Necrophenia

‘Well, here’s looking at you, kid,’ said Lazlo.

‘And that’s not really your line, is it?’ I said.

‘But hey,’ said Laz, ‘I’m not even working in the first person. How good am I to you?’

And he shook me by the hand.

And I returned this handshake and felt very good about everything.

And then the golden girlie threw her arms about Lazlo Woodbine’s neck and started kissing him.

Which I did not feel very good about.

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘I don’t have to be a virgin any more.’

‘What?’ said Lazlo.

‘Nothing,’ said I.

And Lazlo Woodbine smiled. ‘So all’s well that ends well,’ he said. ‘And I suggest we take ourselves off to Fangio’s Bar and celebrate this victory. And then you can settle your bill. Remembering, of course, that I am paid by the day. And I’m thinking, how long is it since I fell into that pit of whirling blackness in Fangio’s? Because frankly, kid, you don’t look quite so young as you once did.’

And he left that rooftop with the golden girlie on his arm.

And I went, ‘Oh dear me.’

And followed him.

75

I wrote, at the very begi

I’m certainly not going to take all of the credit. Lazlo Woodbine did the actual shooting in the head of my demon brother, Keith. But I played my part, and my part was special.

If you read the final Lazlo Woodbine thriller, you will note that Laz takes all of the credit. But I don’t mind about that, because in exchange for me agreeing to let him take all of the credit, he agreed to retire.

And so he did, to the Sussex Downs, to keep bees. And of course he did go out on the high point of his career, having saved Mankind and everything. And so, having done his stuff, Lazlo Woodbine moved on into myth.

Leaving me to carry on where he left off and perhaps even prove myself to be the greatest private eye that ever there was.

And as Laz was retiring, and as I had already bought the franchise and everything, I moved into his office and put a new sign up on the door-

SOME CALL ME TYLER PSYCHIC DETECTIVE

I haven’t had any cases yet, but hey, it’s only been a week and I have had other things to do. Like visit the hospital, for instance, after I discovered that Laz had amusingly sewn my left ear back on upside down.

And then there was last night’s reunion, which I mentioned in the first chapter of this book. In truth it was a bit more than just a reunion – it was my stag night.

Because I’m getting married today. To the golden girlie from Begrem (where we will be spending our honeymoon).

I’m rather excited about getting married. I’m particularly excited about the prospect of finally having sex. Even though I’m approaching my seventieth birthday. I reckon I’m still up for it.

Regarding Begrem, I have decided not to open it up to the tourist trade, nor to avail myself of the riches therein. It felt rather wrong, somehow, and as there have been sufficient wrongs done, I don’t want to add any more of my own.

And, of course, there was the matter of the head of the CIA going missing. And where he might have ended up. Or down. Questions were asked, but answers weren’t furnished and that one remains open on the files.

And regarding all those walking-dead folk. What became of them? Well, they’ll all die again in their own good time and their souls will go off to wherever they should go.

Which, I suppose, means that this is the end of my tale.

Which seems a bit of a shame, really, but you have to end it somewhere. And I, like Laz, am going out on a high. But it is certainly not over for me. In fact, my career as Some Call Me Tyler, Psychic Detective is only just begi

And if there is any justice in this world, you will soon be reading my exciting adventures and how I solve the most obtuse conundrums and thwart the diabolical plans of criminal masterminds using my extra-special power and the Tyler Technique.

And so, let me leave you with the words of… the George:

It’s turned out nice again.

Robert Rankin