A Handicap of the Devil? (16 page)

Marcie wondered often if she really would have jumped when the moment came.

She would have.

Blofield West Town Hall was filled to overflowing as Jonathan entered. Marcie had run a brilliant campaign through the Daily Bugle and on talkback radio. The gist of her campaign was that the greatest religious revival in history was going to take place. It would start at Blofield West Town Hall with the revelation of the Second Coming. The media, in it's usual cynical fashion, ran with the story along the lines of,
go to the meeting in Blofield West Town Hall and watch this idiot fall flat on his face
.

Bugs and Thumper were very unhappy rabbits. A chorus of complaints came from their cardboard box as Jonathan moved up the crowded aisle towards the stage.

"We don't like this."

"We're scared."

"There's too much noise.” Bugs and Thumper detested noise.

"It's only for a little while and then we'll go home."

"We want to go home now."

Jonathan reached the stage and opened the lid of the box. Both rabbits were huddled in a corner of the box with their noses pressed into one another's fur.

"Don't be frightened. Nothing can happen to you while I'm here."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"No one's going to eat us, are they?"

"No, no one will eat you. Try to be brave bunnies. I just need you to say a few words into a microphone so everyone will believe you can talk and that you talk to God and give me messages."

"I wish God had never made us talk to people. It causes a lot of trouble,” said Bugs with a frown.

Marcie was at the microphone calling the meeting to order and explaining who Jonathan was and what had happened to him. There were a few hoots, catcalls and whistles from members of the audience who were there to scoff, but the majority were listening. Marcie was a good orator and knew how to work a crowd.

"...and now...” Marcie was building her speech to a climactic introduction of Jonathan. “...and now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to a man who has not only found God, but a man who has actually seen him. Ladies and gentlemen, Jonathan Goodfellow and his talking rabbits."

Jonathan moved to the microphone and placed the box containing the rabbits on a stool provided for the purpose. “Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice wavered, and he tried to be as firm as when he rehearsed the speech in his room. “Ladies and gentlemen...."

"And rabbits,” boomed out a voice from the audience. Jonathan looked out into the audience against the glare of the stage lights and saw that it was a red-faced man.

The crowd laughed. Jonathan held up his hands to exhort them to give him a go. “Ladies and gentlemen, I come before you as a man who has seen God."

"He must take us for a bunch of rabbits.” The same voice boomed out. Others joined in with comments, shouts and whistles. The meeting threatened to degenerate into bedlam. Marcie stepped up to the microphone and took charge.

"If you came here to scoff, why don't you piss off down to the front bar of the pub down the road and join the rest of the red necks. You may believe or disbelieve what Jonathan is going to tell you, but give him a hearing and then make up your minds. Or are you too bigoted for that?"

Voices joined in supporting Marcie. There was a large contingent of genuinely religious people in the audience and also a number of journalists who wanted to make mileage out of the meeting. The argument in the auditorium went on, and insults were traded back and forth for some minutes.

Then Marcie swung the crowd Jonathan's way. “Those of you who want to hear what Jonathan has to say shout out aye."

A chorus of ayes echoed around the room.

"Those who don't want to listen shout no."

Several people shouted no in response.

"I put it to you that the ayes have it and say again, if you didn't come to listen then piss off and let those people who did get on with it."

A cacophony of whistling, clapping and stamping of feet greeted this salvo. Jonathan was no orator, but he did his best. He told the audience everything that had happened to him from the moment he had entered the house with the dwarf and met Cowley, Sampson and Old Crone right through to Marcie working out who he was. The crowd was restless throughout his speech. It was not well constructed or to the point. Marcie cursed the fact that she hadn't had the good sense to edit the speech herself. Even those people who had supported Jonathan's right to be heard were feeling as though they had been conned by a madman into giving up an evening of their time. He got their full attention when he told them that the rabbits were in the cardboard box and would address the meeting.

Jonathan took a rabbit in each hand and held them up to the microphone. Both rabbits were terrified.

"Put us down,” shrieked Bugs.

