Serious People (28 page)

“There are a few different stories about what happened that night, but the one thing for sure is that those boys saw their poor mum chopped up right in front of their eyes,” Si said shaking his head.

“Shit,” Leroy replied.

Si nodded, seemingly pained by the story. “The story I heard was that the boys were covered in blood when the old bill got in there. And that Janey had been stabbed so many times, there was barely anything left.”

“Those kids must be real fucked up,” Leroy replied.

“Yes they are. This brings me back to the point of my story,” Si said. “The youngest one hasn’t said a word since that day and is a particularly disturbed boy. One of the other ones has a string of offences, all of which point to him being a proper little psycho also.”

Leroy shook his head with some sympathy for the boys. “That’s proper shit man but what has this to do with why am here.”

“Well, firstly, I heard they were doing some work for Charlie?” Si asked.

Leroy had no idea, but he also wasn’t here to add to any rumours or update Si on what was happening with Charlie’s firm. So he was certainly not going to be answering any questions as some kind of payment for the information he was after.

“If you say so.”

Si looked disappointed by this but continued. “The Blake boys were down here the other night, having a real celebration; champagne, their own party of girls, they must have spent a few grand at least.”

“Must have done your coffers good Si,” Leroy commented. “Where do dumb nobodies get dollars like that?”

“Well here’s the point,” Si replied. “Now bear in mind they were drunk off their faces…”

“Yeah,” Leroy said, beckoning Si to go on.

Si looked unsure about how to continue at first, then took a breath. “They said that they’d killed Robert Payne.”

Leroy’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“That they’d killed Robert Payne,” Si repeated.

“Did you not think to tell Charlie this?” Leroy asked.

“Leroy come on! These boys are nobodies—you said it yourself. I hear things like this every other day. The only reason I’ve repeated it to you, is because you’ve asked so insistently,” Si replied.

Leroy stopped to think for a moment. He couldn’t see how this could be true; Robert Payne was clever and these Blakes were nobodies.

“Where would I find these clowns?” Leroy asked.

“Their mum’s old whore house. Janey’s sister turned it back into a bar soon after the stabbing. I think that’s where they all live now,” Si said.

“Think I might pop down there for a drink,” Leroy said thoughtfully.

He was about to get up, when an attractive looking woman, in a negligee opened the door of the private booth. The woman was not Leroy’s type; she seemed overly skinny, but still had enough curves in the right places that would ensure she got a second glance.

“I heard a rumour Leroy Elkins was here?” the woman asked.

“You found him baby” Leroy smiled.

He was always a sucker for his ego, and he loved it when chicks like this one knew who he was.

“Do you want a private dance?” the stripper enquired.

Si got up and went to walk away. “This one’s on the house.”

Leroy smiled. “Well it would be rude to turn down a beautiful ooman’s request.”

A shiver went down John’s spine as he walked through the front door of his family’s bar; he hoped and believed that this would be the last time he entered it. There was a part of him that wanted to share the good news about Emma and the baby with his family, but he knew that was an absurd idea. He needed there to be a clean break—with no emotion attached.

The plan was simple. He would spend the day with his family and then walk out of the door, just as he always did. But he would never go back. The only person he truly wanted to inform in any case about his good news was his Uncle Roy. He really hoped he got the opportunity to tell his uncle; he wished more than anything his Uncle Roy could know. The man had been like a father to him since the day he had first walked into the bar, and he more than anyone would take joy in hearing John’s news.

He looked around the bar, consciously trying to take in every nook and cranny that he had grown up with. He knew today's memories would be the last ones he would rely on if he ever wanted to look back on his days at the bar.

Nick had his usual place at the corner of the bar watching TV. His face still wore the scars from the previous night, but he seemed oblivious of any pain they gave him and sat transfixed by the TV. The television being his youngest brother's only real love.

Nick would be glued to anything the box of pictures would produce, from a mundane wildlife programme to daytime TV chat shows. John could remember his Aunt Mary telling him when he was younger, the TV would be good for Nick, that it would bring him out of his shell. Nick would relearn the power of conversation through it. But the opposite happened—television seemed to remove Nick even further from humanity.

