Geek Tragedy (11 page)

The disappearing tablecloth revealed something unexpected; he noticed that Katherine’s hand was resting on Smurf’s knee—only for a second, because it realised it was exposed and sped back to its owner—but Mervyn definitely saw it.

The competition over, the contestants all left, slipping on the water-sodden stage, all apart from the luckless fan trapped in his home-made Styrax. He couldn’t move in any direction and watched helplessly as his comrades danced away, his plaintive cries for freedom drowned out by the strains of ‘Hi-ho, Silver Lining’. The water spread around the base of the Styrax, reached the electrics, and the car indicator lights he’d lovingly put on his costume blew up. Thankfully, Morris was on hand with a fire extinguisher.

Mervyn hadn’t noticed any of this. He was too busy looking around for…

Damn. She was gone. Again.

He circumvented the disco, skipping around gyrating youngsters who tried to engage him in a boogie, shouting questions at the stewards over the din. He should have asked her for her room number, damn it! He went up and down in the hotel lift, hoping when the doors pinged open he’d catch a glimpse of her.

At last! He saw someone down the end of the hallway. Yes, it was someone dressed in a
Vixens
costume, Arkadia maybe. Someone with a shapely bottom and nice hips. Someone who didn’t look like a bunch of novelty balloons. It
had
to be Minnie.

He ran up to her, grabbed her shoulder. ‘Arkadia’ turned, the silvery visor pushed up and…

It was a young man. A young man in a
Vixens
costume. Of course. The only contestant apart from Minnie who had a half-decent figure. He’d been stalking a man’s arse all this time.

‘Hello Mr Stone! Gosh sakes, this is a surprise! It’s Stuart. Remember me?’ He gave a wave, and Mervyn realised with a shock that it was the boy who’d asked for his autograph this afternoon. The one with the updated
Vixens
episodes on his computer. ‘Do you like the costume? I made it myself. I studied the original costumes because I wanted to make mine better. More elastic and run-resistant. And look! Real pockets! They didn’t have real pockets in the original costumes. They were a bit ropey. Mine are better.’

Mervyn nodded and smiled and backed away down the corridor.

*

When he got back to his room, the door was ajar, the bedside lights on. Mervyn nervously pushed open the door.

Someone was draped over the bed, wearing a
Vixens
costume.

Thankfully, the someone was female.

‘I must have picked up your spare key by mistake,’ said Minnie. ‘So I just let myself in.’

She stole my key and got into my room
. His brain tried to hit the panic button, but his libido arm-wrestled it to the ground and made it submit.

‘So I see.’

‘Sorry,’ she said.

Mervyn wasn’t.

He drifted awake a couple of hours later, dimly aware of Minnie getting up, the sound of the shower blatting water into the bath, then he drifted away again.

He woke up again about an hour after. He blundered to his feet and took some of his little coloured pills, wary of being woken up by revving engines in the night. He allowed his vision to blur, smudging the fixtures and fittings of his darkened room into grey shapes.

The next thing he knew, his eyes opened in darkness. He’d been nudged awake as Minnie slid back into bed beside him, a comforting warm presence. He gave a welcoming grunt. Once again, her hands moved over him, manipulating him.
Awaking a sleeping giant,
Mervyn giggled inside his head. She got up and sat astride him, and his face was engulfed in rough material.
God
, he thought.
She’s put the damn costume on again
. She bent down and nibbled his face hungrily, then he felt her hot breath tickling his neck, his stomach, and then…

Is she insatiable or am I just old…?

Don’t answer that
, he answered himself. Still, honour was at stake…

As he rallied for a second assault, he thought he detected an odd, chemical smell.
Must be the cheap hotel shower gel,
he thought.

Then he didn’t think about it any more. The pills were still pulling him towards oblivion. He had to concentrate…

*

Mervyn was awoken at about one in the morning by an ugly noise from the car park. A car engine grumbling to itself.

‘Whurrrrghh?’

Bloody BMW drivers.

He stuck a pillow over his head and tried to plunge back into unconsciousness, but the noise didn’t go away. Surely by now the sodding car would have revved off up the M1?

He struggled out of bed, dimly aware he was now alone, and went to the window. He could hear voices, some of them shouting. He looked down.

Thirty seconds later, he was in his clothes and out of the door.

