Limbo 56 by Mike Morris (suggested reading .TXT) 📕

the black box, “and nerve gas will be released in the three largest cities in the United States, and in this sinful city in the desert. Why are you here?” he said to Arthur, “you are an insult to my intelligence.”

‘Why am I here?’ Arthur asked himself, ‘an ignorant provincial man who never went any further than the old town, the familiar pub, and the same old streets. Even my Limbo is a miserable run-down Halfway Place, an unimaginative, grey hopeless domain, run by a man who was nor even able to treat his wife and family properly.’ He had no answer; there was no answer. Gladys had a touch of wild greatness, Jasper was a maverick and an ancient Demon, even O’Grady was a figure larger than life. There was no answer, except that he was here, in front of a man who was determined to destroy everyone except a few fanatics like himself. Osama would go ahead and make his broadcast, ransom the United States and the rest of the world. ‘My God,’ he thought, ‘none of us saw this; not O’Grady, not Gladys or Jasper, certainly not me. We’re all primitives in this age of electronics. This is no simple dead-Man’s-switch; this is Armageddon, wrapped up in something the size of a match-box. Even a tactical nuclear bomb, precision aimed at this hotel in the center of Las Vegas, would not affect the release of the gas.’

Arthur reached into himself and found the iron in his soul; iron that turned to clean hard steel. His rage died down, his hands unclenched. “I’m here because I have another forty-five minutes,” he said calmly, looking at the clock behind Osama. He started to talk, waiting to see what would come out of his mouth. There were times when he thought he saw a flicker of something in the eyes of the clone. He was enraging it, he knew. Just a little more and it would screech and let go of the dead man switch and be dragged to Hell, if the Demons kept their word. The second hand on the clock swung round, past the old Roman numeral figures.

“How much more of this farce do I have to put up with?” Osama said suddenly.

Arthur looked at the old clock. The second hand swept around steadily. Carved iron hands and large numerals, a sudden jerk and the tip pointed to an ‘I’ and an ‘X’. The other approached an ‘X’ an ‘X’ an ‘I’.
“Three minutes,” he lied, not knowing why, “I have three minutes.”

For the first time, Osama laughed aloud, a great gale of laughter that exploded absurdly from his stern features. “You fool,” he shouted, “you miserable fool. Did the Gypsy tell you that I was a clone?” He made as if to stand. “Soon,” he said, I’ll set my plan in motion, and I’ll kill you all and ascend to heaven.”

“You’re one of four,” Arthur began.

“Never trust a Gypsy or a Devil,” Osama said. “Oh, you can trust your tame Demon. He was given false information just to make things more difficult for you. I can’t believe that you were the only one to bring up the clone thing. There are no clones you stupid infidel.”

“Maybe you were programmed to think that,” Arthur told him, his heart sinking. That was what O’Grady was trying to say as he faded away. ‘He’s not, he’s not – a clone.’

Osama smiled. “Did you really think you could stop me,” he said, “with a feeble effort like that?” He tried to rise again. “You will die,” he screeched.

Arthur sat back. “No, not yet,” he said quietly. “You were fooled by a poor foundry worker.” Osama writhed in his chair. “Now you have to listen to me for another” – he glanced at the clock – “fifteen minutes, unless I’m lying to you again.” He watched the bearded figure. “Maybe I’ve been playing you all along. I used to be a fisherman, but you probably don’t even know how to bait a hook.” The dark features of the Arab were tinged with red. He was straining to move. “You didn’t even raise a sweat over Gladys, or Jason. You’re above temptations of the flesh because you’ve always been able to have whatever you desired.” Arthur got up and looked down at the straining figure. “You’re just like me,” he said, and the man’s mouth fell open. He was making every attempt not to speak, but it was obviously taking all of his willpower. “I know you’re from a family of millionaires, you glory in terrifying the world; it makes you feel like a God.” Arthur paused once more, and sat down. “You’re angry with me because, deep down, you feel like a child amongst adults, just like me. I used to cringe when I met rich people, or people who weren’t rich, but who wore flashy clothes and who could face the bosses without breaking into a sweat. I used to envy my mates when they were able to enjoy their wives and families occasionally. All of that.” He leant forward and looked into Osama’s burning eyes. “What is it that makes you feel tiny and insignificant? Your brothers and cousins, doing just a little bit better than you, not afraid of women like you are, easier in company, not needing to dominate to get attention; how about ordinary people who aren’t afraid of life. It makes you feel good to terrorize ordinary people, doesn’t it?”

Arthur grinned. “Do you want to know how much time you have? I could tell you, but I could be lying. Maybe I’ve made a deal with O’Grady to stop the clock for ever.” Osama was making a great effort to contain his rage. “Why am I here and you over there,” Arthur said. “Well, yes, I didn’t have your money, but I was a right bastard in my own way; to my wife, my kids, my workmates when I could score points. The difference is, I began to allow myself to see what a frightened, awful person I was, and then, I began to be less afraid, less of a bad person. Then, it was too late, and I was murdered – my own fault.”

