Waiting for Godalming

“Whoa!” went Joh

“Far out,” said the gri

“He’s making this up,” said Icarus, desperately swerving to avoid an oncoming taxi which turned out to be driven by himself.

“I never told Mum, but Icarus used to have nightmares. He’d wake up screaming that he could put everything back in the right places.”

“Shut up!” shouted Icarus. “Shut up, or I’ll throw you out of the taxi. You’re no good to us like this. Pull yourself together. Be Lazlo Woodbine again.”

“You want me to be Lazlo Woodbine? How could I be Lazlo Woodbine? That was him in the other taxi, wasn’t it?”

“That was you in the other taxi.”

“Joh

Icarus Smith glared over his shoulder. “You’ve got to help us,” he growled. “You are Woodbine. The greatest detective of them all. You tell him, Joh

“Stop being horrid to your brother,” said Joh

“Oh no!” shouted Icarus. “Look out.”

Something smashed into something else.

No it didn’t.

Yes it did.

The long dark automobile ploughed head on into the taxi, mashing up its bo

The driver crashed down onto the bo

“That’s him,” shouted Cormerant. “Get out and shoot him dead.”

The demons hastened to oblige.

One took hold of the crash victim’s bloody head and twisted it around.

“Kill him!” shouted Cormerant. “I’ve suffered enough of this young man.”

The demon did as he was told.

And shot the young man dead.

18

It really was true.

About your whole life flashing right in front of your eyes at that terrible final moment. As the taxi struck the long dark automobile and Icarus Smith shouted “Oh no!” his whole life flashed before him, right in front of his eyes.

And it really hadn’t been the best of lives.

Icarus could see himself as a child, locking his brother in the suitcase and pushing it under his mother’s bed. Tormenting his brother, hiding his teddy, making him play the manic detective in order to find it again. Shuffling up his father’s delivery sheets and dreaming the guilt-ridden nightmares, where only he, Icarus Smith, could put the world to rights.

Icarus saw all this as the taxi’s brakes failed and the cab ran into the long dark automobile.

Into the rear of the long dark automobile.

It was a considerable smash-up, but as the long dark automobile was already ground into the front of another taxi, the long dark automobile didn’t move very much at all.

The demon who had despatched the driver of the other cab looked up from his murderous business and wiped away at the spatterings of blood that sprinkled his terrible visage.

“I think I just shot the wrong bloke, sir,” he said.

And of course it was true.

An i

Eh?

“Kill the right one then,” shouted Cormerant. “Hurry up. Do it now.”

“Right one, yes sir.” The demon hastened once more to oblige.

“Out of the taxi.” Icarus was out and dragging the rear door open.

“I’m all shook up,” said Joh

“I’m hungry,” said the other. “Are we going to have lunch now?”

Icarus bundled them out of the taxi. “Run,” said he. “It’s the only hope we have.”

“Brother,” said the other, “I’m really not in the mood to run.”

A gun went bang and a bullet parted a Ramón Navarro hairstyle.

“I’ll race you, brother Icarus, come on.”

Icarus ran, and Joh

The demons marched behind, quills high and quivering, evil reptiloid faces thrusting forward, nasty nasty mouthparts sucking in the air.

Oh, and guns held high and firing all the way.

The three men ran across the Ealing Road, towards the tower blocks on the other side. They ran across a forecourt area which seemed strangely deserted, considering the time of day, and then they ran between the first two mighty buildings.

Why do they call buildings buildings? Have you ever wondered about that? I mean a building is only a building when you’re actually building it. When it’s built, it’s built. So they really shouldn’t call them buildings, should they? They should be called builts.

“These builts are really high, aren’t they?” said Joh

“These whats?” Icarus answered him.

“Oh nothing, just a thought.”

“In here,” said Icarus, “quickly.” And he pushed upon a door.

The door was locked.

Icarus fumbled out his little roll of tools.

A bullet ricocheted off the doorpost.

“We’re go

Icarus hurried.

The lock clicked and the door came open.

Icarus pushed the two men through the doorway. The little one with the terrified expression. The big one with the stupid look on his face.

Icarus slammed shut the door and locked it.

“There,” he said. “We’re safe.”

“There what?” said Joh

Icarus turned. They were in a corridor, another corridor! It seemed to be all corridors these days. And underground or overground, a corridor looks like a corridor. Except, of course, when it’s a passage, or a hall. But then they’re all pretty much the same when you get right down to it, except for the carpets. And perhaps the lighting; you can do a lot with a corridor if you light it tastefully. Not that you could have done much with this particular corridor. It looked really ill kept. Uncared for. This was an unloved corridor. It did have some stairs leading up from it, which was something, although not really something worth cheering about.

“Up the stairs,” shouted Icarus.

“Up?” said Joh

“It did the last time.”

“We were underground the last time.”

The sounds of gunfire echoed from without.

“Up it is,” said Joh

“Brother,” said the other, “you won’t let those beastly things get me, will you? You will protect me?”

“Where’s the gun?” said Icarus.

“Here,” said Joh

“Then I’ll hold them off. You run upstairs with my useless brother here and knock on someone’s door. Call the police, or something.”

“And which police would that be? The good police, or the wrong’un police? Should I ask them to send cops without quills? Do you think they’ll understand what I mean?”

“Are you trying to be difficult?”

“No, it’s just …”

The sounds of close-quarters gunfire and the lock exploding from the door put paid to further conversation.

“Up?” said Joh