Mr Landen Has No Brain

‘Sally Dunstable.’

‘And who’s Sally Dunstable?’ she asked.

‘It doesn’t matter who she is.’

‘Whoever she is you don’t know her. You don’t know any young ladies.’

‘I know Miss Go-La-Go-Go,’ he said.

‘Cthulha’s not famous, young nor a lady. And she works for you.’

‘So?’

‘So she doesn’t count.’

‘Then what about my beloved Catherine?’ he asked. ‘Does she work for me?’

‘No.’

‘And are you saying she’s not a lady?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Because if you were–’

‘She’s a Japanese sniper.’

‘I find your attitude wounding. And so would she if she were here.’

‘She is there. And she’d find nothing. Speaking of wounding–’

‘Yes?’

‘Your new restaurant.’

‘I have two; one in town and–’

‘The one facing this building.’ Now sat at her desk, she prised open the Venetian blinds and peered out at it. It stood there in all its purple gory, no sign of a madwoman coming after her.

Her uncle said, ‘Young lady, only three factors matter in business; location, location and location. That restaurant fails on all three counts.’

‘Then why …?’

‘Mr Dunnett assures me its losses will lop substantial amounts off my next tax bill.’

‘Your cook’s just tried to eat me.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘She was about to stick me in the oven.’

‘Were you on her table?’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘If it’s on her table she cooks it. She was most insistent on that at the interview. For five years she was a school dinner lady.’

‘So?’

‘So that’s how they do it in schools. With hundreds of mouths to feed there’s no time for fussing over ingredients. Each year numerous school boys disappear in such a manner.’

Sally pressed the bump at the back of her head and winced at the pain it produced. ‘Uncle Al, she knocked me out to get me on that table.’

‘A woman of initiative.’

‘She wears S+M gear.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What kind of school was this?’

He said, ‘I’m not at liberty to say but it produced half the British Cabinet.’

‘You don’t think you should sack her before she kills someone?’

‘I’m counting on her killing someone.’

‘What!?!’

‘Oh, no one important, just one of your more socially challenged guests; old Mr Johnson perhaps, the one with the pervert dog.’

‘Transsexualism’s not a perversion. It’s–’

‘Dogs didn’t do things like that in my day.’

‘No one did anything in your day.’

‘I did,’ he said.

‘I know you did. My God, you never stop regaling us with the full sordid details. But I was talking about real people.’

‘Regardless, if Barbara kills someone, I won’t have to pay her redundancy when I close the place down the day after my tax year ends.’

‘And you’re saying Charlie Dunnett suggested this?’

‘Well no. He doesn’t know about that part. And I suggest you don’t tell him – or Barbara won’t be the only one seeking a new job.’

‘Uncle Al?’