He stood up again. “I got my second chance, and here I am, a poor peasant, facing a pathetic little man who is so frightened that he can’t move a muscle.” Arthur stared into the other man’s eyes, careful not to glance at the clock on the wall. “We’re all still here, Osama,” he said. “The clock has stopped, and all the ordinary little people are laughing at you, just like they always did.”

Osama screamed. “I will kill you, you infidel,” he yelled. “You fuck… fuck..” he looked at Arthur in hatred and raised the hand with the dead man’s switch. “Die,” he said, and disappeared in a flash.


Chapter 24 – Aftermath
“I figured that if I could get him angry enough, he would drop his guard,” Arthur was telling the other two. “Apparently, he lost his faith in himself, and that was the end.” Gladys and Jasper murmured half-hearted congratulations. “Well,” Arthur said, a little put out, “I suppose it’s time for us to leave.” Immediately, they came to life.

“Leave, no, we still have money,” Gladys said, and Jasper nodded energetic agreement. “I want to get some nice clothes.” Arthur kept shaking his head.

“We risked our lives to save your bacon,” Gladys said heatedly, “the least you could do is let us have some fun.” Arthur looked bemused.. “While you were chatting with Osama, we were risking our lives. We could have been in a fast car, or on a jet, instead of staying to support you,” she continued while Jasper nodded vigorously.

“We could have been gambling,” Jasper said. “Instead, we did all the work for you. You’re the Governor, so we don’t mind you hogging all the credit, but the least you could do is let us have a bit of fun afterwards. Now Gladys was nodding in assent.

Arthur looked at them. They were already self-righteously aware that they had saved Las Vegas, and that they were unselfishly handing him the credit for it. He was a very selfish, demanding man in their eyes. He shrugged. “Just two days,” he said.

After two hours on the Casino floor, the money was gone. Arthur had two fancy American silver dollars left. “Here.” He said, handing them one each. “I’ll go get our bags.” He turned and heard the thrilled scream, and the recorded sound of coins dropping as she hit the jackpot.

They stayed, and after two days, Jasper was awash in women and money, and Gladys had ransacked all the stores, and was still only a little less awash in money. When they finally staggered to the hotel suite, exhausted, Arthur was waiting. “We’re going now,” he said. This time Gladys flew into a rage, and Jasper’s horns began to grow. They told Arthur they were on a roll, on the brink of making a fortune; they were not going back just yet. Arthur threw up his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Stay till all the money has been gambled away: They grinned. “I have two billion pounds worth of gold to dispose of, whatever that is in American money. I’ll manage, you two enjoy yourselves.”

They looked at each other. “We’re not selfish,” Jasper said. “We’ll give you a hand.”

The trip back was quite fast. The jet flew over rain-drenched houses and landed at Elmdon airport. Not long after, they slipped into a familiar rainy street with the black mass of the foundry, stark in the distance. “Back to the old dump, Arthur,” Gladys said.

“Sunday evening,” Arthur said, sniffing the air. “Good, there won’t be anyone at the foundry.”

Fred the watchman was there when they arrived. He was sitting in his little hut, sheltered by mounds of black sand, munching a cardboard sandwich, reading a thirty-year old newspaper. “Arsenal took the cup,” he said shortly, pointing to the sports headlines.

“What happened to that pile of scrap-iron,” Arthur said, pointing to an empty spot between two machines.

“Took it,” Fred told him.

They all started talking and Arthur stopped them. “Who took it,” he asked.

“Some blokes.”

“What blokes took the scrap iron,” Arthur asked patiently.

Fred scratched his head. “I dunno,” he finally said. “Some blokes.”

Arthur quietened them down again. “Why didn’t you stop them,” He asked the watchman.

Fred scratched his head again and fished a scrap of soot from his hair. “S’onny scrap-iron,” he said reasonably.

“OK, Fred, go and do your rounds,” Arthur told him. “It’s not important.” He turned to the other two. “Will you two stop screeching,” he said patiently. “It doesn’t matter who took it, whether they were Demons or Terrorists, or plain citizens of Limbo56.” He walked over to the conveyor belt where a small length of metal lay hidden. “They missed this piece.” He waved the rusty metal at them. “I thought that a fortune in gold would be too much for this place. It’s my Limbo, and I don’t want Demons and Terrorists roaming around fighting about it.”

“Whoever got it will cause plenty of trouble,” Jasper wailed.

“Not this stuff,” Arthur told him. “What do you think I was doing that Sunday when you dragged me off to Las Vegas? This stuff here,” he waved the metal again. “This is an alloy, a mixture. It’s impossible to turn base metals into gold, but it only takes a little iron mixed in to render gold worthless, and once mixed, it can’t be