Jump to new as of December 18, 1999
Part I
I recently saw "The Usual Suspects" and can't get this movie out of my head. So I decided to do a story based on it. But because I have a wacky sense of humor, and because I am an optimist, this is definitely an oddball take on it.
In a DA's office a shivering, babbling, pitiful Charles Bingley is trying to tell his story:
"It all started about six weeks ago. The Dot Police was pulling the heroes in. There was some sort of a raid or other as a result of the best-rival-hero gang war that was going on at the time, and someone hijacked the Dwiggie bus that was full of explosive inside info. So the authors wanted to know which hero did it. Well, so we all got pulled in..."
The flashback begins:
Henry Tilney, lost in the contemplation of the word "neat" was in the same manner jerked out of his reverie, handcuffed, and led to the police car.
His friend and fellow minister Edmund "Fenster" Bertram fought like a tiger, only surrendering to an accurately thrown copy of "Fordyce's Sermons," which he immediately picked up and started reading as he was led away.
John Thorpe was...(what do you mean what is he doing here? They couldn't find anyone else, all the smarter heroes hid. Besides it's MY story!)...was found repairing the front axle of his smart puce-purple curricle. The Dot Police was quite disgusted, but after all they needed five people so they took him.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was having an elegant luncheon at Pemberley Ltd., when a special squad of the proudest of the Dwiggie Force, armed with drool bucket and a squirter walked in. He bid good-bye to Elizabeth Bennet and walked off.
And me? I was small time...not even a hero. Crippled by a perennially sunny disposition and curly hair.
But they really shouldn't have put five characters all together. It wasn't smart of them, just wasn't smart. They tried interrogating them all one by one but it didn't work. Tilney was real cool. A bit crazy though...kept objecting to the officers' English and insisting they use the proper verb forms. Bertram, the wimp, hollered for Fanny...or Mary to protect him (he was kinda confused on this point.) Thorpe. I don't think they could make much of Thorpe, all he talked about was his new curricle and horses. I think by the end of the hour they were glad to give up. Darcy (where did he pick up that snooty air from anyway?) was just being his stoic self. Not even one of the Dwiggies squirting his shirt with water, broke him down.
And so at the end they left us all in the room, to talk things over, and that's when the trouble started...
"You know it gentlemen," enunciated Tilney, correcting his somewhat crumpled cravat. "This is an outrage." Bertram was mumbling something incomprehensibly. Thorpe sat with a vacant look. After all, to be fair, it was the only look he knew. Tilney stopped for a second and then noticed me. He winved, as most people do when they first take in my curls and smile and then continued, shaken but game. "Who's this?" Darcy, good chap that he is, told them. "His name's Bingley. Boneless Bingley."
"Yeah, because I have no opinions of my own. Real name's Charles."
"So anyways, gentlemen," continued Tilney ignoring me as usual. What else is new?
"I think we are duty bound to get beck at these incompetent enforcers...and I have a plan."
At this Darcy seemed to come out of his funk. Or as much as he ever does anyway.
"Go away. I don't want to hear."
The others looked at him in surprise.
"I quit. I am not interested in doing anything with fan stories anymore. I quit and I do not want to go back. Ever."
"I have never thought I would hear Darcy say this!" exclaimed Tilney. "What happened to you? You were bigger, more often written about than any of us...but if the others want to hear, I will tell any way."
So he did...
Later that night, Darcy's girlfriend Liz got him out and the rest of us followed to. She kept insisting that they take pictures of his wet shirt and appeal. The police had no right to do it. Said something about it being only her preroggative to sprinkle him or something...Dunno. Most of the words she used went over my head. More then four sylables in them. She was Darcy's type all right. But this time I think they went over his head too. He kept looking over at Tilney, disturbed-like.
And then we all went home and all went back to normal...but not for long.
Part II
Meanwhile, one of the Dwiggies has been rescued from a burning warehouse, and is wandering in a state of complete nervous break-down. She is in the process of being sedated, but keeps mumbling something with a wild look in her eye. Bending closely, all that the Chief Investigator Ann can hear is a name, repeated over and over: "Emma Tennant."
Back at the DA's office the detective is getting frustrated. "What I want to know," he pounds the desk, "is why did we find 29 dead and deranged characters and Dwiggies, and our Guild warehouse burnt, all for the stories that weren't there!"
Encouraged by this supportive environment, Bingley continues his story.
"Well, they say that perseverance is a virtue, so the next morning I toddled off to Darcy's. Quite a posh place. No wonder he was quitting. Who'd want to earn the pittance they give you for being in a fan story if he could have all that.
We had a definite misunderstanding then. I'd even go as far as to say he wasn't very happy to see me and showed it...did I mention he was a big guy?
