Johnny Boy glanced out of his window. “They’re getting out of the car,” he said. “They’re wrong’uns and they’ve got guns.”

“Then let’s go.”

Marvellous acceleration, the Ford Fiesta. Simply marvellous.

Icarus swerved out of the parking bay and then took off at the hurry-up.

Johnny Boy was up on his seat, clinging to the headrest. “They’re getting back into the car,” he shouted. “They’re coming after us.”

“Yes, well I thought they probably would.”

“Faster,” cried Johnny Boy. “Faster.”

Now, it does have to be said, what with Hollywood knowing its own business best, and everything, that the “car chase in the multi-storey car park” never seems to lose its popularity. Those “hilly streets with the trams in San Francisco” are always good, of course. And the “racing under the big overpass jobbies in Brooklyn” and the “swervy mountain roads in France”, which are usually filmed in California, and the “out on the freeway in the desert” of course. Also in California. But the “car chase in the multi-storey car park” (or parking structure, as our American cousins like to call it) never ceases to impress. Lazlo Woodbine actually considered adding one more location to his set of four, that of the “parking structure, where a dodgy drugs deal is being done with racketeers”. But he decided to scrub round it, because it was far too dangerous a location to work. What with all the car chases going on.

And everything.

Icarus did some more swerving and headed down the exit ramp. The long dark car came creeping slowly after him.

“We’re losing them,” said Johnny Boy. “They’ve slowed down, we’re OK.”

“I think not,” said Icarus. “It has probably occurred to them, as it has occurred to me, that I don’t have a ticket. I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this car park.”

“Oh dear,” said Johnny Boy. “That would be a problem.”

“Possibly.” Icarus leaned over and whispered words into Johnny Boy’s ear.

“Do you think that might work?” asked the small man.

“I’d give it a go,” said Icarus. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“Okey-dokey then.”

The Ford Fiesta moved across the first floor of the multi-storey car park and then rather than going down the exit ramp it went up again. Up to the second floor, all round that, then up to the third floor and all round that. The long dark automobile followed it.

The driver wasn’t smiling.

The Ford Fiesta went down to the second floor again and then up two floors to the fourth. The long dark automobile followed the Ford Fiesta. Losing sight, then gaining sight of it again.

The driver had a definite frown on.

The Ford Fiesta went down to the third floor, then up to the fifth, then down to the second again. The long dark automobile followed it.

The driver had a snarl on now.

“What are they doing?” he shouted. He was an evil-looking man, the driver of the long dark automobile. He wore a chauffeur’s uniform and looked exactly the way that evil chauffeurs always look. Even down to that business with the chin and the unusual birthmark above the right eyebrow, which resembles the Penang peninsula. “What are they doing?” he shouted again. “Driving up and down and round and round until they run out of petrol?”

“Cut them off,” said a man in the back. An unseen man, so description wasn’t necessary. “Park the car across the exit ramp on the third floor.”

“But they’re in a Ford Fiesta, sir. It might scratch our bodywork if it bumps into us.”

“Just do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Ford Fiesta went up to the fifth floor again and then came down. The long dark car was blocking the third floor exit ramp. The chauffeur was sitting on the bonnet. He had a gun in his hand. The Ford Fiesta came down the fourth floor exit ramp. Which was the ramp leading from the fourth floor to the third, in case you’re finding this somewhat hard to follow.

“Here they come,” shouted the chauffeur, raising his pistol. “Stop or I fire, you sons of …”

The Ford Fiesta didn’t stop.

“Stop or I fire! Stop or I fire!”

The Ford Fiesta didn’t stop.

“Stop or I—” The driver leapt from the bonnet as the Ford Fiesta struck the long dark automobile.

Well, struck it is not exactly the word.

Passed right through it is. But that’s four words.

“Aaagh!” went the chauffeur as the Ford Fiesta merged into the long dark automobile, emerged from the other side, drove on round the third floor and then went up to the fifth again.

Down on the ground floor the Ford Fiesta had reached the ticket barrier. “Nice work,” said Icarus to Johnny Boy. “That old portable spectremeter really gets the job done, doesn’t it? I’ll bet they’ll be chasing the ghost of this car around the car park for the rest of the day.”

Johnny Boy grinned. “And switching it off on the second floor so the ghost car just goes on in a continuous loop while we slipped down to the exit. Smart idea, Icarus.”

“So let’s be off on our way.”

The bloke who worked in the little ticket office next to the barrier grinned at the grinning pair who stood before him.

“Lost ticket?” he said. “That will be fifty guineas, please.”

9

“Fifty guineas?” said Icarus Smith. “Fifty guineas?”

The car park attendant wore a uniform. It didn’t fit at all well. They never do.

“Fifty guineas?” said Icarus again. “What do you take me for?”

“A noble bachelor,” said the bloke in the ill-fitting uniform. “And who’s this? Your little brother is it?”

“I wish it was,” said Icarus. “I have a brother, but he’s barking mad.”

“I’m getting madder by the moment,” said Johnny Boy.

“Come on,” said Icarus. “Let’s go.”

Icarus Smith and Johnny Boy returned to the Ford Fiesta.

“What are we going to do?” asked Johnny Boy. “Drive through the barrier?”

Icarus gathered up the papers and the boxes of tablets and the spectremeter. “No,” said he. “I think we’ll just walk from here.”

Down the exit ramp from the first floor came the long dark automobile.

“On second thoughts,” said Icarus, “I think we’ll run.”

Johnny Boy couldn’t run very fast, because he had very short legs. Icarus managed to flag down a cab.

“Brentford,” said he. “And fast, please.”

“Ah, you again,” said the cabbie. “And with your mate out of the box, this time. Hop in then and I’ll tell you some more about the knowledge.”

On the journey back to Brentford, which was not achieved in quite the speedy manner Icarus would have hoped for, the cabbie told Icarus some more about the knowledge. And Johnny Boy, who had a passionate interest in the geography of Greater and Inner London, and also the songs of Bruce Springsteen, asked the cabbie how you got to Thunder Road.

“What an interesting man,” said Johnny Boy, when he and Icarus had finally stepped from the taxi.

“Fascinating,” said Icarus Smith.

“But I think he was wrong about turning left in Arnold Layne,” said Johnny Boy, who also had a love for early Pink Floyd. “So what, exactly, are we doing here?”

“This is a pub,” said Icarus.

“Yes, well, I can see it’s a pub.”

“It’s called the Three Gables and I’m supposed to be meeting my best friend, Friend Bob, here tonight. I’m going to tell him everything.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Absolutely,” said Icarus. “In movies, people always keep things to themselves until the last minute. It heightens the tension. Personally I don’t need any more heightened tension today.”

“You’re gonna get it,” said Johnny Boy, “when you’ve taken the drug.”

“That’s why I want to be with Friend Bob when I take it.”

Johnny Boy made a doubtful face. “It’s a very wise man who knows who his real friends are,” said he. “Friend Bob might not be what you think he is. You’d better let me take a look at him first.”