"I don't like this,” wailed Thumper.

Jonathan put them back into the box. “They are very nervous. I'll put the microphone into the box so they can talk to you from there."

"No way,” shouted the red-faced man. “Out in the open, buster. This is a con from start to finish.” Jonathan recognised the voice. It was Jones P. senior. He looked out into the audience and saw his red-faced boss and his smirking son sitting about ten rows back.

There was much agitated comment from the audience. Jonathan brought the rabbits out of the box and held them on the stool. He placed the microphone in front of them. The rabbits were shaking, and Jonathan was worried they might have heart attacks. “Just relax. No one's going to hurt you."

"How do you know?” Thumper sounded like she was going to die.

"Just say a few words into the microphone and it'll all be over. You can go back into your box then."

"Hello everyone,” Bugs quavered.

"We talk to God and tell Jonathan what to do,” said Thumper.

Marcie looked across at Jonathan. “I can hear them, but they're not coming through the mike."

"Testing, testing.” Jonathan's voice sounded clearly through the speakers. The crowd was becoming really restless.

"Try again.” Marcie took the mike from Jonathan and held it close to the rabbits’ pink mouths.

"Hello everyone,” Bugs quavered again. The speakers were silent.

"We want to go home now,” said Thumper. Again, the speakers were mute, staring accusingly from their position bolted to the ceiling on each corner of the stage proscenium arch.

"Please God.” Jonathan tried the same tactic as he had at Marcie's place. “Let them hear."

"Put us back in the box,” wailed Bugs, and again nothing was heard in the auditorium.

"Keep talking,” implored Jonathan. “This has got to work."

The rabbits both spoke at once into the mike, as Jonathan again made entreaty to God to let the audience hear. Nothing happened. Slow handclapping had begun, and the audience picked up a chant started by Jones P. senior of,
we want rabbits
. This was repeated over and over in rhythm with the clapping.

"Please, give us a go.” Marcie was desperate. “Just because you can't hear the rabbits, doesn't mean the rest of what we've said here tonight is false."

We want rabbits. We want rabbits.

The crowd continued to chant and clap. Jonathan became aware of how many men in the room wore ill-fitting suits and needed a shave and how many of the women wore shoulder pads and were power dressed. He recognised some people from the incident at the railway station.

Marcie tried another tack. “A lot of you out there tonight know me. Do I usually tell lies?"

"You're a journo aren't you?” boomed the even redder faced Jones P. senior. There was some laughter, but the chanting died down a bit.

"I tell you it's true. This man has been sent on a mission from God and the rabbits really are a part of it. Why is it so hard to believe? Don't you believe in miracles?” But she had lost them completely now and the party in the audience had begun. The crowd was baying for Jonathan's blood and that of Bugs and Thumper.

We want rabbits. We want rabbits. We want rabbits...

Jonathan and the rabbits were really worried. The chant was once again building in intensity.

"Try to hold them off while I slip out the back door.” Jonathan quickly put Bugs and Thumper back into the box.

Marcie increased her volume on the mike as Jonathan hurried to the back door. He was too late. The lawyers in the crowd were out for a good time. They surged onto and across the stage in pursuit of Jonathan and the rabbits. Marcie turned and fled with him. They got through the door into the alleyway behind the town hall but were caught up in the middle of a chanting mob of lawyers. The two Jones P.'s tried to wrest the box from Jonathan's grasp.

We want rabbits. We want rabbits.

"Let's eat the rabbits,” roared Jones P. senior and the crowd roared back in agreement.

"Better still, I will give them to my greyhound to chase,” shouted I. Faarkham.

"Leave them alone.” Marcie backhanded Jones P. senior who shaped up to punch her. Someone grabbed Jones P. senior's arm. I. Faarkham threw a punch at him and then it was on. The milling, shouting mob began to fight. Punches, curses and insults were thrown with abandon. Jonathan slipped and almost went down under the mob. Marcie rescued him and the precious box containing Bugs and Thumper. She steadied him against the surging, fighting bunch of lawyers and other people who had poured out into the alleyway.