Well, after this things settled down. I really wanted to get in on the Tilney's proposition but they wouldn't take me without him. And I even had a plan how to do everything without any killing necessary. Hey, if Thorpe could be a part of their gang, why not me? It's not my fault I was born happy and curly-haired! But still, Boneless wasn't their kind of bird I guess. So it was either Darcy, or no cut for me.
He seemed to deliberate and brood for a bit. Never knew such a fellow for brooding. You'd think he was getting some sort of kick out of it, the way he put his whole heart into the business. But I guess it finally hit him that no matter how much he wanted to settle with that Miss Bennet, the fanfic writers would never leave him alone. So he agreed.
He had some sort of a sentimental urge to go take a look at her before leaving. I told him to leave her a note. It worked once, didn't it? But he liked to do things his way, so off we went to peer through a window, like a pair of Peeping Toms. She was there yakking away with some other broad, and he just stood looking at her. Broodingly of course. Never did see what he saw in her except a pair of fine eyes. But to each his own I guess...sorry, back to the story, I talk too much.
So I finally dragged the lover-boy away and off we went to join Tilney, Bertram and Thorpe.
Part III
So all we did was to wear nylon stockings on our heads. Tilney provided. I wonder sometimes why he gets all this female apparel...all the stockings and muslins and things. So we surrounded the car. Took the money Rushworth was paying and smashed the car. And then Darcy put the finishing touch by calling the Dot Police and informing them of the culprits' whereabouts. They were all busted.
The only problem was we had to get rid of the hot cargo, and the fence that Tilney knew lived in California, so we had to hike all the way there. A bird by the name of Collins he was. He told us of another job. Some seller of P&P tapes, that always kept them in the open and had a brisk trade going. We decided to split: tapes to him, money to us.
Darcy kicked for a bit, but I guess it was too strong for him. It's hard to change a man's nature. Once a fanfic character, always a fanfic character. So off we went..."
"I don't believe you," snarls the detective. "Darcy would NEVER want to quit the fanfic racket. He was at it for years, and you are telling me that a dame would make him change his mind? A likely story! Remember the time that he got accused of ruining Wickham? Well, he dissapeared. And a few days later Wickham conveniently fell off a cliff! And then the charges got cleared (we caught the dope who did the stuff we tried to pin on him), and there he was. Having lunch!...Him change, a likely story!"
Bingley sighes and continues.
"Well, anyhow, we got the Rosings, and there was the old bird, walking towards us with all that wealth in his suitcase. We pinned the bodyguards pretty quickly, but the gent refused to give us his case. Darcy stood there demanding it, but there didn't seem to be much progress. At the rate it was going, he was gonna grow roots there. It was really most inconvenient, all that fuss. I hate fuss! So I shot the chap.*
So we got the suitcase and popped it open, but there were no tapes or money. What was there were manuscripts Pages on pages of Austen-fic manuscripts.
That was quite a nasty jar. I mean a fellow likes to get what a fellow thinks he is going to get, right? Tilney kept muttering what he was going to do to Collins when he caught up with him. I didn't catch the particulars, but it involved fairly unpleasant stuff. I think making him wash his hair and removing his greasy smile, surgically if necessary, were the mildest of it. Bertram was mumbling too. But what in particular nobody could tell. Thorpe? His vacant look in place.
Finally Darcy interrupted Tilney's ravings. I think it was at the point where Tilney got to kicking off Collins' extra fat and dying his clothes any other color than black. (Never saw such a vindictive chap!). Well, Darcy took control. I have to say for a guy who got dragged in, he was doing pretty well. Blood will tell I guess. Especially not your own.
"What we are going to do," he said, "is to confront Collins and shake down his source of information."
So once more, off we went.
Collins wasn't happy to see us. In fact he resorted to low-down tricks. Even threatened to inform the Dot Police about us. Did tell us he was gonna tell his "source" about our disappointment..."
At this point, the detective got called in. Chief Investigator Ann was calling to relate the deranged Dwiggie's mysterious words:
"He says there was some dame called Emma Tennant in the warehouse last night, sawing destruction, ripping apart storylines, driving characters mad. She is the devil herself!...according to the victim anyway. We are trying to get a portrait from verbal description."
The detective storms back in. "Who is Emma Tennant?!" demands he furiously, since he is completely ignorant of the name (lucky fellow).
"Damn!" explodes Bingley. "Damn, damn!"
