Max the knife


The warders in the asylum always went to the pub each night after they had locked the inmates up. Dorkings knocked on the door of Max’s cell.

“Time for a night-cap?” teased Dorkings through the slit in the door

“I want more than a night-cap, I want blood!” shouted Max as he writhed in his strait jacket. 

“I’m sure that could be arranged” whispered Dorkings, as he fiddled with the lock. He had a skeleton key he had been fashioning from a real human finger he had picked up on his nightly sojourns around the asylum.

The door swung open and Max stared at the strange form of Dorkings who although had some feeling back in his legs still had to lean on his wheelchair for support. There he stood a shock of wild white hair and amazingly bushy eyebrows like two dancing caterpillars and clutching the handles of his wheelchair.

“Who the hell are you” said Max.

“I want to have a talk with you about two women and a badger” whispered Dorkings

The effect was just as Dorkings would have wished; Max went ever so slightly mad and writhed and shouted all sorts of unsavoury words.

“And how would you like to get your revenge, hmm?”  Dorkings sat down by Max and started to undo his restraints.

The next morning Bunty and Lola wore dark glasses. They ate their breakfast as quietly as they could. Bunty opted for porridge as it didn’t make any noise and Lola drank copious amounts of black coffee. Mrs Damson had found in Bingo’s room some sturdy looking brogues that fitted her very well but they squeaked when she took a step and as she brought in the various courses her shoes drove both Bunty and Lola to distraction.

“If I didn’t know better I would swear she is doing it on purpose” hissed Lola.

“Lola, how many more days do we have to stay here?” said Bunty “I don’t think my liver will stand much more” she chewed a piece of toast cringing at the noise it made in her head.

“I think we have been here three and a half weeks” said Lola counting on her fingers “So we could go home next week”.

“Right then, lets concentrate for a few days, we haven’t solved the Bingo mystery yet and I propose no more gin until we do” said Bunty determinedly.

“Steady on Bunty” said Lola “But I suppose it will concentrate our minds”

as the day wore on they managed to piece together from Bingo’s notes on the asylum the methods he used to control people. In one of his books, which looked like it contained old playbills of west end theatres he had made some pertinent observations. he mentioned Bunty and Lettuce (as Lola had been known as ) and the effect they had had on several people, Miss Lovely, Dorkings, Max, Mrs Damson even Uncle Silas. He had experimented in finding deep within these people the exact trigger that made them turn into crazed killers. It was unfortunate that the mixture of Bunty and Lettuce seemed to be an explosive mix and he was trying to replicate it to use in some form as a secret weapon. The Chester Historicals was a cover for a crack team of assassins sent in to undertake espionage.

In another handbill Bunty found more code words and the unmistakable truth that they would work for the highest bidder.

“But Bingo, he just seemed to live for the theatre, why would he be drawn to do this? Why it makes no sense. and that business with the Professor and the family history I can’t understand why that would be so important?” said a puzzled Bunty.

Lola didn’t reply, she had seen a face at the window. A face she knew only too well!

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