*

He collided with Smurf as he reached the hotel door, and they both charged into Morris and Nicholas who were already in the car park. Mervyn’s shoes sloshed in shallow puddles.

The stink of petrol flooded the concourse, making them retch. From the hollow rumbling sound, it was obvious the Styrax Superior was practically running on empty.

A pipe ran from the exhaust and was wedged deeply into its side grille, held in place by a rag. Mervyn pulled at the rag and the pipe came away, exuding sickly fumes. Everything was cold and wet from the rain, droplets dawdling and slipping down the shell of the Styrax like tears.

Mervyn placed his hands on the shell of the monster, but it was wet and slippery and he couldn’t get a purchase on the secreted door handle. Thankfully, the rag was dry and he foolishly dried his hands on it, forgetting about silly things like DNA and forensic evidence. He threw the rag in a puddle, covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve, gripped the handle with his other hand and pulled. The door exploded open and belched out a cloud of exhaust fumes.

Simon Josh tumbled out onto the concrete.

Dead.

For the third time that day, the fan’s head hit the floor with an almighty ‘thunk’.

Simon’s tongue coiled against his cheek; his complexion dark and purple like a fat bruise covering his face. An empty whisky bottle was clutched in his hand.

Mervyn felt hysteria prowl up his neck and pounce on his brain. Nevertheless, he surprised himself by stepping over Simon’s body and fumbling inside to turn the engine off.

Unfortunately, he turned the wrong key.

The Styrax lit up like a Wurlitzer, disco lights blazing and pulsing in the night. Futuristic sound effects blasted through hidden speakers, whooshing and bleeping and zapping in all directions. ‘DEATH TO ALL PEDESTRIANS!’ it boomed.

This was one of four phrases programmed to fire off in quick succession when activated. All, ironically and unfortunately, along the lines of death, killing and eradication.

‘Turn it off! Turn the bloody thing off!’ screamed Smurf, his hands clapped to his head.

Mervyn found the ignition and twisted it. The Styrax juddered and died, leaving the silence to sing in their ears. The lights in the hotel were crashing into life all around them.

There was an awkward moment. No one knew what to do next.

Mervyn started to move back from the Styrax, but Nicholas clutched at his sleeve.

‘Wait a minute,’ he hissed, peering into the Styrax. ‘Mervy. Look. There…there’s something inside…’

It was on the dashboard, carving out a white square in the gloom, and Mervyn groped towards it. He positioned himself awkwardly, holding on to the door and straddling Simon’s twisted body so he could make a lunge at whatever it was. It had been fastened to the dashboard, and came away leaving a string of goo.

Blu-Tack, of course.

Mervyn hopscotched backwards into Nicholas’s waiting arms. The object turned out to be an envelope with
VixEnterprises
stamped on it. Smurf peered under Mervyn’s armpit to see what he’d found.

‘A suicide note.’

‘It might not be a suicide note,’ said Mervyn.

‘Most likely it’ll be a letter to the hotel, asking for a refund on his room.’

‘Smurf, please!’ Nicholas snapped.

Mervyn opened the flap and pulled out a white slip of paper. He unfolded it and read it to himself. It was a beautifully handwritten note, explaining in three neat paragraphs that Simon had been depressed for some time about the futility of his life, that he hated his day job, that he only lived for the conventions, and that the rumoured new series of
Vixens from the Void
would inevitably lead to the BBC withdrawing the licence for his little world. He’d seen it happen to other shows like
Star Trek
and he didn’t want to live with being increasingly marginalised and pitied.

‘He committed suicide all right.’ Mervyn slipped the note back in the envelope. ‘He’s signed it and everything.’

‘Well he would,’ Morris’s voice rumbled, causing Mervyn to jump.

‘What do you mean “Well he would”?’

‘Well it’s Simon, isn’t it? If he was alive he’d be the first to tell you how valuable his autograph is now he’s dead.’ He scratched the scrubland on his chin. ‘Does that make sense? Oh well. You know what I mean.’ He nodded casually at the letter. ‘If you don’t mind, once the police have finished with it I’d like to have it for VixEnterprises. It might offset the losses from this year’s con. I’ll put it on eBay. It’s what he would have wanted.’

They all nodded at the grotesque idea, more out of shock than anything.

