The Da-Da-De-Da-Da Code by Robert Rankin

Author:Robert Rankin [Rankin, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Humorous
ISBN: 9780575087101
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2007-01-01T15:00:00+00:00

27

Constable Paul assumed the position. It was a different position from that previously assumed by Constable Justice. The position assumed by Constable Paul was the Bass Position.

The Bass Position being that assumed by the bass player in a rock band. There are many similarities to the Lead Position, this being the position generally assumed by the lead guitarist, of course. Many similarities, but a few subtle nuances.

Paul was demonstrating these subtle nuances to the constables who sat to either side of him in the back of the Paddy Wagon.*

‘This position really dates back to the bass player in Status Quo. He allegedly originally adopted it due to bum burns caused by a dodgy vindaloo.’

‘But surely that’s a Rock Myth,’ said Constable Brian Lurex (who had changed his name by deed poll. From Barry). Like the one that Ozzy is the father of Britney Spears.’

‘Or the one that the Rolling Stones eat their own young,’ added Constable Durex, who had reason enough to change his name, but hadn’t. ‘Or that the Post Office Tower was modelled on a plaster cast of Jimi Hendrix’s knob.’

‘I heard that,’ said Constable Rigor-Mortice (of the Sussex Rigor-Mortices). ‘And how come you’re referred to as Constable Paul, while we’re referred to by our surnames?’

‘Because I play the bass. Now, as I was saying—’

The Paddy Wagon bumped through the car park of The Middle Man. Jonny was back at the bar and so missed that.

‘Sorry,’ Constable Handbag, the driver, called back over his shoulder through the little hatch-hole jobbie. ‘I just wanted to see if this Wagon could survive unexpected contact with a being from another world.’

‘Don’t ask.’ Constable Durex waved a finger at Constable Paul. ‘Sometimes it’s better not to know.’

‘I’ll tell you what I’d like to know,’ said Constable Paul, un-assuming the position and picking up something large, black and lethal-looking from the floor of the Paddy Wagon. And cradling it as one would cradle a bass guitar. ‘What I’d like to know is whether I’m really going to get a chance to use this baby. It’s a positronic ionisation rifle, powered by the transperambulation of pseudocosmic anti-matter. I’m expecting great things of it. Well, great things of a destructive nature.’

‘It’s funny,’ said Constable Lurex, ‘how swiftly things can get out of hand. Without a guiding hand. Without a degree of conscious control. How swiftly everything can fall to pieces.’

‘Eh?’ said Constable Paul.

‘Klingons on the starboard bow,’ sang Constable Handbag.

‘It says in the manual here,’ said Constable Wingnut, ‘that the positronic ionisation rifle can dispense a charge of energy equal in heat to five times that of the sun on a very sunny day. And how, when using it on Gypsies or anyone from the North wearing clogs, the operator is advised to wear special mirror-lensed spectacles.’ He took up the special mirror-lensed spectacles and slotted them onto his head.

‘Cool,’ said Constable Paul. ‘I didn’t get a pair of those.’

Bump and bump went the Paddy Wagon.

‘Almost there,’ Constable Handbag called back. ‘Just had a bit of a Gerry Anderson moment there.

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