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Brentford Chainstore Massacre
Book 5 of the now legendary Brentford Trilogy
Robert Rankin



SHAGGY DOG STORY
What a wonderful lurcher you have there, Mrs Bryant, I haven't seen as fine a one since long before the war. Can
you make it roll about, play dead, or beg a biscuit? Nod its head or shake your hand by sticking out its paw?

'Actually,' said the lovely Mrs Bryant, whose dresses tended to terminate a mere six inches below her
waist, 'it's a Dane, not a lurcher.'
'Come off it,' I said. 'That's a lurcher. My dad used to keep them back in the nineteen fifties.'
'It's a Dane,' said Mrs Bryant. 'A Dane, that's what it is.'
I shook my head and hailed a passer-by. 'Is this dog a lurcher or a Dane?' I asked him.
The passer-by stroked his bearded chin. 'Looks more like an Irish wolfhound to me,' he said. 'This
woman is wearing a very short dress,' he continued.
I dismissed the hirsute passer-by and addressed the dog directly. 'Are you Dane or lurcher?' I asked it.
'Dane,' said one of the dog's heads.
'Lurcher,' said the other.
GHOST STORY
The gambler was old and frail. The shoulders of his tired tuxedo hung like wounded wings, the cuffs were
frayed and lacked their gilded buttons. Once he had worn a silk cravat, secured by a diamond pin, but now
about his neck hung an old school tie.
With a trembling hand he laid his final chip upon the gaming board. Twelve black,' he said. 'It's all or
nothing.'
The croupier called out something which sounded like 'Noo-rem-va-ma-ploo', and spun the roulette
wheel. The silver ball danced round and round and finally came to rest.
'Thirteen red,' said the croupier.
'Ruination,' said the gambler.
With dragging feet he left the casino, stepped onto the terrace, drew his ancient service revolver from his
pocket, put it to his temple and took 'the gentleman's way out'.

The casino too now lies in ruins. Fifty years have passed. But they do say that should you dare to visit here
upon this very night, upon the anniversary of
11
the tragedy, you can watch the whole sad scene re-enacted by its ghostly players.

The three ghost-hunters watched the needles on their sensitive equipment dip and flutter. Professor
Rawl made torch-lit notes on his clipboard, then studied the faces of his two companions, lit eerily by
the moonlight. 'Did anybody see anything?' he asked.
Indigo Tombs shook his head. 'Not a thing,' he
whispered. 'But I thought I heard-'
What did you hear?'
'A whirling sound.'
'A roulette wheel,' said Dr Norman. 'I heard it too.'
'And then-'
'A gunshot,' said Professor Rawl. We all heard that, I'm sure.'
We did,' the two agreed.
Professor Rawl tucked his pen into his pocket. 'The readings are inconclusive. We may have heard