Rant (12 page)

It's definitely time to leave, and we begin to head for the door.

One of the men (RHG, I think) suddenly jumps to his feet brandishing a gun, which he is pointing at Sam. Out of pure reflex, I jump at him and grab him around the waist and neck – just as Sam shoots him with the taser gun.

My new best friend and I do a very sexy little high-speed samba around the room while Sam tries frantically to turn off the power.

It appears Sam isn't quite used to this particular toy yet as the power being supplied to us energizer bunnies seems to be increasing. My dance partner makes a noise somewhere between the Crazy Frog and a Clanger, then says
pooh!
and faints clean away.

Sam is suddenly leaning over me and shouting, ‘Mike? Mike, are you okay? We have to go now, can you walk with me?'

‘Nyah,' I say.

‘Is that a yes or a no?'

‘Nyah,' I say.

He picks me up bodily (he really is stronger than he looks) and half carries, half throws me to the door, keeping the gun trained on the men on the floor.

‘Everybody be cool,' he says, ‘and stay exactly where you are until we're out of sight. We'll speak to you tomorrow, gentlemen.'

I am dragged back out into the sunlight where all hell has broken loose. There are policemen and women lying on the ground all around us, and Mr Agent Smith is pushing Joshua in his wheelchair towards their car. Under his arm he is carrying a small man with a now familiar style of garish suit and a bag over his head. Ms Agent Smith is leading Van G along by his stick (if you'll pardon the image), practically dragging him off his feet and gesticulating towards us. All the while, Van G is fiddling with the laptop slung around his back. ‘Get out of here, now, sirs!' she yells at us.

My whole body still feels numb from the shock treatment administered by Sam. He helps me as I walk spastically back to the car. For a moment I see myself from outside, moving jerkily along like something from an old silent movie, with a soundtrack heavy on the trombone.

‘Whiss 'appnin?' I manage to gasp.

‘Looks like Joshua got a little carried away with his distraction,' Sam mutters.

‘Smgglibassano?' I say.

At that moment two Japanese men leap out in front of us, cameras whirring away like grasshoppers on speed, shouting, ‘You smile, you smile, is TV show, yeah? Cool!'

Out of what can only be pure reflex, Sam shoots both of them in less than a second and they stand grinning and muttering ‘Ooooh. Arigato,' and then pitch forward onto their faces, cameras still whirring, probably catching the full glory of my melted shoes to be used for identification purposes later in court. Must remember to ditch them.

Sam throws me into the back seat, where my head lands in the lap of our reluctant fellow traveller, slams the door, and then runs round to the driver's side. I slowly pan my head around and notice that Van G and Ms Agent Smith are still a long way away. In fact they can barely have moved more than six feet. Ms Agent Smith is beginning to look somewhat panic stricken and shooting at anything that moves. And a few things that don't.

‘Shit on a stick,' shouts Sam, starting the car and swinging it in the direction of the odd couple. He drives straight at them and at the last second screeches into a U-turn around them and jumps out to help Ms Agent Smith get Van G into the back seat on top of me, to the accompaniment of rapturous applause from a group of Japanese schoolgirls.

‘I say,' pants Van G, ‘Impressive driving, old man. Thought you were coming straight at us. Almost soiled meself for a second there.'

And then we are all in the car and driving very, very fast and I know we are in great danger, but my mind begins to drift back, back, back to happier times…

As we circle around, trying to avoid the policemen who seem to pop up from behind every car and wall, I realize that I am losing my grip on both my consciousness and my bacon butty.

Round and around we go. Round and around and around…

Tuesday May 4
th
– Wednesday May 5
th
.

We had driven around the building four times.

I was about to go around a fifth time when Sam complained he was getting dizzy and could I just get on with it.

‘That's easy for you to say,' I complained, ‘you probably do this kind of thing all the time. I'm sure this has got to be
so
illegal.'

‘It is illegal,' he said (not at all) reassuringly. ‘But standard operating procedure dictates that we use all necessary means to carry out our mission to a successful conclusion – even if it means bending the law. After all, we do have diplomatic immunity should things go wrong on an operation—'

‘No, you have diplomatic immunity,' I reminded him, ‘I have an underused Equity card and immunity from nothing. Well, possibly measles and TB. Though they may well strip me of that if I'm caught. And test out the smallpox virus on me while they're at it.'

‘Well, let me put it this way,' Sam whispered from the back seat, ‘your situation isn't likely to be made any worse by what we're about to do. And it may just buy us the time to work out exactly what's happening and figure a way out.'

I pulled over and parked and we stared out at the grey floodlit building ahead of us.

‘Well?' said Sam.

‘Well, what?' I answered. Still the master of wit and repartee.

‘Untie me, and I'll go and scout out the lay of the land.'

‘No way am I untying you,' I said.

‘Don't you think I may look a tiny bit suspicious going in like this?'

‘That's your problem. Anyway, you're the international spy and master of disguise. You'll think of something.'

‘And what makes you think I'll come back?'

It was a good point.

‘Okay,' I said, ‘let's go through it one more time.'

