Mick is on a mission to Hollywood, intent on saving Jim's soul, and any other bits of him that might be useful around the office.
Multi-billionaire oil baron, Mac3, maker of terrible films, discusses pyramids
‘You into ancient monuments, Mac?’ said Mick.
It was diversionary tactic, but almost immediately, Mick realised it was a question he shouldn’t have asked.
‘What’s ancient about the pyramid? From what I remember, they knocked it up in the early 90s. In fact, I went to the opening - fantastic - slot machines and bazoomers as far as the eye could see.’
‘You mean The Pyramid - that hotel in Las Vegas?’
‘Is there another?’
‘Well, there’s three at Giza.’
Mac3 stopped - and frowned, again.
‘Giza? Giza? Now I know you guys in Great - forgive the snicker - Britain don’t speak English properly, but Mac3 is getting confused here.’
‘I only spent a few days in Shithole UK but I picked up some of your lingo. I know a bloke is a guy, right? And a geezer is an even better guy, like, he’s a right diamond geezer. But, I don’t get the pyramid connection.’
‘I’m talking about the pyramids at Giza, near Cairo.’
‘You’ll have to forgive the ignorance of a simple farm boy, guys, but I never been to China. But are you sayin’ China got a pyramid. Shit, they’ll copy anythin’.’
Mick was hanging on like grim death.
‘No, I’m talking about the pyramids in Giza, Cairo, Egypt.’
‘Right, I’m with you, now. I understand. How many slot machines are they running?’
‘None. The pyramids at Giza are massive stone monuments built thousands of years ago.’
Mick breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Hell yeah! Now you mention it, it’s all coming back to me.’
‘That’s that place on some beach with that crap statue of a big dog with a hat on - and those pyramids are in the background. Yeah. I remember - it was in a comic Captain America versus the Pharaohs. But it’s all a bit hazy.’
Hazy or not, Mac3 was unstoppable.
‘See when I was in Glasgow looking for the Yorkshire Dales, some guy was talking about the Faeroes - and I picked up they were some shit-awful islands just off the coast of Glasgow. But he never mentioned pyramids…’
‘Well,’ said Mick, in a dazed but helpful way, ‘it’s difficult to remember what you read in a comic when you were a kid.’
‘No, I read it on the Lear coming over. Finished it just before we landed. You sure that big dog statue isn’t in Scotland…?’
Mick looked across at Euro-Wilf. It was a pathetic cry for help. He’d done his best. Now it was time for someone else to step into the breach.
He had the distinct feeling they were experiencing a new and extremely virulent form of the tomb-raiders’ curse.