rr.armageddonthemusical-第20部分
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。 Rex tapped the moribund thing on his wrist。 Two…thirty it said。 The car droned on； creaking and rattling and performing certain stomach…turning manoeuvres； which Rex assumed correctly to be the product of inpetent reprogramming。 Finally it went into a steep incline and landed with a thud inside the pound of the Hotel California。
Rambo Bloodaxe didn't observe Rex's arrival。 He and his followers were knelt in prayer before the bewildered…looking man in the golden suit。 This fellow was staring vacantly into his cupped hands。 Here rested a green spheroid of vegetable extraction。
'Lord。' Rambo extended a platter of barbequed man meat。 'Will you take sup with us？'
Elvis Presley appeared to awaken from his trance。
'Where the fuck am I？' he asked； which was reasonable enough to his way of thinking。
'The Hotel California； Lord。'
'California？ California never looks like this。' Elvis clutched at his nose。 'This smells like Philadelphia。' Knowing nothing of W。 C。 Fields； that particular remark was lost upon the Devianti； amongst others。
'We are your servants； Lord。'
'Then cut the Lord crap； buddy。 I am the King。'
'It's definitely him； Rambo；' whispered Deathblade Eric。 'You were not incorrect in your assumptions。'
'He seems a trifle confused though；' Rambo replied。 'The temple lights are on but the congregation doesn't appear to have shown up。 The sideburns are a killer； though； and we all saw him materialize before us out of thin air。'
'Now see here； buddy； if this is one of those religious cult things then you have got the wrong boy。'
Rambo looked at Eric。 Eric just looked blank。 Rambo said； 'We are your disciples。'
'Disciples？ Fans； do you mean？ Shit； I've gotta be dreaming。 What the hell am I on？'
'Dreaming；' Eric nodded。 'Men are but the dreams of the Gods； I've read that。'
'Listen； I gotta use a phone； get Colonel Tom to send a limo or something。'
'Someone should take down his words。' Eric wrung his hands。 'The Revolution begins。 Although we may not understand his words future generations may。 This is scripture； Rambo。'
Rambo tugged upon the lobe of his right ear。 'It doesn't sound much like scripture to me； old bean。 Shouldn't he be saying thee and thou and the like？'
'Anyone got a dime？' Elvis asked。 'Or I can call collect？ Where's the phone booth？'
'I'll do it phonetically。' Eric picked up an appropriate tablet of fallen stone and began to scrawl upon it with charcoal。 'Dime； now that sounds straight forward。 Some kind of religious artefact； do you suppose？'
A look of dire perplexity wrinkled the King's noble brow。 'Are you telling me you don't know what a dime is？'
'Not as such； Lord King。'
A look of supreme enlightenment； of the kind that the reader will e to recognize； flashed upon Elvis Presley's face。 'I'm in Moscow；' he groaned。 'The mies have got me。 You'll never get a word out of me。 God bless America。。。' Elvis placed his hand over his heart and began to sing。
'Excuse me chief；' came a voice from his left hand。 'If I might just have a word。'
'The miracle of the talking hand。' Rambo flung his forehead to the floor。 'Make a note of that； Eric。'
'Will do。' Eric scribbled away like a good'n。
'I hate to interrupt chief。 But if I had thumbs they would now be pricking。 Big trouble is heading our way。' Elvis ceased his singing。 The door creaked open and Rex Mundi stuck his weatherdomed head through it。
'Cooee；' he called。 'Hello there； anyone at home？'
'Idolater。' Rambo sprang up。 'Kill the idolater。' The Devianti rose to its collective feet。 Weapons were drawn。
'Hold on；' Rex cried。 'Don't be hasty； I bring good news。'
'Slay the idolater。 By Godfrey； it's yesterday's lunch！'
'I think that now would be as good a time as any to take our leave； chief；' the sprout advised。 'Whilst they are otherwise engaged I'd make a break for it； if I was you。'
'I am me。' Elvis thrust the Time Sprout into his top pocket。 'Up and away。'
'Hold it easy；' The Dalai Lama peered into the terminal screen。 'We don't want to rush this。' Gloria leant closer。 'Let him get clear。'
