14

...Gone Tomorrow.

Dredly had no idea how long he had been out. The last thing he could remember was being shown the photographs from the gnome's wife's cousin's wedding. Fractured memories came to him, of hours spent having his hair tweaked, pulled, coloured, rinsed, cut, permed and shaved. And all the while, in between the bouffant bouts, he was force fed cheap, slightly stale biscuits and cups of tepid coffee. Then, under the drier, his eyelids had been held open and he had been forced to read "Hello!" Magazine. The memories of Jane Asher's struggle to colour co-ordinate her living room would remain with him forever. But that was then... Dredly shook his head to get rid of the double vision and tried to fix his bearings. He was still strapped into the chair. The gnome was not in sight, but...

Dredly stifled a scream as he looked at the pitiful creature in the mirror. What had they done to him? His hair, once his pride, was now his curse. The gnome had divided the scalp into quarters and styled each one differently. The front right had been dyed silver and then given a number 2 treatment with the shears; the front left was in a bob with a fringe and had been dyed purple; the back right had been left fairly long, though layered, and was royal blue; while the back left was sticking straight up in a mini Mohican and was bright yellow. It was a disaster. Dredly could hardly look at himself, while his reflection had found the whole ordeal such a strain that he was still unconscious. Of all the low down things he'd seen in his life, this was the worst. He'd seen the work of some of the most vicious scum on the planet, the kind of people who'd kick a man when he was down or sell their own grandmother, but not even they would've messed with a man's haircut. Even to the worst of villains, some things were sacred, but the gnome had overstepped the mark.

Dredly’s mirror image stirred, opened his eyes slowly… And freaked.
“Oh maaaan! This makes a bad trip seem like a good trip! My hair! What are we going to do?”
“Revenge!” Dredly growled, his blood boiling. His hands strained at their bonds, but he was still held fast. Then he had a brainwave. He looked at the wall next to the mirror. There it was! The button the gnome had pressed to lock Dredly into the chair. If he could reach it, he could escape his restraints. He looked around. There was no sign of the gnome, and no sound coming from the back room. This could be his only chance. He looked at the distance between the high-backed chair and the wall. It was about three feet. If he could somehow tip the chair, it would fall and the headrest would be wedged against the wall. He was fortunate that the button was at gnome height, about two feet off the ground. Had it been any higher, then his plight would have been hopeless, as he would not have been able to reach the button, but the way he reckoned it, the button would be within reach of his nose once the chair had been toppled.
That was the plan, but the execution of it was something else. The big barber's chair must have weighed over two hundred pounds and it took all of Dredly's strength to rock the thing at all. However, he did manage to tip it forward slightly, then it rocked back with a thud. Dredly listened - had the gnome heard?

There was a pause - an eternity in which he tried to pick out any noise which might be that of the gnome approaching. Nothing. Dredly rocked the big chair again, harder than before. He tried to build up a rhythm, rocking slowly back and forth. It was working! The plan was actually working. Dredly smiled as he felt the chair nearing the point of no return - soon he would be free, and then... And then a horrible thought occurred. What if he got the rhythm wrong? What if, rather than falling forwards, he lost control on the backswing and the chair went...
"Whoa!" Dredly cried, his eyes wide with the sudden realisation that the chair was lurching backwards and there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was a deafening crash and a splintering of wood as the chair slammed back into the floorboards. Suddenly all he could see was ceiling. The floorboard that had borne the brunt of the impact tipped like a seesaw across the joists in the floor. A single shoe - a burgundy loafer with a hole in the sole - had been resting on the other end of the floorboard, and when it suddenly tipped, the shoe was sent flying. Dredly caught a glimpse of it as it flew over his head and slapped into the far wall. There was a metallic click and the ankle and wrist restraints snapped back. Dredly's hands flew to the neck strap and untied it. He scrambled to his feet and looked across at the miracle shoe. It had flown the length of the room and hit the release button - a one in a million chance. Dredly picked the shoe up. He would have kissed it, but it smelt faintly of rotting cabbages. He had to think quickly. The gnome must surely have heard the noise and would be on its way, but with the steel shutter drawn across the front door, the only way out was through the back. Dredly decided to take the chance.