Suddenly two shots rang out. This was followed by the roar of a powerful motor. Headlights dazzled the surging mob. The struggling mass of people fell back as a large black van carved its way through the middle of them. Photographers flash bulbs were popping, as the side door of the van was thrown open. Marcie, Jonathan, Bugs, and Thumper were pulled into the van.

Cowley held the handgun tightly in both hands. She fired another two shots into the air out of the front window. Sampson stepped on the accelerator, dropped rubber and shot out of the alleyway at the back of the town hall. The van just missed a man on a pushbike who had been at the meeting. The shock of the van's passing caused the man to fall from his bike.

The man with the pushbike had risen groggily to his feet, when he was forced to leap for his life for the footpath, as a heavy black car roared around the corner narrowly missing him. The man had just ventured back onto the road and picked up his bike, when a golden Rolls Royce hurtled around the corner knocking the pushbike from his grasp and doing it terminal damage. The man stared after the roller, as it barrelled around the corner and out of sight into the wasteland of deserted warehouses and factories that made up the majority of the streets on the south east side of the port.

In the roller, Jones P. senior flattened the accelerator as he tried to keep up with the black van driven by Sampson.

"Hey, dad, there's another car following the van.” Jones P. junior's sharp young eyes could just make out the black car, which was being driven by the Scarfaced man. The man with the limp sat beside him in the passenger seat.

Jones P. senior hit the brakes hard and almost rolled the roller as he took one more corner at speed.

"Take it easy, dad. You'll kill us both."

"Stop being such a wimp. Shit, they can drive, whoever they are. I've lost the bastards.” He slowed the roller down and then did a one hundred and eighty degree turn.

"Where we going now,” piped Jones P. Junior.

"There's something you need to know. Tonight's the night I'm going to show you."

The golden roller smoothed to an expensive stop outside the offices of Jones P. & Son. Father and son entered the building and moved through the foyer. The older man pressed the button to open the elevator door.

"It's out of order, dad."

"Get in. This is what I want to show you."

Jones P. junior watched as his father unlocked a small door underneath the lift controls. Instantly muzak began. It was Celine Dion singing her greatest hits. The door opened to reveal a control panel with two buttons that had arrows pointing up or down. Jones P. senior selected the down button and pushed it. Instantly the elevator door slid closed with a hiss, and the lights turned to red. Celine Dion's volume increased, as the elevator began a rapid descent.

"But we must be past the basement...” junior shouted over the increased volume of the muzak.

"Don't worry about it, we're perfectly safe. Just enjoy the ride."

"Can we turn the muzak off?"

"No, that's part of every great elevator trip."

The elevator hurtled downward through space for what seemed like hours. Jones P. senior had a strange smile on his face and hummed along with the greatest hits throughout the journey. The elevator began to slow as if cushioned by some force. It gradually came to a stop, and the doors once again gave that special kind of elevator hiss as they slid open to reveal a golf course.

"We're going to play golf?"

The older man laughed. “We're not, no."

Junior noticed that his father's appearance was undergoing a startling transformation. Smoke had slowly begun to dribble from his nose. This increased gradually, as the nose itself lengthened and came to a point. The ears grew and were also pointed. Cloven hooves appeared instead of feet, and a long, spiky tail grew out of his father's trousers. His eyes became mere pinpricks, and they were as red as hot coals. Rough fur sprouted on his body everywhere skin was visible. A demoniac laugh sprang from him, and he gave a hoarse sounding cry that was on the one hand rough and raspy, and on the other so shrill and piercing that it almost burst the younger man's ear drums.

Jones P. Junior clapped his hands over his ears. It was worse than Celine Dion. “What's going on? What's happening?"

"It is time for the truth. Time for all to be revealed."

As these words were spoken, a golf ball landed almost at the feet of Jones P. junior. This was followed by a cry of ‘fore', as a strange figure came into view carrying a bag of the latest titanium tipped golf clubs.