me? I think I might take an early retirement.'

Mr Rune sipped at his pint. 'Put this upon my new account,' said he, 'as this will now be my new local.'

Fangio made groaning sounds. 'Are those your real legs?' he asked me.

'I am in disguise, I told you. We are here on what must be our all-but-final case or conundrum. I am undercover, like Lazlo Woodbine.'

'He was in here earlier,' said Fangio, 'wearing a tweed jacket and a trilby hat. I didn't recognise him at first. Thought he was a newspaper reporter.'

'No,' I said, 'he was not in here earlier. Lazlo Woodbine does not exist – he is a fictional character.'

'He said that people are always saying that about him. He left me his business card.' 'Show it to me,' I said.

'I mislaid it,' said Fangio. 'But he was in. Said he was on a case, the biggest of his life.'

'Stuff and nonsense,' I said. 'Do you have any complimentary peanuts or chewing fat?' 'Only loaves and fishes,' said Fangio. 'Loaves and fishes?' I said. 'As in-'

Mr Rune shushed me to silence. 'Why only loaves and fishes?' he asked the leather-bound barkeep.

'Funny thing,' said Fangio. 'This fellow was in here earlier – heavy-metal fan, long hair, beard, black T-shirt -and he asked for something to eat. But the van didn't turn up today and the freezer and the fryer are empty. And there were all these other punters in here too and they all wanted something to eat. And they ate all my crisps and were still hungry. And then this other fellow came in, who was wearing a tweed jacket and a trilby hat and I thought he must be a newspaper reporter, but he wasn't, he was-' 'About the loaves and fishes,' I said.

'I'm coming to that. The fellow in the tweed jacket ordered a bottle of Bud and put down his bag of sandwiches on the bar – sardine sandwiches, they were. Then he went out to the toilet. And while he was out there, the other fellow, the one with the long hair, and the beard, and the black T-shirt, he took this bag of sandwiches and offered it around the bar, to everyone who was hungry. And they all took a sandwich. All of them. And that's dozens of sandwiches, right? But after that, the fellow with the long hair, and the beard, and the black 'I-shirt put the sandwich bag back on the bar. And damn me if the sardine sandwiches weren't still in it. And then he left the bar. How did he do that, eh?' 'Perhaps he just walked out of the door,' I said.

'I mean,' said Fangio, 'how did everyone eat sandwiches, but the sandwiches were still in the bag? Is it voodoo, do you think? Or was he Paul Daniels?'

'And then did this "Lazlo Woodbine" eat the sardine sandwiches?'

'Don't talk silly,' said Fangio. 'Lazlo Woodbine doesn't eat sardine sandwiches. He only eats hot pastrami on rye.' 'There is a degree of truth to this tale,' I said.

'I have the sardine sandwiches here in the bag to prove it,' said Fangio.

'I'd like to take a look at those sandwiches,' said Mr Rune.

And whilst Mr Rune dined upon sardines on bread, I gazed about the bar. Now, just how possible was this? I wondered. That not only the last man in the bloodline of Jesus Christ, but also Lazlo Woodbine had both been in this bar today? I have to confess that it did not seem all that likely. Well, at least not the Woodbine bit. 'Ah,' said Fangio. 'Here's his card. I knew I had it somewhere. It was in my codpiece all the time.' 'Just hold it up for me,' I said, 'and let me read it.' Lazlo Woodbine Private Eye Well, you could not argue with that! Presently we had done with our pints, so Mr Rune ordered more. And soon we were done with those, too.

'We are nearing the end of our quest,' said Mr Rune to me. 'Soon, I feel certain, all will be resolved. This Lazlo Woodbine development is interesting, however.'

'Fangio is pulling our legs,' said I. 'Lazlo Woodbine does not exist. He is only a fictional character.' 'Just someone you read about in books,' said Mr Rune. 'Exactly.' 'A little like Jesus, then?' 'Nothing like Jesus at all,' said I. 'But Lazlo Woodbine is real to you.' 'He is real inside the books, but not outside them.'

'And who is to say, then, who is real?' said Mr Rune. 'You and I might just be characters in a book.'

'That is absurd,' I said. 'And if it were true, who is reading about us now?'

'Perhaps a character in someone else's book. Who is in turn just a character in someone else's book. And so on, ad infinitum.' 'Stop,' I said. 'You are scaring me.'

'It was only a thought,' said Mr Rune. 'Such thoughts occasionally cross my mind.' 'What time is it?' I asked.

Mr Rune perused his wristlet watch. A Cartier, I felt certain, and one I had not seen before.

'It is ten,' said Hugo Rune. 'We must be away to the ball.' And he whispered words into Fangio's ear and we went off to the ball. I really liked the inside of Hove Town Hall. It was architecture in the public-utility style. It was unpretentious. It did not make any bones. It said, 'I am a modern town-hall interior, love me, or love me not.'

Well, I did not hue it, but I liked it, with its horrible carpets, the dreadful paintwork, the appalling lighting. The upstairs bar was amazing, though – there were twelve bar staff behind the jump, which made me think of the twelve-bar blues and also of Robert Johnson.

The Rock-Night crowd was a-swelling and a-swelling, but we had no problem getting served.

And there was something else that I think I should mention in passing. And this was the Rock-Night crowd's attitude to Mr Rune. When we entered the town hall we had to pay, although we got a laminated 'club card'. But it was there at the door that the whispering began. I heard the door supervisors whisper to the fellows on the desk. They whispered, 'It is him,' when we walked up the stairs and into the upstairs bar.

'What is all this whispering?' I said to Mr Rune. 'What is all this "It is him" stuff as you walk by?'

'I am revered,' said Mr Rune, modestly, 'These are my people.' ' Your people? How?' "The Book of Ultimate Truths,' said Mr Rune, 'has thus far only achieved what you might describe as "cult status". Naturally it will go on in the future to become much more than that. But here, Rizla, you are amongst my readers.' 'You mean we're characters in what they read?'

'That is not what I mean.' Mr Rune inclined his great head towards what I can only describe as an absolute babe, who approached him with a beer mat and a Biro. 'Might I have your autograph, Master?' she asked. And Mr Rune obliged. 'Absurd,' I said. 'This is all absurd. And I say so.'

'You could always bathe in my reflected glory,' said Mr Rune. 'As my acolyte, there'd be sex in it for you. That young chap looks interested.' 'I do not want to have sex with chaps!' I declared. 'That young lesbian-' 'Now there is a thought,' I said.

But it was not really, truly a thought, for I have never been a lady's man. I am a sensitive fellow, me. I want a relationship. I know that sounds a bit wimpy, but that is the way I am. I do not do casual sex. I do not think I could do casual sex. Although. 'Are you sure she is a lessa?' I asked Mr Rune. 'Trust me,' said Mr Rune. 'I'm-' 'I am going to the bar.' I got served at once. Six young barmen were keen to oblige. 'Two pints of whatever you have that is best,' I said.