“Silent nite was cleverer,” said Johnny Boy.

“No it wasn’t,” said Icarus.

“Was.”

“Wasn’t.”

“You’d better stand back,” said the captain. “I’m going to light the fuse.”

“Any chance of a light?” I said, pulling out a pack of Camels.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m in a sticky situation that’s testing my nerves and calling my mental health into question, I like to light up a Camel. I find that the mellow Virginia tobacco combined with the special filter, with its most distinctive pack and competitive price, gives me everything I need.

Except, perhaps, for a handgun.

“You can’t smoke in here,” said Sam. “This is a—”

“An office,” I said. “It’s an office. Could be any office. Could be my office.”

“I’m going to have my sidekick switch the light on,” said Sam. “And then we’ll see whose office it is.”

“No,” I said. “Don’t do that.”

But I could hear Sam’s sidekick moving towards where I knew the door must be and I could almost feel his finger as it pushed down hard on the light switch.

“!!!” went the silent explosive.

“My,” said Johnny Boy. “What a very loud silence.”

Light rushed all about me. But not from some bulb on the ceiling. Or a neon tube. Or several tastefully arranged table lamps of the sort you might buy from Habitat.[12] Or any number of Art Nouveau style wall lights with tinted Lalique shades. Or one of those ghastly standard lamps with the big fringed shades that your aunty always used to have standing in the sitting room behind the sofa with the antimacassars on it.

No, it wasn’t from any of those. The light came suddenly rushing through the doorway from a corridor beyond. And then three men came bursting in. Or it might have been two men and a kiddie.

“It’s three,” said Johnny Boy. “Is this your nutty brother, Icarus?”

I shielded my eyes from the light. But it didn’t illuminate the entire room. Just me really, sitting there in a chair. Which could have been anyone’s chair. My office chair, for instance.

“That’s him,” said Icarus. “That’s my brother.”

“Brother?” said I. “Buddy, I ain’t your brother. The name’s Woodbine, Lazlo Woodbine, private eye. Some call me Laz, but none brother.”

“You’re my brother,” said Icarus.

“No, kid, I ain’t. I know you’d like me to be, love me to be, even. Who wouldn’t? It must be every kid’s dream to have Lazlo Woodbine as his big brother.”

“It’s never been mine,” said the voice of Sam Maggot. “But you guys better hold it there. And what the bejiggers did you do to my sidekick? Shit and salvation, he’s melted all over the floor.”

There was a lot of movement then. And I can never be having with too much movement. I mean, take the suffragette movement for instance. What was that all about? A lot of sassy dames with penis envy, running off at the mouth about equal rights for women. Equal rights? They wish. But hey, I’m only kidding about with you. I’m all for women having equal rights. “You’re equal,” I tell them when I’m on a bus, “so move your butt and let me sit down, before I move it for you.”

But anyhow, this wasn’t movement like that. Or even like the other. This was violent movement. A lot of violent movement. Sam had his pistol drawn, but the guy with the soldier’s bearing — not the guy who wished I was his brother, or the tiny dude who looked like Barbie’s[13] boyfriend — the guy with the soldier’s bearing comes in swinging.

He knocked the gun out of Sam’s hand and gave him an evil beating. Sam slumped down right over my lap. A broken man, with three teeth missing and his left ear half torn off. He looked up at me, and I could tell by the expression on his bloodied face that he was pleading with me to step in and save him further punishment.

My reputation as a great humanitarian can often put me in a situation such as this.

I eased Sam carefully down to the floor. Cradled his head in my hands and smiled him one of my winners.

And then I straightened up and put the boot in. Sending Sam into a deep dark whirling pit of oblivion, from which I trusted he would sometime awaken, an older but wiser man.

“Well,” said I, flicking specks of blood from my old tweed jacket. “I guess I have to thank you guys for helping me out. Sam’s sidekick cooked to a puddle and Sam in the land of nod. I’ll be taking my leave now. I’ll meet you in a bar somewhere.”

“Just a minute,” said the kid called Icarus. “Mum said I was to give you a message, the next time I saw you.”

“Kid,” said I, “I’m not your brother. How can I get this through your skull?”

“You certainly look like my brother,” said Icarus. “In fact you look exactly like my brother. Identical to my brother in fact.”

“Kid, have you ever met Lazlo Woodbine?”

“Of course not,” said Icarus.

“And have you ever seen a photograph of Lazlo Woodbine?”

Icarus shook his head.

“Because there are no photographs. No-one knows exactly what Woodbine looks like. All anyone knows for sure about Woodbine is that he wears a trenchcoat and a fedora, but no-one can put a face to the name. And do you know why that is? Don’t speak, I’ll tell you. It’s one of the secrets of my success. My exciting exploits are always told in the first person, so the reader is Woodbine. And the reader projects his own image onto the blank canvas. The reader identifies with Woodbine. Sees himself as Woodbine.”

“You don’t look like me,” said Icarus. “You look like my brother.”

“I haven’t finished, kid. If the reader doesn’t identify himself with Woodbine, then he does the next best thing. Puts his hero’s face on Woodbine’s body. You obviously look up to your brother as a hero.”

“Someone hold me back,” said Icarus. “Someone hold me back, or I’ll punch his lights out.”

“Christmas dinner must be a lot of laughs at your house,” said Johnny Boy. “I’m holding your leg, that’s the best I can do.”

“Give it up, kid,” I said. “I’m not your brother, though I’d be honoured, if I were you, to think I was. If you know what I mean and I’m sure that you do.”

“He’s barking,” said Icarus. “What did I tell you, Johnny Boy?”

“But he thinks he’s telling the truth. Look at him, you have the gift, you can see his colours.”

And Icarus could. He could see the intricate webbings of colour that were thoughts and emotions swimming all over the man. And he could see the man inside the man. The man who was his brother?

“We don’t have time for this,” said Icarus. “We have to get out of here and fast.”

“Leave it to me, kid.” I straightened my shoulders with more sang-froid than a San Fernando sandwich salesman at a sanitary-wear symposium. “I’ll have us out of here in less than twenty minutes.” I stepped over the VCR and removed the surveillance tape. I slid this into my inside pocket and then stepped over to the desk. Here I retrieved my trusty Smith and Western Union and slotted this into my shoulder holster. Then I stepped over to the telephone and dialled out a digit or two.

And then I spoke words and received words in return and then I replaced the receiver. “All done,” said I.

“What is done?” asked Icarus. “How are you getting us out of here?”

“I dialled out for a pizza, kid.”

“At a time like this!”

“Easy, kid, easy. It’s one of those pizza companies where, if they can’t deliver the pizza in twenty minutes, you get it for free. And did you ever hear of anybody actually getting their pizza for free?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Icarus.

“No, kid, you didn’t. Because those guys find you wherever you are. And I’ve tried hiding. In the spirit of experimentation, you understand, or devilment, when I have imps in me. You know how it is.”