Armageddon - 03 The Suburban Book of the Dead by Robert Rankin

Author:Robert Rankin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Robert Rankin
Published: 2010-05-29T13:11:06+00:00

And the children of Elvis did multiply greatly. Even to the four corners of the world.

And happy were they, what with the oil revenues and all. And the natty duds and the good rocking tonight.

And once in a while Elvis did dash off on some divine business or other. But verily he did return, smiling, if a

trifle shagged out, saying, 'That's done.'

The Suburban Book of the Dead

The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of Laura Lynch. In a white exclusive bedroom, halfway up the Butcher Building. Which somewhat spoiled the metre, but there you go.

Laura looked approvingly upon all the little 'sold' stickers dotting the finest furniture of the room. A good night's work. If a mite tiring. Jonathan was snoring loudly as she detached his hand from her breast and slid from the bed. The boy genius had been singularly unforthcoming and had told her no more regarding his revolutionary schemes. But Laura had made up her own mind as to her next move.

She crept across the bedroom, stepping carefully over the unlikely collection of 'marital aids'

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littering the floor.

She entered the kitchen and took herself over to the knife rack above the Aga. From this she selected a twelve-inch Sabatier filleting knife and ran her thumb

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gently along the length of the blade. The bead of blood gave her pleasure, she took it to her mouth and sucked upon it.

Returning to the bedroom she crept back to the bed, raised the knife and without a moment's thought drove it down into the sleeper's chest.

Rex awoke with a start in the back seat of Bill's cab. It was parked in an alleyway. There were a lot of trash-cans about and one of those cast-iron fire escapes with the really tedious retractable bottom sections. Rex clutched at his chest. Blinked at his eyes. Focused at his vision and wondered where Laz was.

'Breakfast, Rex.' The man in the trenchcoat opened the driver's door and dropped into the cab. 'Coffee, two eggs over easy, sausage, black pudding and a fried slice.' He passed Rex a styrofoam carton labelled Old Shep Bar-B-Q.

'Thanks,' Rex made lip-smacking, yum-yum sounds, and then, 'hang about - how could you afford breakfast? I thought you were penniless.' Rex wasn't slow to notice that Laz no longer sported the unfashionable open-necked look. That he was wearing a spanking new snap-brimmed fedora. And that stains of an industrial lubricant nature no longer besmirched his immaculate trenchcoat.

T got up early and pawned your watch,' Laz explained. 'Just slipped it off your wrist. You were hunkered down so cosy I didn't like to wake you.'

'How very considerate. So what time is it now, then?'

'About five in the afternoon. Your breakfast, my tea. Eat up.'

'Five in the afternoon?' Rex was appalled. 'You let me sleep all day?'

'I didn't mean to,' said I, slipping into the first-person with more delicacy than a dog log in a dowager's duffle bag. 'But I had to buy the hat and tie. And supervise the dry cleaners.

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