"Emma Tennant is a myth. Nobody knows if she is real or not. She is the most awful of the sequel writers, and at her name, strong men and women tremble. A while back she was a minor author, but the others felt she was muscling on their territory, so they took some characters hostage. And then she showed them what will was. While they were holding the characters hostage, she killed off Mr. Bennet herself, just to show them what resolution was. And after that she went after other Austen characters, mutilating storylines, not leaving one of them happy and whole. Emma Tennant? Austen characters frighten their children with her name: "If you don't behave, Tennant will put you into her next sequel"...no one knows if she's real."
"Go on!" prods the detective.
"Well, it started with this publisher, Tobetrashy..."
Part IV
"Well, we were all loafing around the hotel room: hideous red wall-paper, looked like a wake, that place did. And why a huge table in the center? Someone must have had some odd sleeping tastes, all I can say.
And then this fellow showed up. One minute we were alone, and the next he was there. Fairly creepy it was. Called himself "Tobetrashy, the publisher." Some publisher. Exquisite good manners and a smooth voice.
So we all stared at him. I suppose that put him aback a bit, since it's rather disconcerting when one starer is as blank faced as Thorpe, and another, like Darcy, spends all his spare time practicing the past time.
"I have an offer for you gentlemen." And I was reminded of Godfather. "You see, I represent Emma Tennant."
There was a dead silence in the room. Darcy looked away and I saw Tilney's hands grip the piece of muslin he'd been sewing, almost tearing it to shreds. Bertram, never very pleasant to look at, was not at all improved by the shock. And even Thorpe's eyes reflected some measure of expression. I felt quite left out, you know!
"So, who IS Emma Tennant?" I asked. No reply, as usual.
"Miss Tennant has some competitors who have been trespassing her market. Her writing revenue might fall off and that would make her very unhappy. So all she wants you to do is to break into the warehouse where the writings are stored. The authors of those iniquitous scribblings will be transferring them to the publisher for $91 million dollars (What do you mean why so much? It's MY world!). Not all of you will pass through unscathed: some of you might even get entangled in other story lines, but destroy the writings and you can divide the money in whichever way you see fit."
The chaps didn't seem any too happy with the idea for some reason.
"Why us?" stammered Bertram. The man could actually enunciate!
"Because you, gentlemen, have in the past meddled with my client, and ruined her storylines. You, Mr. Thorpe, were so inconsiderate as to break the neck of Mr. Willoughby in a racing match, just when Ms. Tennant determined to put him into her new sequel as a post-operative transsexual with a fetish for red paint and Colonel Brandon's uniform. You, Mr. Tilney, coerced your sister Eleanor, to refuse an invitation to become the next gun-slinger of Bath in Ms. Tennant's brilliant Murder at the Abbey: or Elinor Tilney strikes back. Mr. Bertram....well, you were too dull to be put in a sequel. Not your fault, it's genetical I know, but it still caused my client a great deal of inconvenience. And Mr. Darcy. I know who was behind those anonymous reviews of Unequal Marriage , when my client decided to try it out under a different pen-name. Mr. Bingley....sir, you objected to having four children within a year of marriage, citing obsolete biological laws, causing my client a great inconvenience."
He paused and I looked apologetically around. Dash it, not my fault it takes nine months to have a baby. I mean it's rather hard on a chap, who was only standing up for natural laws and all that, to be told he trespassed a crime lord, or what is worse, a sequel novelist.
"Of course, you did not know who you were causing this great inconvenience to, otherwise you would not have been permitted to live, but Miss Tennant feels that you owe her."
With a bow, he gave Darcy a suitcase. "A present from my employer." And slithered out. Deuced unnerving, I say.
Part V
Well, I am not going to tell a 'tec what was in mine. Bertram's? All I can say is I never knew the guy had it in him! Thorpe's had something about him doping a horse, and on getting hold of the data, the fellow looked like he swallowed some of that dope himself...the wrong way. I didn't get a look at Tilney's but by his muttering about nosies and busybodies, it couldn't have been anything pleasant either. Darcy had a deuced unhappy look on his face, but all I saw of his were a couple of photos of him with that girlfriend of his. Looked like nice 8x10 glossies that any fellow would have been proud to hang on his wall, but there's no pleasing some chaps, I guess.
Well, Bertram was the first to crack. The next night he split, taking some of the money and his copy of Fordyce's sermons with him, and Tilney kept raving about what he was going to do with those sermons when he found him. But then we got a call from Tobetrashy who told us where to find Ed.
There he was, on the beach, with his eyes wide open, drooling from the mouth and muttering brokenly, hideous things. Something about those two broads of his, Fanny and Mary, and kissing or something. This guy really should make up his mind, not that there's much to make. So, Darcy paid for the cab, and we sent him to deBellevue to recuperate.
