Limbo 56, Mike Morris [best self help books to read .TXT] 📗

danced away, waving it in his face. With a howl, he ran for the gateway and staggered back from an invisible barrier. “I just took away your power of movement,” Pauline said. “You’re stuck in Limbo again. Until I eat you,” she added. “I fancy an appetizer right now,” she said, and broke off one of Bobby’s fingers.

Bobby howled. “Jimmy, you bastard,” he shouted, but the recruiter was gone. He looked wildly around and started to run down the quiet street. Smiling, Pauline walked after him, and Arthur followed. They caught up with Bobby in the main square. He was babbling to a tall stern-looking woman. He stepped hastily behind her when he saw Pauline.

“Leave this to me, Pauline,” Arthur said. He turned to the tall woman. “Excuse me, madam. I am the Governor of Limbo56. I’m sorry that one of my subjects has entered your territory, but we’re here now to take him off your hands.”

The woman looked at Arthur as Queen Victoria might have regarded a naked witch-doctor in the middle of Africa. “I am the Governor here,” she said nasally. “I’ve never heard of Limbo56, and I want all three of you to leave immediately.” She waved her hand at the trim houses. “We try to run a tight ship here, and we only allow a certain class of half-sinner into our little world.”

“That’s fine, Madam,” Arthur said. “I’ll just take my prisoner, and we’ll be out of your way.”

“Madam,” Bobby Boy said to the woman. “I’ve been kidnapped. All I want to do is get back to my own cozy little Limbo. These two are pirates, Madam; they steal the undead from high-class Limbos such as yours, and make us work in the foundry at P56. No one wants to go there. You must help me mum,” he babbled. “I can’t get out of here on my own. Please release me first, so that can’t capture me again”

“I’ll personally escort you to a gateway,” the Governor of Surry said to Bobby. “I can get you out of here. You other two, just leave!” She grabbed Bobby by the elbow and started to drag him away.

“Thank you mum,” Bobby said, “Look what she did to me. She ate two of my fingers.”

“Governor,” Pauline cooed, “this man is a dangerous criminal. If you throw him out there he’ll come back with his gang and… and mess up your nice gardens, and all that,” she finished lamely. The woman looked directly at her for the first time.

“And who are you? Miss…” she began, smiling slightly. “Here,” she said to Arthur. “Restrain him while I get to the bottom of this.” Her smile widened, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “Now, young lady, perhaps you can explain to me what this is all about. She placed a friendly arm around the Demons’ shoulders.

Pauline seemed to have been growing younger. She looked about fifteen years old now, shy eyes peeping up at the tall woman from under long, dark lashes. “Oh, Miss, please help me,” she said. “I didn’t want to tell you, I was so embarrassed.”

“There, there, dear,” the woman murmured. “You can trust me. Now, what have these naughty men been doing to you?” She gazed fondly at Pauline. “I have a nice warm office, we can go there, and we can talk, just you and me. Come along you two,” she snapped at the men. “Any trouble from you and I’ll have you thrown in gaol.”

“It’s just the fat one, Miss,” Arthur heard her say. “He’s my Father, and well, I suppose he loves me in his own way, but I don’t think he should be showing it quite like he does.” They wandered off in a cloud of “’oh dear’ and ‘you poor thing.’”

“Come on,” Arthur said, pointing the gun at Bobby. “Or I’ll scoop some of your brains out.” They followed the women. The Governor’s mansion turned out to be a kind of army barracks, guarded by a Sergeant Major, an enormous woman. “Take them to the cells,” the Governor said, leading Pauline to a small office. The two men followed glumly behind the sergeant Major. “Why don’t you shoot her,” Bobby whispered. “I wouldn’t want to irritate her,” Arthur whispered back.

They spent a couple of hours in the cell, under the baleful eye of the big woman. At last, Pauline and the Governor returned. Two spots of colour brightened the Governor’s gaunt face. “You can all leave now” she said, “and I don’t want to see you two again.” Her tone changed. “Naturally, any time you want to visit us, Pauline,” she simpered, “you’re very welcome, you poor thing.”

Back at the gateway, Pauline laughed. “Well, that was different,” she murmured. Arthur shook his head. “There’s a way with these entrances,” the Demon told him. “Think thin. That shouldn’t be a problem for you, Arthur. Bobby, you may find this a little painful if you don’t suck your gut in.” She held out her hand. “Give me your right hand, Bobby.” Arthur prodded the man with his gun. “Now, Arthur, you hold his left hand in your right hand. Arthur, if he tries to break away, shoot him in the head.” They approached the gateway, and Pauline seemed to slide around the corner. Bobby and Arthur were sucked in after her.

The new Limbo was on the side of a mountain. A couple of dirty shepherds gazed at them apathetically, and Pauline faced the gateway again. “Just twist the other way this time,” she said. They twisted and slid through what seemed like an infinity of Limbos, at one stage landing in a pond that threatened to engulf them. Finally, they turned the corner on to a familiar sooty street where the rain washed the smoke from the air. Arthur stretched to breath in the smells of the foundry, and Bobby dashed through the back door of Necessities. They waited for a while and Olga’s brawny arms shoved him back out into Limbo.