'Of course； I mean your brother no harm。' 'I've got a fix；' said a nondescript menial； who had got a fix。 'Two fixes in fact。 But there's no way of telling who they are；' Dan and Gloria watched the little red spots on the flickering mud…brown screen。 'They're crossing the pound；' the nondescript continued。 'There； see the heat signature of the air car？ They've entered the air car；' 'Must be Rex then；' 'And he's got one of them with him；' 'Bring them back on automatic；' Dan ordered。
'It's basic stuff；' The Time Sprout checked out the dashboard。 'Turn the key； give it some revs and pull back the joystick；' 'It's a fucking spaceship！' said Elvis Presley。
'They're up；'
'Take out the entire quadrant；' Dan raised a knotted fist。 'Nuke it out；'
'Nuke it out？' Gloria fell back from the screen。 'What are you doing？'
'Call it involuntary euthanasia；'
'Co…ordinates fixed；' said the menial； 'Counting down；'
'You can't do this； you'll start a war；'
'Home territory； Gloria。 A terrorist headquarters。 The newscast will say that they blew themselves up with a bomb of their own making；' Dan turned to the menial。 'We are all prepared to video the explosion； aren't we？'
'Yes； Inmost One。'
'But。。。 a warhead。 That's a bit drastic； isn't it？'
'Something is occurring Gloria。 I can feel it。 Accuse me of being overcautious； if you wish。 No； scrub that； accuse me of nothing。 I'm the Dalai Lama。' 'The air car is free of the drop zone； Inmost One。' 'Then launch。' Dan made with the sweeping gestures。
'Om…mani…padme…boam。'
OM MANI PADME BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
13
。。。 thirteen thousand。 I kid you not。 Thirteen thousand dollars。 For a one dollar stake。 I sat in Fangio's all the next day just waiting for the God to show。 I figured he'd want his share or something。 But I guess I figured a whole lot more。 Like how he'd picked me out of the teeming millions。 How he'd e to do that。 All kinds of stuff。 I had the whole day to do it in。 Around six he es by。 He was drunk but he was smiling。 He says that he's sorry he's late； like as if we'd arranged something； which we hadn't。 He asks if I'm feeling lucky again； except the way he says it； it doesn't seem like a question。 Then he hands me the day's sheet。 The first five of the evening's races out at the coast are ringed。 I'll need a new bookmaker； says 1。 He hands me a list of names。 When you're on a million； says he； we do Wall Street。 And we do。
The Suburban Book of the Dead
The firestorm loosed itself。 Brick melted； concrete became carbon。 The canopy of flame flung itself up at the cloud cover where it whirled and twisted as if in agony。 The shockwave spread； ionising the ether。 Crushing and distorting； spreading its circle of death。 'Nice shot；' said Dalai Dan。
Time passes quickly when you're having a good time。 It goes at a fair old lick while you're asleep。 What it does once you're dead is anyone's guess。 Rex wasn't dead。 Betrayed and dumped upon from a great height。 But not dead。 He awoke in a great blackness； which was not altogether encouraging。 Nor was the smell。 He groaned； as one might； and felt about at himself in order to gauge how much； if anything； remained。 The basics were all in place。 Groaning once again for good measure； he tried to rise。
'Easy now。' The voice wasn't his own。 Nor was the smell of violets。 'Who； I； where； what？' Rex floundered about。 A soft light grew before him。 And she was there smiling。 'You。 You saved me。。。'
She nodded。 The golden corona about her head became brighter。 'And I have watched over you for nearly eight hours。 Now e with me。 You will be all right。'
'Showtime。' Dan rolled down his sleeve。 'And bring on the dancing girls。'
'This is the time
This is the place
The time to face
What the fates have in store
It's double or drop
Do or die
And here's the guy
You've all been waiting for
He's the man with the most
The heavenly host
The holiest ghost
In the cosmic drama
And here he is
The Shah of Showbiz
The Dalai。。。 Dalai。
