The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag

11

I walked into the Jolly Gardeners just as the piper was walking out. Which suited me fine, as I could never stand the bloke. Not that I have anything against the Scots you understand, after all I'm one myself, a direct descendant of William Wallace. But that piper really got up my nose. And anyway, I had some pretty heavy-duty thinking that needed to be done and where better to do it than here?

I was anonymous here. The folk in this sleepy rural hamlet knew nothing of my Lazlo Woodbine persona or my world-saving escapades. Here they knew me as Mr Rupert Tractor, a route planner for the local foxhunt.

Now, as it was a Friday lunchtime, the last person I expected to see serving behind the bar was the lead singer of the now legendary 1960s garage-psyche band The 13th Floor Elevators. So I was doubly surprised to see instead that it was Paul.

'˜Paul,' I said. '˜I thought you were dead.'

Paul looked up slowly from his crossword. '˜If I can come up with a snappy rejoinder to that, I'll let you know,' said he.

'˜But you were reading the book. The Johnny Quinn book.'

'˜Johnny who?' asked Paul.

'˜Don't give me that. Johnny Quinn. Snuff Fiction you had a copy.'

'˜Oh, Johnny Quinn. Funny you should mention him. After you left that Tuesday evening, I got to thinking about Johnny Quinn, and the more I thought about him, the less I seemed to remember.'

'˜Don't try that on me,' I told him. '˜You had the book, I saw it with my own two eyes.'

What, this book?' Paul pulled the book from beneath the counter. White card cover. Publisher's proof copy. He handed it to me and I examined it.

The Sniff Function by Jimmy Quonn.

'˜Easy mistake,' said Paul. '˜It had me going for a while.'

'˜Huh!' I said.

'˜Pint of the usual, was it?'

'˜Whatever the usual might happen to be, yes.'

'˜I'll see if I can find a suitable glass.'

I stood and waited patiently, and at length my patience was rewarded and Paul pulled me a pint of something or other.

'˜Thanks,' I said, paying for and bearing it away. I plonked myself down in my favourite corner and muttered under my breath.

'˜Easy mistake, my arse,' I muttered.

'˜Not too sold on that explanation, then, chief?'

'˜It's all a bloody conspiracy.'

'˜Ain't that the truth. So tell me, chief, now that you have the voodoo handbag, what are you going to do with it? Give it back to Mrs Barnes?'

'˜Are you kidding, Barry? That woman is a stone bonker. Think of that poor Inspector Kirby boxed up under the bed.'

'˜Yeah, I've been wondering about that for the last ten years, chief. How come when she whispered to you in your shed about what she'd done to the Inspector, and you threw up everywhere and everything. How come you didn't just go to the police and tell them?'

'њWhat? Breach of confidentiality of a client? I have my standards to maintain. I'm a professional, Barry.'

'˜You certainly are, chief. So what are you going to do with the handbag?'

'˜I am going to use it to destroy Billy Barnes and close down the Necronet.'

'˜You do have a real downer on Mr Barnes, don't you, chief?'

'˜A real downer? I spent ten years trapped in the Necronet because of that maniac. And another three months in the loony bin.'

'˜You can't actually prove it was his fault, chief.'

'˜He's to blame, Barry. Billy Barnes is a serial killer and if he's not stopped he'll bring the world as we know it to an end.'

'˜Billy Barnes is the World Leader, chief.'

'˜Oh yeah? And how did he get to be the World Leader?'

'˜Hard work? Dedication? Natural aptitude?'

'˜Bullshit!'

'˜No doubt there was a certain amount of bullshit involved, but isn't there always?'

'˜I hate him and I will destroy him!'

'˜Not so loud, chief, folk are beginning to stare.'

'˜He's a murdering bastard,' I whispered. '˜And he'll kill us all.'

'˜You're not perhaps, just a tad jealous, by any chance?'

'˜Jealous?!'

'˜Well, the two of you did go to school together, and he has done rather better for himself than you, hasn't he?'

'˜Better than me? What do you mean?'

'˜Well, he is the World Leader, chief. And you-'

'˜And me what?'

'˜Well, chief, there are some who might suggest that you are nothing more than a paranoid schizophrenic with a multiple personality disorder and a persecution complex.'

'˜Outrageous! And who might suggest such a thing?'

