‘You mean they made the gingerbread boys that made all those kids sick?’
‘Yeah, and just wait. This is just the chance I needed, to carve out a reputation in the public service, lay down a solid career foundation—’
‘Not to mention saving a lot more kids from—’
‘Sure that too, but from there I could springboard right into some prestigious drug firm, they’re always on the look-out for young crusaders, names that look good on the letter-head — and let’s face it, integrity is all I’ve got to sell.’
Roderick scratched his head. ‘But wouldn’t it be better if you kept finding out about mass poisoners and helped save other—?’
The door banged open and Sheriff Benson came in, dragging the TV set. ‘Hate to think of you boys sitting in here with nothing to do, so I thought I’d come in here and let you watch the shows with me. Anyways that mob out front is making too much racket, I can’t hardly hear the questions.’
They watched The Big Score, Ripoff, Pick a Winner, Two for the Top, Lucky Break, Pile It Up, Family Spree, Play or Pay, Big Bingo, Make or Break, Guess It Rich, Spoil Yourself, Great Expectations, Gold or Fold, Grab Bag and Money Talks, and during the commercial breaks the sheriff described other games.
‘Too bad you boys missed that new one, Double Your Social Security Check. Real good, see, they get these old folks to put their check in this glass box, then they gotta answer three questions. Well see they might be easy ones like name a pro football linebacker with two Z’s in his name, you know? Other times they get trickier, like name five countries in Europe — anyway see, every time the old codger gets a right answer, they put another check in the box, keep on doubling up see? But if they miss one—’ The sheriffs chair creaked with laughter, ‘The damn check burns up in the box, right before their eyes! Boy O boy, there was one old guy — oops, they’re back—’
The TV figure welcomed them back to the next round of Money Talks. ‘Well, Mrs Pearson? Will YOU talk for money? Will YOU step into our special Acorn United Company bank vault, filled with ONE MILLION crisp new dollar bills, and talk for five minutes?’
‘This ain’t no good,’ said the sheriff, touching a button. ‘We’ll try Take the Plunge.’
‘…member, if you push the right button, you’ll be able to Take the Plunge right into our gold-plated swimming pool, filled to the brim with shiny new silver dollars. You could just dive in and keep every dollar you throw up, okay? How’s that sound, eh? Good? Great! Now, that’s if you push the right button. If you push the wrong button, Doris, the pool might be filled with something… we-e-ell… not so nice. MOLASSES, for instance? Ha ha ha, or maybe JELLO? Or how about DIRTY SOCKS? Okay then, here goes…’
Roderick watched the poor woman on the screen, her face slack but smiling. Almost like a dog waiting for a kick, hoping for a pat. She pushed the button and the great gold lame curtains swished open to show a swimming pool filled with—
‘TYRES!’ screamed the MC over audience laughter. ‘Oh my goodness, TYRES! That’s right, Doris, you have just won a plunge into this pool filled with old rubber tyres! Ah ha ha, and you — ha ha — yes you can keep every one you throw up—’
Suddenly the entire brilliant studio, with the purple walls, gold curtains, the MC in his scarlet coat and the contestant’s green face, shrank to a dot and vanished. The plug had been kicked out of its socket by one of the stumbling men, each wearing a pillowcase over his head, coming for the prisoners.
The tall building of rusty corrugated iron was Bangfield’s Grain Elevator, just one of the forgotten buildings at the forgotten end of town. A few cars and pickups had been parked to shine their headlights on the action: a rope being passed over a pulley and tied into a noose.
‘I guess they mean it,’ said Dr De’Ath. ‘I just hope they’ve got enough sense to do this right. They ought to drop us from enough height to fracture the fourth cervical vertebra, a quick snap and we’re finished.’
‘Sure.’ All Roderick could think of was getting out of it, somehow, working some brilliant psychological trick that would make the pillow-heads give up.
‘Listen fellows,’ he said. ‘Our foundering fathers brought—’
‘Shut up, will you?’ said a head with a border of marigolds. Another, in a pillowcase dotted with fleur-de-lis grabbed Dr De’Ath and shoved him towards the noose.
‘Hold on, we’re not ready yet,’ said a pillowcase edged with the Campbell tartan. ‘Keep him back there.’
‘Snap,’ said Dr De’Ath bitterly. ‘Not a chance with these yahoos. They’ll probably give us slow asphyxiation by ligatation, fracturing the hyoid so we end up with our tongues sticking out and messing our pants. Talk about an admission of failure! And loose bowels are one thing I haven’t been troubled with lately, kind of ironic…’
‘I was just wondering if my whole life would flash before me,’ Roderick muttered. ‘I mean my whole life. Because if it did, there’d have to be a moment when I relived the present moment, wouldn’t there? When I started reliving my whole life again? And in that life I’d get to the same moment, and start reliving—’
‘Just shut up, will you?’ said the marigolds. ‘Why make this any tougher than it is? Just relax.’
‘Relax?’ Dr De’Ath chortled. ‘I’ve got a migraine now, on top of everything else, this yahoo wants me to relax.’
‘All set,’ the tartan called out.
Dr De’Ath said, ‘Look Rod, how about you going first? See I’d like to try a little gargle first — oh I know it sounds silly, but I really hate to die without at least trying to clear up this sore throat of mine — okay?’
‘Okay.’ Roderick stepped forward and turned to face the lights. Someone slipped a noose over his head. He saw a pillowcase printed with sea-horses, read the tag on its hem: hand-hot wash, drip-dry, do not spin. Will this be my last memory? No, better to try thinking of something interesting, how about the paradox of the unexpected hanging?
A judge tells a man he’ll be hanged one day next week, but not on any day he’s expecting it. The man reasons that he cannot be hanged on the Saturday, since he’d certainly expect it if he survived the other six days. So the hanging had to happen between Sunday and Friday. But then it couldn’t be Friday, either, by the same reasoning. That left Sunday till Thursday, only in that case Thursday too was out. And so on, until he eliminated every day but Sunday. So he expected to be hanged on Sunday. So he couldn’t be hanged on Sunday. So he couldn’t be hanged at all!
Roderick felt pain in his neck as he was hoisted aloft. Looking down, he could see the whole miserable little crowd of pillow-heads, the parked cars beyond them, and further. There was Ma, lurking in the background and biting his nails. There was the limousine that had been parked up at the factory, now it was stopping in a shadow while the chauffeur got out and — what was he doing — taking pictures.
The pain got sharper, and Roderick thought he heard a rivet shearing in his neck. Better finish:
…couldn’t be hanged at all! So the man thought, being perfectly logical. So he wasn’t expecting it the day they hanged him…
‘Jus’ one more picture, boss?’ said the chauffeur. ‘Cause I know the kids would love to see—’
‘Get back in the car. Now!’ Ben Franklin pushed the snoring weight of Mr Kratt off his shoulder and leaned forward. ‘If you don’t get back behind that wheel right now, I’ll have you fired.’