We couldn't get the hideous spectacle out of out mind. Darcy decided that there was no Emma Tennant. To him, the chief person was this Tobetrashy. To a hero everything is so simple. So off we to the Tobetrashy's publishing joint. We were gonna teach him!
Well, we got him in the elevator, and dragged him to the 17th floor. The chap still looked smug and unruffled.
"If you do not tell me the identity of your employer," growled Darcy in a menacing tone, "we are going to tickle you to death!"
But the bounder was still unshaken.
"Nothing you can do to me would be as bad as what my employer would do if she found I betrayed her. She has the power of locking me up forever, with the audiotapes of her works broadcasted to me for eternity, and you think your paltry threat is going to make me blink?...by the way, Mr. Darcy, I have to agree with your choice of women. Miss Bennet is certainly delightful."
Well, there's no accounting for tastes I suppose, but I wish he wouldn't switch topics so abruptly. It's confusing for a chap!
"If you would follow me," continued the bloke, while Darcy was staring at him, studying him as if his face was some beautiful work of art which it wasn't.
So we went down a few stories, and there was the Bennet dame, deeply in conference it looked like.
"You see, I appreciate her talents as well, so we hired her. And shall I inform you, Mr. Darcy, that if anything unpleasant were to befall me, Miss Bennet would be put into Miss Tennant's next sequel. As the heroine." Darcy shuddered, and gave another of his pantented tortured looks. "Exactly so."
"Mr Bingley could be locked up with Caroline for a considerable time, you know. And Mr. Tilney, you wouldn't want my employer to reveal what you really do with all those muslins?" Tilney wilted. "As to Mr. Thorpe..." he looked at Thorpe and then decided to ignore him. After all, everybody else did.
"Good day, gentlemen," enunciated Tobitrashy to our stupefied faces and withdrew.
Part VI
The unfortunate Dwiggie (remember her?) is mumbling something about buying people not stories and Chief Inspector Ann is getting frustrated.
Back in the DA's office, Bingley, visibly exhausted and shaken by his hideous ordeal is continuing the story.
"Well, after Tobitrashy's little exhibition of friendly arm-twisting, we had no choice but to get into that warehouse and destroy the stories of Tennant's competitors. Rather a pity that, because they were bound to be better that anything the lady wrote herself, but not like we had a choice...to be stuck in the same room as my sister Caroline, for all eternity...that type of threat is too much for a chap to take! A fellow would take a quick death, trapped by cross-storylines anyday!" He pauses and absent-mindedly rubs his nose with an odd, moon-shaped scar. Looks like a tatoo that miscarried.
"Well, Darcy had a plan that just might have gotten us out alive. We decided to wait until the buyers arrive and then spring. So the chaps all went to their positions, Tilney, with his hair-net, Thorpe with his vacant look and a paper-clipper and so it was me and Darcy. So he told me to stay where I was. "That curly hair is going to cripple you in combat," he said. "No enemy is going to take you seriously." Ok. "Or us seriously in your company," he mumbled under his breath (I heard this, Darcy!). I want you to stay behind, and if I get lost in the maze, or stuck in time-travel, or have to get entangled with an adventuress...you never know in these story warehouses, go back and take care of Liz. If I don't get Tobitrashy my way, she will get him hers...she knows a fellow who does the book reviews for the Times..." and then he was gone...with a long piercing look of course.
Tilney was at his position, hair-net at the ready, Thorpe was ready too. The power of his Vacant look drilled a hole in the wall, and he, Darcy and Tilney rushed in, Tilney swirling his hair-net over his head and yelling like a maniac. Sometimes I wish there was an easier way to earn my living...
I crept over to watch, there were a few people on guard but the heroes disposed of them quickly, Tilney catching some with his hair net. Thorpe shot his paperclips with unerring accuracy, and Darcy breached central security using his deadliest weapon...the dripping shirt. The women fainted and he was able to pass
Everything was going according to plan, when a sinister shadow appeared...wearing high heels and a long dress, with a fiendish laugh she proceeded to hunt down helpless characters and Dwiggies trapped in the building and twist their storylines, and mutilate their facts, until the collapsed from the loss of blood.
Thorpe staggered out, his face a picture of shock: "she...she...I am supposed to be an teetotalling Australian Reformer now...who grows cacti in his back-yard, married to Mary Bennett." He fell on the floor and lay there without moving.
Tilney and Darcy came running to help him, but there was plainly something wrong with Tilney. He was shaking with rage...or fear. She tells me she is going to...to...to...to...dress me in black leather and chromium ( there Mags )...I want my muslins back!
Darcy was bending over Tilney, who now joined Thorpe on the floor, when a sinister figure appeared, armed with a correction pencil and wipe-out. I hid deeper and closed my eyes. When I opened them, there were three bodies on the floor."