I’m in local woodland; dragging the abused, dead body of the Hispanic prostitute to a grave I spent the morning digging. I haven’t slept in days and in my peripheral vision black shapes dart about, as if swimming through the air, but when I flick my focus to where I saw them, there was nothing but brown dead leaves. Behind me, the hooker was loosing pieces of clothing. A rainbow coloured wig, a red pair of huge novelty shoes, a long, colourful line of handkerchiefs tied end to end and a squeaky red nose. She was dressed as a clown.
The woodland was located across town from my place so, to successfully transport the harlot, I had to disguise the corpse. I lacked body bags and the necessary means to chop her up so a clown outfit, from a past career, suited the situation perfectly. So, I drove across town with a clown in the passenger seat, one elbow propped out the window and a fake cigarette in her painted mouth. Some kids waved when we passed a family sedan, bright smiles for the dead hooker dressed to entertain them. I saluted back.
I'm rolling the body into the grave when my phone vibrates. A text message.
"I pissed into their tea and shit on their biscuits."
Ian was fucking with some people and I wanted to know whom. The Islands mysteries were unravelling like a ball of yarn, a big ball that a little kitten is playing with as if it were it's prey. But what could I do? Ian forbade me to contact him. Before he left, we played a game he called 'The Pavlovian Retard', where a large mechanical arm was attached to me as I held a mobile phone. Whenever Ian rang and I answered, nothing would happen. But, if I attempted to use the phone to ring out, the mechanical arm would punch me in the ribs. I learned quickly.
But I couldn't just rest on my laurels as Ian maimed, killed or raped every man, woman, child and camel on the Island. There was just too much vicarious enjoyment riding on this. So, with a great pain swelling my gut, I proceeded to dial Ian's number. It was an especially long number due to his inherent greatness and the pain grew to similarly epic proportions but I pushed forward bravely, my finger spasming violently.
Ring ring. Ian answered but a voice not his screams. A voice with an accent.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” yells the voice.
There is a loud explosion, fireworks of some sort whizzing and whirling, echoing around a large hall.
“You really are out of your fucking mind.”
There is a crash and a crack.
“What are you doing on this Island, motherfucker?” Ian’s voice reverberated like a gunshot, each syllable a bullet aimed directly for the heart.
“Ve are here to regroup, Mr. Ian.” A German! “Ve are here to regain our former glories.”
“Who sent you?”
SNAP! Ian bitch slaps the German.
“No don’t… stop, I’ll tell you.”
“You’d better, you greasy haired bitch.”
The German sighed audibly, aware that when he spills the information, he will also have signed his own death cert.
“It vas…. It vas…. Adolf Hitler, Mr Ian. He is back to rule to globe AND NOBODY CAN STOP HIM… eheheh. No even you. Mr. Ian.”
A snap followed by a chomp and a spit.
“Ian?” I ask timidly into the phone. “Are you there?”
“I should have known. Fucking Nazi’s. And all the signs were there for me to read. For me to ingest and shit out. Burning piles of books. Midgets with little moustaches. And Swastikas. The Nazi flag flying all over the Island.”
“What are you going to do, Ian?”
“It’s simple Rob, my dear friend. I’m going to find Hitler, that stupid bastard, and murder him slowly.”
“Oh Ian, you’re my hero.”
I look at the dead Hispanic and wish Ian were here to help me.
“Shut the ass up, Gaylord. I know it.”
Ian was about to hang up, as he always did on an excellent quip, but he stopped and changed tact.
“Never ring me again, punk ass bitch. I ring you.”
And the line goes dead.
Flies spring off the hookers dead eyes so I elect to bury the girl once and for all. It begins to rain, her painted on smile running down her face into a frown. I had to admit it, she was hot in a clown suit.