Keeping hold of the shoe in his right hand, he looked around for another means of defence. There were other shoes, but none of them fitted the bill – the sandals and slippers were too flimsy and the calf length ladies’ boots, while sexy, were too unwieldy for the sort of close quarters fighting ahead. Dredly cursed silently. If only it had been a gun shop this would all be much easier. He looked at the shoe cleaning accoutrements for succour – cloths, tins of polish, dubbin and beeswax. Unless he simply wanted to make the gnome very shiny and fully waterproofed, they were all useless… But wait! Here was hope – a sturdy, wood-backed shoe brush. Yes, that would do! Dredly snatched the brush and made a dash for the door. On gaining the passageway, he flattened himself against the wall, each pounding heartbeat throbbing in his temples. The dismal corridor ran to a small landing. An uncarpeted staircase led up to the rest of the building, while the corridor continued along the side of the stairs and ended in a door. The bare bulb, suspended from the ceiling by a ragged flex, threw a dull yellow light on the shabby scene. Dredly reckoned it must be a forty watt pearl. Clearly the wrong choice. They really needed a nice little chandelier - nothing too grand, mind - and a carpet on the stairs. A Wilton with a base colour of red would go well... He shook his head. What was he thinking! There he was in mortal danger and all he could do was pick holes in the decor. He had to pull himself together! He looked down at the shoe, gripped by the toe end, in his right hand. It might be the perfect weapon against an unsuspecting spider or a groggy cockroach, but what good would it be against an enraged Stasi gnome? And what real use would the shoe-brush be in a non-buffing situation? He was in trouble and he knew it. Perhaps if he could get to the door at the end of the passage...

Dredly slid along with his back to the wall, his right arm cocked, ready to deal a blow with the shoe, while his left was relaxed at his side, keeping the brush in reserve. Dredly tiptoed carefully with his heels off the ground, lest their treacherous squeaking betray him to the enemy. In a few moments he had reached the bottom of the stairs. He lowered himself down onto his haunches and looked up into the Stygian gloom of the landing above. No movement. Standing upright, he kept as far away from the base of the stairs as possible and slipped down the side corridor. A few light steps took him to the door at the end. He was in the shadows now and the cloak of darkness gave him a sense of safety. He bent his head and listened at the door. The silence was oppressive. Was there movement in the room beyond, or was his mind making up the half-heard nothings? He was a statue for a minute, then the hand went down to the doorknob.

A strangled scream tore at him and he barely had time to turn before the gnome was upon him. It had leapt through the banisters and now its merry little face, warped with fury and hate, was barely an inch away, and its tiny hands were grasping his throat. The shoe brush was knocked out of Dredly’s hand and he crumpled into the corner in a blur of flaying, glancing blows. The gnome was under his guard. How could it be so small and yet so strong? His arms were pinned to his chest, his hands up to protect his face. A small foot slammed into his solar plexus. The white starburst of pain forced out his breath and small hands clamped his throat to cut off the inflow. Dredly's lungs strained for air, the veins bulging in his face and neck. Echoing grunts from the death-locked animals rattled down the concrete passage. Only one chance now, one last throw of the dice before the candles were snuffed. Dredly bent the heel of the shoe back until it was folded in half. Then, even as the gnome's lips parted in its grin of victory, Dredly let the heel go. It snapped into the gnome's face, right across the bared teeth. The shrill cry and hot, spattering fluids told him the hit had scored, but the death-grip was no looser. Dredly flicked the shoe again. The corner of the heel jabbed into the gnome's eye. The grip loosed. Dredly lashed out. The gnome was flung back. Gulped air flooded screaming lungs. All in a spin. The scramble for the door. Sound of gnome standing. The final turn and crack of leather on skull. All the force of Dredly's body pivoted through the shoulder. Cruel eyes dazed, then the soft crumple of small body collapsing. Grab the shoe brush; turn back and out the door.

Gasping, coughing, Dredly burst through the door and staggered out into what seemed like the wings of a theatre. Off-balance, he fell forward and stumbled towards the laughter and the lights. The sudden brightness hurt his eyes and for a couple of seconds all he could make out was the dark silhouette of a man standing at a lectern.
"So then Sluggsy says to me..." The voice belonging to the silhouette stopped mid sentence. The jovial atmosphere turned to cold calculation with the rapidity of litmus paper hitting acid. Dredly's vision cleared. He was on a stage all right. The silhouette at the lectern was a tall, thin, dangerous looking man. Dredly looked up at the banner across the top of the stage.
"17TH ANNUAL EVIL HENCHMAN'S CONVENTION".
Dredly squinted out at the motley crew of an audience. Every kind of thug imaginable was out there... And they were all looking at him.
"Oh cripes!"
Dredly bolted for the door and didn't look back. As he reached the corridor he'd just vacated, the gnome was just picking itself up, tentatively holding its jaw. It glanced up. Dredly loomed for an instant as he dashed past, dealing it a swipe with the shoe as he went. Again the dull crack on the skull. The gnome was pirouetted into the corner by the force of the blow. It was unconscious before it hit the ground. But the gnome was the least of Dredly's problems. Not only had the attack caused him to lose his grip on the shoe, leaving him armed only with the brush, but he also had three thousand heavily armed henchmen at his back… And the only other way out was blocked by a steel shutter. Dredly leapt up the stairs two at a time. If he thought the gnome had been 'trouble' with a capital 'T', his new situation was 'trouble' all in caps, 28 point, bolded, underlined and in a twirly, seraph font. And what did he have to defend himself? A shoe brush. Now, a shoe had proved to be the perfect weapon against an unsuspecting spider, a groggy cockroach, and even an enraged Stasi gnome, but what good would a shoe brush be against thousands of heavily armed evil henchman attending their boozy annual conference?