Five minutes later I was creeping stealthily down a corridor, invisible to all but the closest scrutiny, when a uniformed security guard wandered over and told me that the STD clinic was closed for the day and if I was looking for the homeless shelter it was half a mile down the block, around the corner and follow the smell of the canal. And watch out for the dealers and the gangbangers down there. And maybe I should think about having a shower while I was there. I thanked him and went outside into the drizzle for five minutes while Sam made
‘What?'
gestures from inside the car, then hurried back through the corridors, pausing only to get the same detailed information as the security guard had given me from a nurse, a secretary, a doctor and two cleaners.

Eventually I found an unlocked changing room (do these people have no idea of security? No wonder the NHS is bleeding money). I made sure there was no one around and went in to borrow what I needed. Once I had a white coat on over my grubby attire everyone seemed to just ignore me and within five minutes I was back outside pushing a patient trolley.

‘Everything okay?' asked Sam as I opened the door.

‘So far, so good,' I said. ‘Where do we have to go?'

Sam gave me directions from memory – though he did say it had been a while – then he jumped up on the trolley (well, I say,
jumped
– he sort of rolled on, holding his bound wrists out in front of him, puffing and panting and all the while complaining about how cold it was and couldn't I have found one with cushions on) and I covered him with the sheet I'd borrowed.

With Sam on there it didn't seem to run quite as smoothly as it had before. Every few yards I'd find myself bashing into a wall or door and each time Sam would let out a muffled groan, which sort of added to the effect but drew rather a lot of unwanted attention. Needless to say, when I manhandled the trolley around the last corner and bashed through the double doors I was sweating like a pig and swearing like a troop of troopers.

Imagine my surprise, then (though why I should even have been surprised, given the way everything else had gone so far) when I pushed the trolley into the middle of a room and found twelve rather swollen ladies staring back at me from the beds, open-mouthed.

‘Hello,' I said. There was no reply so I pressed on, ‘Seem to have gotten myself lost. New here, you see? Is this by any chance the morgue?'

Two of the women shrieked, presumably in horror at the thought that they may have passed on without even realising, three clutched at their stomachs, as though to block the ears of the unborn children inside, a couple more peered around and one jumped up and looked under her bed as if to check there were no corpses secreted under there. Then all twelve of them started pressing their call buttons for the nurse.

The nurse came running in, obviously peeved to have her tea break interrupted. I say this not because I think NHS staff are lazy and do nothing but sit around drinking cups of tea all day, but because she had a cup of tea in one hand and a rather full bedpan in the other.

‘What's going on here?' she demanded.

‘Sorry, er, Staff Nurse Simpson,' I stammered, reading her name badge, ‘I seem to have gotten myself a little lost, new here, you see? Doctor, um…Crackenthorpe's the name. How do you do?'

She glared at me balefully. ‘What happened to your head,' she asked finally.

I put my hand up to the bandages. ‘Oh…I…er…tripped over one of the patients. Dropped down dead right in front of me. Most inconsiderate. Lucky he was dead, let me tell you.' I laughed awkwardly.

‘Just lost a patient,' I continued, ‘Well, not lost, actually, he's here on me trolley, ha ha, ahem…but he passed away and we have to get him to the morgue, pronto, and see that he's not contagious.'

She took a step backwards and explained where I had to go whilst everyone else in the room held their breath and folded whatever material came to hand over their faces.

‘Well, carry on as you were, ladies, keep up the good work,' I called cheerfully as I strained to turn the trolley around. ‘My wife's expecting too, don't you know? We're hoping for a—BASTARD!'

This last wasn't strictly true, married as I am – it was because I'd lost my grip on the trolley and sent it crashing into a collection of drip stands and bedpans that were piled up in the corner, which slid over and landed, with much clanging and clattering, on top of Sam. Who let out a long, low groan and started calling me things that I won't write down here in case my mother ever gets hold of it.

The nurse stared at me.

‘My God,' I shouted, ‘It's a miracle! I'd better hurry and get this chap down to A&E immediately. Excuse me sister—er, Staff Nurse—could you just hold the door for me there…? Thank you very much, bye now, bye—!'

I toddled off down the corridor as fast as I could and a few minutes later we were in the morgue. Sam shuffled off the trolley and glared at me.

‘Well done,' he said. ‘You certainly made a good job of that, didn't you?'

‘Well if you'd sent me to the right place—'

‘Oh, shut up, for God's sake. We better do what we need to do as quickly as possible because pretty soon this place is going to be swarming with security.'

I couldn't fault his logic there so I moved off into the huge, cold, white-tiled room, not really wanting to look too closely at any of the tables but knowing there wasn't much choice.

‘What about this one?' I asked, flicking at a toe-tag.

Sam peeked under the sheet. ‘It's a woman. You're not a woman, are you?'

‘Not last time I looked.'

We wandered further into the room.

‘Here,' said Sam.

Much against my will, I went over and looked under the sheet he was holding up. A blond man with a grey face and sunken eye sockets looked back up at us. Or rather, didn't.

