Robert Rankin - Web Site Story

'I don't think there's any extortion involved,' said Mr Speedy. 'Although I'll bet you'll have to pay an extortionate price for that steam train. I'll bet that could run to about ten thousand pounds, you'll probably be needing some more petty cash, won't you?'

Derek's mouth was hanging open once again. When he finally closed it once again and then opened it to speak more words, the words he spoke were these.

'Ten thousand was exactly the figure I had in mind.'

Which really didn't say a lot for Derek.

The Flying Swan was crowded when Derek stumbled in to take a liquid breakfast. There seemed to be an air of jollity around and about the saloon bar.

Derek dragged himself to the counter and tried to get himself served.

'Hello,' said Old Pete, looking up from his Brentford Mercury. 'Fancy seeing you in here again. You're a bit of a sucker for punishment. Can't you find yourself another Brentford bar to drink in?'

'This was the nearest,' said Derek. 'And I really need a big drink.'

'You work for the Mercury, don't you?' said the oldster. 'As well as being a bard and a student of Runese.' Old Vic wasn't there to chuckle, so Old Pete's dog did instead.

Derek hung his head in shame.

'I'm very impressed,' said Old Pete. 'I like this headline on page five. "HEAVEN DECLARED ON EARTH. BUT ONLY FOR THE FOLK OF BRENTFORD." According to this, Brentford has been singled out by God, as the first site of The Rapture. And apparently he loves the place so much that he's rewarding everyone who doesn't get Raptured by having Mute Corp turn the place into an Earthly paradise. And there was me thinking that there wasn't a God. It just goes to show how stupid I am.'

'It does?' said Derek.

Old Pete slowly shook his ancient head. 'No lad,' said he. 'It doesn't. And be warned, anyone who tries to take advantage of the borough and its people will find themselves tarred and feathered and dancing at a rope's end, lacking their wedding tackle.'

'Oh,' said Derek, crossing his legs.

'So let's hope that doesn't happen, eh?' said Old Pete brightly. 'Let's all enjoy this unexpected largesse.'

'Good idea,' said Derek.

'Isn't it,' said Old Pete. 'So I expect that you, like me and everybody else in the borough, will be cashing in your share certificate on Monday and pocketing the moolah, before getting on with the tarring and feathering. Not to mention the snippings-off of wedding tackle.' Old Pete made some snippings with his old and wrinkled fingers.

'I think I will drink elsewhere,' said Derek, rapidly taking his leave.

Derek ambled through the busy streets of Brentford. And they were busy. Lots of whistling workers. And lots of happy shoppers (but no little chefs). The borough had definitely perked up. People weren't hiding in their homes any more, awaiting The Rapture. They were out and about, sunhats and summer frocks, old straw hats and Hawaiian shirts. Everybody looked very jolly indeed. 'Perhaps it is all for the best,' Derek told himself. 'Perhaps they'll all get to like it and enjoy the money and not tar and feather anyone. And…' And Derek patted his jacket pocket. 'I've just made another ten thousand pounds.'

A certain skip came into Derek's step. But it was accompanied by a certain amount of head-clutching also.

The used-car showrooms of Leo Felix lurked on-the banks of the Grand Union Canal, close to the weir, but closer to the road bridge that led from the High Street into the neighbouring town of Isleworth, that nobody in Brentford knew anything about.

The used-car showrooms of Leo Felix were colourful showrooms, painted in red, gold and green and elegantly decorated with five-foot-high cannabis-leaf motifs. It is believed that Leo oversaw all the decorating himself and never called in a designer, who had once been very popular on the tele.

There were a number of automobiles outside. These were not new automobiles. Nor apparently were they second-hand automobiles. These were, so the brightly coloured cards upon their windscreens informed potential purchasers, 'previously owned vehicles'.

Their prices seemed unreasonably reasonable.

Derek, still with some skips in his step, some-skipped down the incline from the side of the bridge and entered Leo's forecourt.

'Yo, Babylon,' called the ancient son of Zion. 'Come inside off of me forecourt, yo spolin' de look of de place wid yo stubbly face and yo big red bloodclart eyes.'

Derek waved towards Leo, who was lounging in the shadowed doorway. 'Morning Leo,' he said.

'Come on in den, come on in.'

Derek came on in.

It was rather dark in Leo's showroom. Two previously owned cars stood glinting vaguely. Both were Morris Minors.

'Oh good,' said Derek, sighting them. 'You have two already. Only forty-eight to go, then.'

'Babylon,' said Leo, looming at Derek. 'Babylon, yo not bin altogether honest wid I an' I.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Derek.

'Folk museum, Babylon. Dat what I an' I talkin' about.'

'How's it all coming along?' asked Derek, feigning bright and breeziness. 'Any luck with those crad barges?'

Leo held a rolled copy of the Brentford Mercury in his hand. He unrolled it slowly and showed it to Derek. 'Babylon try to get one over on Ganga Man,' said he. 'Babylon care to see if he can outrun me Rottweilers?' Leo called out to his dogs. 'Marcus,' he called, 'Marley, Yellowman.' Three big Rottweilers came a-bounding out of the darkness and took to licking Leo's hands.

'Now hold on a minute,' said Derek. 'We had a deal.'

'For de folk museum?' said Leo. 'Or was dat for de multi-million-dollar Mute Corp company?'

'I'm only doing myjob,' said Derek. And as the words came out of his mouth, he really hated himself.

'Dis ain't personal, Babylon,' said Leo. 'Well, actually it is. De white man bin shafting de black man since forever. Dis town here, dis Brentford, I never have no trouble here. People treat me like one of their own and I treat them like one of me own. Respect, Babylon. Do you understand that? Respect? No I don't tink dat you do.'

'I do,' said Derek. 'I do.'

'I an' I tell you what,' said Leo. 'You an' I an' I have a deal. We smack hands together. So I an' I be fair with you. I an' I get you everyting you want by tomorrow, how's dat?'

'Dat's, I mean that's perfect,' said Derek. 'I couldn't ask for anything more than that.'

'Good,' said Leo. 'Dat's my half of the deal. Now all you have to do is two little tings.'

'Go on,' said Derek.

'Give me all the money in your pockets,' said Leo.

'Oh,' said Derek.

'Dat's one,' said Leo, stroking the neck of Marcus.

'Now, come on,' said Derek.

'Dat's one,' said Leo. 'You show no respect. Hand it over, Babylon.' Marcus growled and so did Marley and Yellowman.

Derek dug deep into his pocket and brought out all the money.

'I tink dat's mine, ain't it?' said Leo.

Derek hung his head once more. 'It is,' said he.

Leo took the money and pressed it into the colourful trouser pocket of his colourful trousers. 'Yo get all de stuff you order,' he said. 'I an' I keep my side of the deal. I an' I show respect.'

'Thank you,' said Derek. 'And I'm sorry. All that cash. The temptation was too much.'

'I an' I understand,' said Leo. 'Business is done.'

'Thanks again,' said Derek, turning to leave.

'I an' I said dere's two tings,' said Leo.

'Oh yes,' said Derek. 'What was the second thing?'

'Yo got ten seconds' start, Babylon,' said Leo. 'Den I release me dogs.'

It's remarkable just how fast you can run at times. Even with a hangover. Derek ran like the rabbit of proverb. And if there wasn't a rabbit of proverb, Derek ran like the hare. He ran and he ran. Away from Leo's showrooms. Out of Leo's forecourt and up Brentford High Street. Derek ran all the way back to the offices of the Brentford Mercury.