'˜Well, there was the doctor at the mental institution you've just escaped from.'

'˜Oh, him.'

'˜Him, chief.'

'˜And what about you, Barry? Do you think I'm mad?'

'˜Me, chief? Absolutely not. But then, what would I know? I'm only a voice in your head.'

'˜Quite so. And anyway, I can prove I'm not mad. I've got the voodoo handbag.'

'˜And this would be the handbag that eats people, would it?'

'˜It certainly would.' I pulled the voodoo handbag from the poacher's pocket of my trench coat and placed it on the table. '˜There you go,' I said. '˜Disprove that.'

'˜Would that I could, chief. Although-'

'˜Although what?'

'˜Well, it doesn't look all that hungry right now, does it? I mean, it's not exactly gnashing, or anything.'

I gave the handbag a bit of close scrutiny. And I had to confess that it didn't look all that menacing. It just looked like a rather badly cast old plaster handbag. '˜Perhaps it's already been fed today,' I said. '˜Or it's sleeping.'

'˜Sleeping, chief. That would probably be it. Let sleeping bags lie, eh?'

'˜Are you taking the piss?'

'˜Not me, chief.'

'˜Well, don't. You know what I went through, Barry. You know I was trapped for ten years inside the Necronet.'

'˜Now that's not altogether accurate is it, chief? I mean I wasn't actually in there with you, was I?'

'˜No. But I was there, and it was all down to that bastard Barnes.'

'˜So you keep saying, chief. But remember, I only caught up with you again when you were in the mental hospital. I don't really know exactly what you went through and why you hate Billy Barnes so much.'

'˜Do I have to go through the entire thing all over again?'

'˜It might be helpful, chief.'

'˜All right. So where was I?'

'˜Well, chief, Billy Barnes had just got himself a job as information gatherer at Necrosoft and his mum had just come around to your shed, told you the horrible tale about Inspector Kirby, and asked you to find the voodoo handbag.'

'˜Ah, yes.'

'˜But she hadn't explained how the handbag came to be missing.'

'˜And she never did. I had to find that out for myself.'

'˜And you followed Billy Barnes to Brentford, did you?'

'˜Kill two birds with one stone, Barry. I figured that Billy probably did have the handbag, so I went in search of him.'

'˜And what happened when you found him?'

'˜Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves here. It took me a while to find him, and before that, other things happened. Shall I continue with the story?'

'˜Please do.'

'˜OK.'

The estate agent showed Billy around the penthouse flat.

'˜This is very much top of the range,' she said. '˜This suite offers the most wonderful views of Brentford there are to be had. From here you can see the water tower.' She pointed with a long slim finger. '˜And the famous gasometer. And beyond there the river bridge to Kew and the Royal Gardens.'

Billy's gaze followed the direction of the pointing finger, and then returned along the hand arm shoulder and neck to the attractive face of the elegant young woman. '˜Very nice,' said Billy.

The estate agent smiled up at him, turned and strode across the black marble floor upon long slender legs. '˜You have your fully fitted kitchen,' she said. '˜Very hi-tech, very chic. Your lounge here, all mirror tiles and Bauhaus furniture, and the bathroom, with a Jacuzzi, of course.'

'˜Of course,' said Billy.

'˜And will you be living here alone, Mr Barnes?'

'˜I haven't made my mind up yet.'

'˜Well, it certainly suits you. You look right at home here, as if it was built for you.'

'˜Why, thank you very much. And what is through that door over there?'

'˜That is the master bedroom, would you like to see it?'

'˜All in good time.'

'˜Well I'm sure that you'll like it. And the suite is all ready for anyone to move in. Fridge fully stocked, champagne on ice.

'˜Perhaps we might enjoy a glass or two now.'

The estate agent laughed a pretty laugh. '˜Not until the contracts are completed, I'm afraid.'

'˜Oh, don't be afraid.' Billy took something from his pocket; it was wrapped in silver foil. '˜Something for you,' he said. '˜A present.'

'˜A present for me?'

'˜Just for you.'

The estate agent took the present and unwrapped it. It was a brightly coloured plastic something.

'˜What is it?' she asked, as she gave it a squeeze.

'˜It's called a pleaser,' said Billy. '˜Now let's get that champagne open, and then we can explore the master bedroom.'