Robert Rankin - The Witches of Chiswick

“You?” asked the terrific figure, levelling his weapon at Will’s mum, a red laser dot from its sight making a caste mark on her forehead. “Are you William Starling?”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Will’s mum. “Have you been drinking?”

“You?” the weapon swung in the direction of Will’s dad.

The laser dot appeared upon his forehead.

“Err …” went Will’s dad. “Well, actually …”

“No,” Will scrambled to his feet and fluttered his hands about. “He isn’t William Starling. There isn’t any William Starling here.”

“Where is the painting?” asked the terrific figure. “Tell me now, or all die.”

“Painting?” said Will’s dad. “What painting?”

“ The Fairy Feller’s Masterstroke .”

“Ah,” said Will. “That painting.”

“That.” The weapon now swung towards Will. The little red dot marked his forehead.

“I’ll tell you,” said Will, his hands fluttering again. “I know where it is. Just don’t harm my family. Please don’t shoot anyone.”

“Give me the painting, now .”

“I don’t have it here. It’s hidden. I can take you to it.”

“What is this all about?” asked Will’s mum, fanning at her nose with her ladle. “What have you been up to, Will? Something naughty, I’ll bet.”

The weapon was once more pointing at Will’s mum.

“Please stay out of this,” Will told her. “Be quiet.”

“That’s no way to speak to your mother.” Will’s mum waggled her ladle.

“Silence,” ordered the terrific figure, fixing Will with a horrible black-eyed stare. “The painting must be destroyed. Take me to it, now.”

“I can’t.” Will now made pleading gestures. “The place where it’s hidden is closed until Monday.”

“Now, or I shoot the woman.”

“No.” Will flung himself to his knees. “Please don’t do that.”

“Now,” the figure ordered once again.

“Can I just go?” asked Tim. “I’m nothing to do with this.”

“He can get us in.” Will rose slowly and pointed at Tim.

“You bastard!” said Tim.

“He’s going to shoot my mum.”

“Well, I suppose I could get you in. It’s hidden in the archive, I suppose.”

“It is.”

“ Now !”

“He’s lying to you,” said Will’s dad, heaving himself out of his chair. “He doesn’t know about any painting. I’m the real Will Starling and I know where it is.”

“No,” shouted Will, fingers a-flutter. “No, Dad, no.”

“The boy doesn’t know anything,” said Will’s dad. “The painting’s hidden right here, in this housing unit.”

Will’s eyes widened. “ What ?” he managed to say.

“It’s inside the air-conditioning system. You can see for yourself.”

“Where?” asked the terrific figure.

“Up there.” Will’s dad pointed to the grille in the ceiling above the home screen. “I’ll get it for you, if you want.”

“What are you doing, Dad?”

“Let me deal with this, Will. It’s all my fault. I’ll get the painting.”

“But …”

“Leave this to me.” Will’s dad struggled to manhandle his chair towards the home screen and the air-conditioning duct above it.

“What is he doing?” whispered Tim.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” whispered Will.

Will’s dad huffed and puffed.

“Out of the way.” The terrific figure, slung his weapon across his broad left shoulder, strode to the chair and snatched it from Will’s dad. He flung it down in front of the home screen, climbed onto it, reached up and took hold of the ceiling grille that covered the air-conditioning duct.

With a speed, quite remarkable for one of his corpulence, Will’s dad swung a foot and kicked the chair out from beneath him.

The terrific figure tumbled to the floor, bringing down the grille and a section of ceiling. Will’s dad flung himself on top of the fallen figure.

“Sit on his legs woman,” he shouted. “Squash the smelly blighter. Hurry!”

Will’s mum hurried and did as she was bid.

“Phone for the DOCS, lad,” Will’s dad told Will. “Tell them we’ve captured a murderer.”

Will’s mouth hung open.

“I’ll do it,” said Tim, and he did.

“Come in here, polluting the air and menacing my family,” cried Will’s dad, his beefy buttocks pressing down upon the back of the fallen figure. “I’ll teach you to mess with the Starlings.”

The fallen figure struggled, but was quite unable to rise.

“My dad,” whispered Will. “My dad did that.”

“They’re on their way,” said Tim, replacing the receiver. “They’re just up two floors. They’re coming right down.”

The fallen figure lurched, all but up-ending Will’s dad.

“More weight needed,” called that man. “Tim, Will, help us keep this stinker down.”

Will climbed onto his father’s shoulders. Tim sat down in Will’s mum’s lap.

“Well, isn’t this cosy?” said Will’s mum. “Like one big happy family. That’s another thing I like about living in these times. Although the supper is growing cold and I’m—”

And through the doorway came the gallant lads and token ladette of the DOCS, weapons at the ready and looks of some surprise upon their faces, faces which they now took to fanning.

“The smell is him.” Will’s dad bounced up and down, eliciting moans from the foul-smelling figure beneath. “The murderer, we have him here.”

“Let him up,” said Chief Inspector Sam Maggott. “We’ll take him in for questioning.”

“Better just to pass sentence here,” said Officer John.

“Rather too many unanswered questions,” said Sam. “I’d like to find out more about this unfragrant character before we remove him permanently from society.”

“He’s still frisky.” Will’s dad came near to another upending. “Shooting him in the head while we’re still sitting on him would probably be for the best.”

“I’ll do things my way, if you don’t mind,” said Sam. “I am the law, you know.”

“Quite so, sir,” said Will’s dad. “So we should let him up, should we? He’s all covered in guns. One or two quite uncomfortable beneath my behind, as it happens.”

“Let him up,” said Sam. “We have him covered.”

And Sam’s team most definitely did. They all had their guns out and were pointing them mostly in the right direction.

“As you wish,” said Will’s dad. “Everybody up.”

And he did try. And so did Will’s mum.

“I’m a bit stuck,” she said. “Could someone give me a hand?”

“I’m at a bit of a disadvantage too,” said Will’s dad. “Can’t seem to ease myself up from this position.”

“Help them up,” Sam told his team.

Sam’s team holstered their weapons and set to the task of dragging Will’s parents into the vertical plane.

“Thanks very much,” said Will’s dad. “This has all been most exciting.”

“Aaaagh!” went the foul-smelling fallen figure, leaping now to his feet.

“That’s quite enough of that, chummy,” said Sam. “Up with your hands and come along quietly.”

“And drop your weapons,” added Officer Denton. “And do that before you put up your hands.”

“Good idea,” said Sam. “Do as the nice lady tells you. Or there will be trouble.”

It must be noted that it had now become very crowded in the Starling breakfasting-cum-suppering area which, although spacious enough to accommodate at least four well-fed adults, now found itself playing host to rather more than that. There were the mountainous Maggot, Officers Denton, Higgins, and Tudor; there was Tim McGregor, Will’s mum, Will’s dad, and Will. And there was also the terrific figure which was now towering over all of them and snatching up one of his weapons.