Dredly listened with growing terror as the sound of the henchmen in the passage below surged up to him. The stairs opened onto a landing with many doors. He would have to go to the other end of the hall if he wanted to continue up the stairs. An idea sparked and he took the chance. As he dashed past the doors, he rapped on each one with the shoe brush, then ran up the stairs. Just as he was making the turn, he glimpsed what he'd hoped for. From the first room emerged an overweight woman in her late middle age, dressed in a nylon housecoat and with curlers in her hair.
"Hey you! Yeah you, you dumb bastard!" She screamed after him, almost dropping the cigarette from her mouth. Moments later the chorus was taken up by a second and then a third nigh-on identical woman. Dredly had guessed right - when you've got that many evil henchmen in one place, bad tempered landladies can't be far behind. He continued his run up the house, repeating his trick at the next two floors, until all he could hear were the sounds of landladies and henchmen arguing in the clogged passageways. But finally the stairs ran out and Dredly emerged onto the roof. It was a mess of furnace stacks, air conditioning vents and washing lines. He looked left and right, ran to one edge - it overlooked the alley. He ran to the back of the building - sheer ninety foot drop onto industrial waste ground. He could hear the first of the henchmen arriving at the last set of stairs.
"Arse!" It was another gem in the Dredly repertoire of bleak situation words.

He dashed to the front of the building - ninety foot drop to the street. He was trapped, unless he could start them off on a daring rooftop chase... Too late! Some of them had already got onto the roof and were fanning out to block the rooftop route. Dredly looked out across the skyline of Manhattan. In the distance he could see the Empire State Building and, flashing on its top in neon letters twenty feet high was one word - 'TROUBLE'. Dredly backed towards the edge. A small piece of masonry was dislodged and dropped silently, falling for an age before turning to powder on impact with the pavement below. Dredly gulped. His tummy felt mighty funny. The henchmen closed in, and now their ranks were swelled with disgruntled landladies. Maybe the knocking on the door thing hadn't been such a bright move. There was a low rumble from the street. The henchmen drew their guns and the landladies pulled their rolling pins.
He didn't like the odds, but he still had an ace in the hole - the shoe brush! It was the unknown quantity, the secret weapon. Perhaps it would prove to be the ultimate deterrent against henchmen and landladies. Dredly gripped it harder, then drew his arm back and threw it with all his force at one of the henchmen. The shoe brush flew straight and true. The bristles, some still flecked with old polish, glinted in the silver light of the moon, briefly unveiled by the high, scudding clouds. All Dredly's hopes flew with it. The target henchman, a big thug with cauliflower ears, was unaware of the danger, had not seen the throw, was looking at the ground, was easy prey, would surely be felled... Suddenly spoke,
"See a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck." And he bent down. Dredly's eyes widened with horror as the brush sailed harmlessly over the thug's head. The shoe brush was a dud! But even as the goose of despair pecked him, the dove of joy chased it away. Yes, the brush had missed the hoodlum, but its flight had remained true. There was a thud and suddenly one of the landladies fell, poleaxed by the brush's stern force. Dredly filed the information.

Shoes: Lethal weapon on spiders/cockroaches/insects (estate agents not included): Stun weapon on gnomes.
Shoe Brushes: Stun weapon on irate landladies; Ineffective against evil henchmen.

But now the weapon had been used and he was cornered. Dredly looked over the edge. He was resigned to his fate. He took a step away from the encroaching mob and fell into empty space.

Is this the end for Dredly? Can he really survive a fall from the roof of a building? And what the heck have Greta and Sage been up to for the last 3 chapters?

Find out in the next death-defying chapter...