‘He doesn't look much like me,' I said. ‘I was hoping for someone a bit better looking, to be honest. And he's flabbier than me…'

‘It really isn't going to matter, fool. The important thing is he's about your height and weight and hasn't been identified yet. Let's get him up onto the trolley.'

I rolled the body up in the sheet as Sam stood and watched. Then I slid my hands under the shoulders of the body. I squirmed at the cold feeling.

Sam still stood there.

‘Well?' I said.

He jiggled his bound hands in front of my face.

‘Kind of difficult tied up like this…' he said.

I considered for a moment. Then pulled out the gun again.

‘I'll be watching you,' I said.

‘Good,' he smiled. ‘You might learn something, fool.'

‘Okay, Mr T.'

I untied him. Making sure I gave him a nasty Chinese burn as I did so.

He rubbed his wrists for a second, glaring at me, obviously calculating, then moved down to the foot end of the body.

It was a bit awkward, what with the gun in one hand and both eyes on Sam, but we managed to get him transferred over onto the trolley, trying to be as respectful as possible. Though all the grunting and swearing probably lent the lie to that.

Eventually, sweating and panting, we got there.

‘Right,' said Sam. ‘Under…the…trolley.'

‘What…?' I said ‘Why…me?'

‘Because…everybody and…their dog…has seen you…and you'll…probably…be arrested…on sight.'

‘Oh…' I said, ‘kay.'

I took off the white coat, and he slipped into it as I climbed under the trolley and gripped the cross struts.

‘I'm pointing the gun at your kneecaps, by the way,' I told him.

He grunted and we set off. He then proceeded to bounce me off every wall and door and windowsill he could find. I'm sure it was deliberate.

He was stopped a few times and given my description and said he thought he'd seen me heading out through the back doors. Good thinking. One or two of the questioners still seemed suspicious and lifted the corner of the sheet, apologising and quickly dropping it when they saw the poor guy underneath.

Then, with one last bone-sickening crunch, we were back out in the car park and there was wet tarmac under me. I clambered out stiffly, my ears ringing.

‘Nice driving,' I said.

‘Now you know how it feels.'

‘
God
you are such a petty individual.'

‘Takes one to know one. Look, let's just get this done.'

Again we struggled with the body and managed to get him into a sitting position in the front seat. We stood catching our breath for a minute and then Sam started to laugh.

‘What?' I asked. Unfortunately he didn't catch the tone of my voice.

‘Looks like I'm travelling with two corpses now,' he sniggered.

‘That's not funny.'

‘Oh, lighten up. Be a man, son. What's the worst that could happen?'

‘You mean before or after they kill my wife and I get arrested for holding up a bank, destruction of property and grave robbing?'

‘It's not technically grave robbing—'

‘Enough! I've had enough of you and your snidey comments! None of this would be happening if it weren't for you.'

‘Or if you weren't greedy enough to try and keep the cash you were sent.'

‘Bollocks. I was confused. Anyone would be in that situation. You and your bloody schemes to catch petty crooks. Bloody American bloody interference.'

‘Tell me, is goddamned whining Limey self-pity better? You need us – you're all over us like a rash. You don't need us – it's back to the superior tone and the turned up nose. You people should learn some respect.'

‘Respect?! That's rich, coming from a Yank. The only thing you people respect is cash and food. And you worship your food, don't you tubby?'

‘Back off, understudy.'

‘Or what, you'll fall on me? Call up the GIA and have them come empty their colostomy bags on my lawn? You're a joke!'

He started laughing again.

‘What?' I shouted. I was just about at the end of my tether. Several people in the car park jumped and looked around.

He lowered his voice.

‘You finally seem to be finding a bit of a spine in there somewhere, boy. Sounding like someone who wants to get things done. Maybe I should hightail it out of Dodge and let you sort out this mess on your own. Yeah, that sounds pretty good to me. I'm tired of changing your diapers and listening to your stupid whiney accent.'

‘Actually,' I hissed, ‘technically I think you'll find I don't have an accent. This is just what the English language sounds like when it's spoken properly.'

‘Fuck you, you superior, sanctimonious, little pri—'

I shouldn't have done it. He was an old man who was just as fed up as me, who was off his guard – and he had been trying to help me.

But I lost my temper.

I pushed him. Only a little push, you understand. The kind kids give each other in the playground when they call each other stupid names.

But he fell backwards over the corner of the trolley and bashed his head on the tarmac.

I was still furious, but more than that I was afraid of what he'd do to me when he got all of his faculties back, old man or not, so I quickly half lifted, half rolled him into the trunk of the car. Then retied his hands even tighter than before. And gagged him.

Boy, was he going to be cross when he got out of there.

Muttering to myself, I climbed into the driver's seat and looked at my passenger. It was going to look a bit suspicious driving around London with a mummy on the front seat, so I pulled the sheet away to expose his head, and then combed my fingers through his hair to make him look a bit more decent.

Somewhere inside I knew this was all
really
wrong, but I'd started down this path, thanks to the bloody Yank in the trunk (see how sneakily the Americans invade us? – I even use the word trunk instead of boot), and I knew I had to finish it. I wound down the windows (between the two of us it was getting a bit pungent in there) and set off back to the flat.