“Can I take him to your rooms to eat him?” Pauline asked, as they strolled down the street. Bobby was tucked under her arm like some rag doll, kicking occasionally but relatively quiet. Arthur considered her question, and offered to take her out for drinks and a meal. They dumped Bobby at the gaol and wandered over to the Limbo arms. Arthur was flush. He had not spent any Limbo money during his trip to the outside. He ordered a bottle of champagne, a commodity that was becoming scarcer since Bobby Boy’s escape and ‘Arry’s demise, and two steaks. Pauline wolfed her enormous steak down, together with half of his, and washed the food down with several bottles of Champagne. “I’m still going to eat Bobby,” she said indistinctly through a mouthful of steak and bubbly.

“What will you do now,” Arthur asked. “I mean, the folks down there won’t be very happy with you. You could stay here…”

“And the Devil’s Council will eventually come after me,” she finished for him. “Besides, I quite like it down there; I always preferred a warmer climate.” She grinned. “It’s not too bad if and when you reach Devil, first class like me.” She frowned. “Of course, I’ll probably get demoted.”

“I was thinking,” he said. “If you were to bring back a big fish like Bobby, they might go easy on you.” He chewed a last morsel of steak. “Also, you can have all of the ex-Governors left in gaol, except for Max and the accountant. They’re all going to hell after their hearings anyway.”

She stretched. “I think Bobby Boy will be enough. I’ll take him down there in one piece.” They left the Limbo Arms and floated on champagne wings down the dirty streets, Pauline unnoticed and Arthur unremarked. They picked up Bobby Boy, in handcuffs, and stopped outside Arthur’s rooms to say goodbye. “Goodbye,” she said. “It’s been nice knowing you,” she added formally. Then she kissed him. “Thank you.” And she and Bobby slid into the ground, leaving him with the scent of violets and a faint whiff of sulphur in his nostrils.


Chapter 12 – The Pilot
In early summer of 1943, an RAF spitfire, separated from its squadron, flying on a wing and a curse, took a long dive, guns blazing, and knocked out a final Messerschmitt. Exiting the clouds in an impossibly sharp curve, Jimmy Wheeler Jr., air ace, genius with his machine, as disliked by his fellow pilots as he was feared by the Luftwaffe, crash-landed in a stone square. Screeching and shedding parts the plane finally skidded to a stop a few feet away from the massive doors of an incredibly dirty and menacing square stone building. Taking off his helmet, Jimmy limped towards the door.

Strangely, no gaping crowds surged out of the old houses and into the neat streets, no friendly ARP wardens, no threatening enemy civilians, and, equally strangely, Flying Officer Wheeler normally a whiz navigator, had no idea where he was after the confusing events of the last few minutes. The town looked strangely old-fashioned, trim, untouched by war. After a short silence, the doors of the building opened and a thin man in filthy overalls stepped out. “Flying…” Jimmy managed, peering through a stream of blood before collapsing into the thin man’s surprisingly strong arms.

He came to on a bed in a plain room, stung into consciousness by an inexpertly wielded needle, stitching up his face. Angrily, he knocked the needle from the man’s hand. “Leave me alone, you oaf,” he yelled, straining a couple of stitches. “I’m a British officer, and under the provisions of the Geneva Convention, I’m entitled to proper medical attention in a hospital, and humane treatment.”

“Ah don’t know about no Geneva Convention,” the man, who had clean hands on an otherwise soot-covered body, said. “And we ain’t got no ‘ospitals ‘ere either. He had a Black Country accent with a peculiar undertone that Jimmy couldn’t place. Hearing the accents of his childhood infuriated Jimmy with an intensity that surprised him. “You bloody little oik,” he yelled. “I want to speak to someone in charge.”

“Stuck up bastard,” the man grumbled. “Ah was a private in the last war. We fought in the trenches, not like you fly boys, up above the mud and shit.” He swabbed blood away from Jimmy’s wound again. “An’ yo’m lucky I done a few months as a medic, and yo’m lucky ah remember ow ter sow that pretty face o yourn up. Arthur,” he bellowed. “Come in ‘ere. Toffy nose wants ter speak to the boss.”

A vaguely familiar thin man entered the room. Dirty, wearing overalls, he epitomized the poverty and squalor out of which Jimmy had clawed his way. “I want to see an officer,” Jimmy said, trying to sit up. The thin man held him down easily, staring intently at him, and Jimmy began to wonder if he hadn’t landed, by some horrible chance, next to a Lunatic Asylum full of shell-shocked battle casualties.

“What’s your name, boy,” the thin man demanded, “I’m Governor here.”

“I am flying Officer Jimmy Wheeler,” Jimmy said in as steady a voice as he could muster, “and I demand to see the person in charge of this establishment.”

“You are looking at him,” the thin man answered, “and don’t be misled by my accent or my looks. Just remember that I get to decide what happens to you.”

Jimmy’s lip curled. “I don’t mean the shift foreman, here,” he said distinctly, as if to a rather