John 2: The Return of John

John 2 – The return Of John


John sipped his martini with his feet up on the mahogany desk in front of him, the whole office stank of luxury, from his dodo-skin socks to his silver trilby and even extended to his fibre-glass pen set with which he used to write his journals in leather-bound tomes. He had no idea how he had come to live in the mid 1930's, in fact, he had about as much idea of this as of how he seemed to have opened up his own private detective agency in a rented treehouse, he paid Marty with a bag of liquorice allsorts and two chocolate biscuits and he had the treehouse pretty much to himself, to be honest it could sometimes be a bit of a squeeze with his 15 foot Mahogany desk and filing cabinets, swivel chair and ceremonial suit of armour set up, but John liked to think of it as cosy. Suddenly and without warning, John's clothes were set alight and he fell from the treehouse 25 feet down straight through a greenhouse onto an elderly man (Mr. Pemberton the friendly gardener) and still burning brighter than a successful japanese businessman's private firework display he ran across the road and into the church where he splashed himself to safety from the font. John gasped and looked up to see a full congregation staring at him, John got confused and took the altar-boy hostage and hi-jacked a car, as he drove off through a hazy autumnal Chicago evening, he realised that there was no church, it was instead a biblical mural he had painted on his hands some time ago, and wasn't in the car making good his escape after all, but was in fact lying in bed with his alarm beeping warning him that his shift was about to start at the Cheese factory.
When John turned up for his shift, he waved a good morning to his foreman who looked at John quzzically, John panicked and reached for his gun,thinking maybe he was late or some such, but this was not the case as was explained to him by a perturbed Mr. Donfeld, who was surprised not only at Johns capacity to come to work at a job at which he was fired more than 30 years ago but also at his ability to come back from the dead, ' In fact' said Mr. Donfeld, 'I believe I read in the local paper that you somehow travelled back in time and opened up a Private detective agency in the Mid 1930's where you were wildly successful in the field of missing persons and objects until you burst into flames and in the ensuing confusion took an altar boy hostage and drove off into the Chicago nightand was never seen agin. Or am I incorrect?'
John got confused and shot the man, he then jumped onto his trusty horse and rode into the time-field that had metamorphasised behind him ever so conviently and waved his cavalry sabre in salute to his dark god as he was whisked down the time line back to the mid 1930's.

John woke up suddenly as the little bell above his door rang, an attractive yet elderly woman took a seat opposite him and immediately started crying,John swept up his little army men scattered across his desk as he felt that this possibly wasn't the time to re-enact the battle of Trafalgar.
'How may I be of service madam?' he asked as he perused his book of favourite words with his half-moon reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
'Oh its Hubert,my husband, he has been brutally slain!'
John leaned across the desk inquisitively,'Not on the port bow of a ship perchance?'  he asked as he was rapidly approaching the word 'avocado' in his little book of favourite words.
'No no, he was shot in our living room in a most strange manner. He somehow drugged me with an untraceable drug, made me shoot him in the face with a gun registered recently in my name and with only my fingerprints on it, then came back to life, posessed me,and made me stuff him into a carrier bag and drive his body into the river.'
'I see' said John as he lit his pipe.' I believe I already have this case solved, I think Dr. Felchschaft wanted to money to feed his gambling habit, I have him down the turkey-punching track a lot recently, (he took a deep drag on his copper pipe) but he was thwarted at the last minute of the exeution of his well-laid out plans by Mr. Chartenham who had until now, been disguised as a bowl of onions atop his fridge, he ate the evidence and ran off, but don't worry Mrs. Bainbridge, for I, John Huzzlegun caught him as he boarded his plane.Here he is!'
John reached under his desk and produced a gun which he pointed directly at the elderly woman who was frowning at John intently,
'Who is Dr. Felchshaft? We don't have any onions on our fridge.'
'haha! you crazy bitch shouted John as he burst out of his cupboard brandishing the gun, you thought I would fall for that old chestnut, didn't you! You'll have to get up pretty darn early in the morning to outsmart me! Because I don't sleep very well.'
'I think its time for me to leave' said the elderly lady as she stood up and took a few juddering steps into the shark-pit John had built under his tree-house, moments ago, as the elderly lady was telling her story,or as John would later refer to it later in court, 'lies.'
The sharks ripping her to pieces combined with the 9 shots John had fired into her back ensured a  quick death. John cleaned the gun and hid it in his other hand as several armed policeman climbed the rope ladder to his treehouse. John put on his helmet and flew away from the treehouse in his hang-glider firing shots wildly behind him so as to slow down his pursuers, after three weeks of hang-gliding round northern Europe John felt it would be safe to return to his tree-house. He landed safely and re-opened his business.
He was shopping for expensive italian biscuits when it happened, there was a flash of light, and suddenly without warning John was nude, he quickly ran home and opened his book on the occult,'This has to stop' he said aloud, Upon scanning through a few passages of the book, John came to the conclusion that he couldn't read and so would need some sort of puppet to read the text to him, he went to the bakery and purchased several gingerbread men which he then used to re-enact his favourite movies, as he as watching his gingerbread pantomime he fell off his throne and into a time vortex.

When he came to he was being tended to by an elderly shaman, 'you have been wounded by a bear and your lacerations have become infected, you will die unless I give you this antidote (he waved a vial around in front of John)
'Aha!' screamed John as he wove a quilt on his loom, 'your perfectly executed plans have come to nothing shaman, for the whole shenanigan was a fake, there was no bear, and I have no wounds!' John passed out due to his wounds.

When he awoke he was lying on his desk in the treehouse, holding a spear whittled from a yew tree. Casting the spear aside he rose and looked through his indow, Strange, he thought that birddoesn't seem to be flying, or the smoke from that bakery chimney bollowing as nature intended, after several seconds of confusion John came to the conclusion that time had stopped, sadly upon sloser inspection it turned out John was looking at a painting he had drawn on his wall.
'Curses!' exclaimed John as he started the car, my life is falling to pieces around me! It was then that John realised he wasn't in his car, but was in fact sitting in his most lethal adversary...a canoe. He screamed and struggled but his nemisis kept his wooden silence, by now John had floated into the centre of the lake and couldn't swim, he flailed his arms so wildly that he actually took off and levitated for a few seconds away from the canoe, 'haha!' he laughed as he flapped away, sadly, John got extremely tired very quickly due to his low level of physical fitness and landed in another canoe on the lake, he felt a fever rising and blacked out.

He awoke groggily in a tent, a young woman leaned over him, we found you in a coma washed up on shore, we assumed you were ship-wrecked, you seem weak so I have made you something that will help you, she handed him some brown powder which she made him mix into a glass of salty water.
John gulped the mixture down 'what is in it exactly?'
'powdered canoe' she replied.
John had a massive aneurysm and exploded.

John woke up to the dying embers of his fire, the scar on his face itched angrily in the driving winds, he saddled his horse, checked his guns were loaded and set off at a gallop towards the distant mountains, somehow soon, he knew he could settle down and find peace, but until then he would continue to fight crime in his own inimitable way, with a martini in one had and a gun in the other, shooting everyone he meets....This is the John Huzzlegun story.

The End