‘We ought to call the police,’ said Morris at last. ‘I’ll go and tell the hotel what’s happened. I’m sure they’ll want to stop people coming into the car park.’

Everyone nodded again and Morris disappeared.

It was only at that point, when Mervyn was closing the Styrax door, that he noticed something else inside.

Something resting on the floor.

He looked round. Nobody was watching.

He scooped up the something gracefully in one low swoop and slipped it inside his pocket. He would examine it later.

‘What the
hell
is going on out here?’ They all turned. Bernard had hurried out of the hotel, his bony wrists and ankles poking out of a hotel dressing gown.

Nicholas fluttered. ‘There’s been a bit of an…incident. It’s Simon…’

‘Oh God, what’s he done to my Styrax?’

‘It’s not what he’s done to
it…
It’s more what it’s done to
him
.’

‘What?’

Mervyn moved to one side so Bernard could see Simon’s crumpled body.

‘Is that Simon? What happened?’

‘He’s gassed himself with the Styrax exhaust fumes,’ said Nicholas, calm and brutal in equal measure.

‘Oh good Christ!’ shrieked Bernard, his spindly legs propelling him to the Styrax. ‘You mean it was left running? Without fuel? The engine—is it damaged?’

Nicholas rolled his eyes to the ink-black heavens. ‘Such compassion…’

Prickly as ever, Bernard advanced on Nicholas. ‘What did you just say, you old pouf?’

‘Just admiring your priorities, Bernard old thing. They always said you’d step over the body of your mother to get your hands on a valuable piece of merchandise. Now’s your chance to rehearse.’

Black clouds gathered on Bernard’s face. ‘Look, if he wants to end his short and worthless life that’s his decision, but I took three months to make this thing, it’s a piece of history and I’ve got a right to know if it’s damaged.’ He pulled the bonnet up and dived in to check the engine. ‘After all, the little shit hadn’t paid me yet, so to all intents and purposes, it’s still mine.’

Mervyn suddenly realised he was shaking. ‘I’m sorry, everyone, I’ve really got to go in and lie down.’

Nicholas grabbed his arm. He was shaking too. ‘Of course you do, sweetheart. We should all go in and go to bed. We’ve all had a nasty shock.’

‘I haven’t,’ snapped Bernard, slamming the bonnet and crawling under the chassis. ‘I’m staying here to look over the damage. You can all sod off back inside.’

They all trudged dazedly back into the hotel, leaving two bodies sprawled across the tarmac. One alive, one dead.

It wasn’t until Mervyn got up to his room that he properly realised he’d woken up alone. Minnie had gone. The only evidence that she’d been there was that funny chemical smell and a war-torn bed.

He was too strung out to sleep. He pulled on a dressing gown over his clothes and watched events from his window. The police were obviously taken aback by the Styrax sitting there waiting for them. Mervyn knew by the half amused, half amazed expressions on their faces that some of the coppers had grown up watching them on television. Some made a point of sidestepping the front end, making morbid jokes about its killing potential, imagining it bursting to life and blasting them with its plastic laser cannons.

They placed the suicide note in an evidence bag. The Styrax was given a cursory inspection and secured in the hotel garage. Simon’s body was taken away.

Is that it?
Is that all they do?
Mervyn’s brain gibbered.
I suppose that’s all they can do. What else is there to do?

He looked at what he’d found on the floor of the Styrax. It was a very, very odd thing to find at the scene of a suicide. Either Simon was attempting one last joke at their expense or someone was playing very silly games with Simon’s death…

Or Simon’s death was a great deal more suspicious than it first appeared.

CONVIX 15 / EARTH ORBIT TWO / 9.00am

EVENT: CELEBRITY BREAKFAST—VANITY MYCROFT, MERVYN STONE, Katherine Warner

LOCATION: The Slug Mines of Krell (hotel restaurant)

EVENT: ‘DEMONS OF THE OUTER DARKNESS’ EPISODE SCREENING

LOCATION: The Catacombs of Herath (video lounge—room 1024)

EVENT: VIXENS FROM THE VOID: WOMEN IN SCIENCE FICTION EXPERT PANEL with Graham Goldingay, Larry Perkins, Craig Jones, Darren Cardew

LOCATION: The Seventh Moon of Groolia (room 1002)