John had tried to change this situation years ago, by hiding the remote control and keeping the screen tuned to the highest brow programmes, in the hope they might either educate his younger brother or stop him watching. Nick spent a solid period of months, in the early nineties, watching only BBC Two and Channel Four, though this did not provide any miracle cure to his speech problems or stop his interest in the TV. Eventually John gave up and let Nick control his own viewing again. 

John sat down at the bar, unacknowledged by his youngest brother. He didn’t take any offence to this though; it was Nick’s normal practice. Billy was on the phone behind the bar. John guessed his Aunt Mary was probably upstairs in the flat, delivering orders for the day to his poor uncle. 

John watched his brother Billy on the phone; he seemed focussed, almost business like. He must be talking to one of the breweries that supplied their beer. John recalled they often phoned on a Thursday and, in recent months, Billy had started to take these calls, beginning to show an appetite for managing the bar. Perhaps this was the start of a new life for his brother? John wondered if the beating he had taken last night had finally shown him the dangers of a life in crime.

John looked at the wounds on Billy’s face—there was heavy swelling around his left eye and cheekbone. John was both surprised and pleased that his brother was not confined to bed; the wounds he’d endured last night could have been judged more than enough to warrant an overnight stay in hospital. Miraculously though, there seemed to have been a far greater amount of healing overnight than anyone would have dared to hope for.

Billy nodded a greeting to John as he put down the phone. “Well, that was an interesting development.”

Max Fame looked down at his desk. It was hopeless, he thought. It was the day before O’Neil’s party, he had no chance of getting Ronny Wild back into the band. The guy was at best an egotistical maniac and, as soon as he saw he was needed, Fame knew that he would be quick to settle the score of being dumped from the agent’s books. There was no doubt he would recognise any offer to re-join his old band as an opportunity to throw it back in Fame’s face.

Why did Wild have to be
the lead singer
? Fame could have surely replaced any of the other members flawlessly. No one would have ever been noticed but the singer; there was no chance. He seemed destined to insult Charlie’s O’Neil’s wife with the presence of only half a band at her birthday party.

Wait, I could leave the country for a while? Or the whole situation might blow over if Mrs O’Neil did not notice that Mohican was singing? Yes, it must have been years since last she’d seen the band; would she really recognise a change of singer?

The intercom on Fame’s desk beeped into life. “Mr. Fame, there is someone here to see you.” 

Fame sighed; there were very few people that
he
wanted to see right at this moment. “Who?”

“I’m sorry sir, its Ronny Wild. I’ve told him that your diary’s full and you wouldn’t want to see him.”

Fame almost couldn’t speak. Ronny Wild was here; if the lead singer had actually come to see him himself then Fame perhaps could still turn this situation around. “Send him in please.”

Wild walked into the room, with a strange waddle about him; it seemed to be due to the suit he was wearing. The suit was far too small for him—he was barely able to walk. Oh my goodness, Fame thought. The man’s lost his mind.

“Maxie hi! Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Wild grinned. “Remember this suit?”

Fame shrugged, not sure what he should reply.

“You bought it for me, for that big charity do about ten years ago. You said it made me look a bit Rod Stewartish, an old crooner who wasn’t afraid of his age, but was also full of musical credibility. And here it is again—still fits like a dream!”

Fame was thinking it looked more like a nightmare but didn’t say a thing. He had to be on his best behaviour; he needed Wild but his best tactic was not to show it.

“Ronny,” Fame said, standing up and offering the seat in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.”

Wild nodded. “Thank you, don’t mind if I do.”

A sharp splitting sound followed as Wild sat down. Wild didn’t seem to notice this, but Fame assumed the sound must have been the rock star’s arse going through his trousers. And any sympathy he may have felt when he first saw the aging rock star walk into his office was now gone. The splitting trousers were a sign; a sign that all that had sat in front of him was a fragile minded simpleton whom he would be able to talk into anything.

“Max seriously, thanks for seeing me,” Wild said, humbly.

Fame pulled out his laptop from a draw in his desk. “Sorry Ronny I don’t really have that much time,” he said, starting to press a few keys on the keyboards. “You don’t mind if I do a bit of work while we talk?”

Fame noticed Wild swallow, trying to contain any reaction to his former manager’s rudeness. Fame was in control; all systems had returned to normal.

“Of course,” Wild replied.

“Firstly, I’m here to apologise for my behaviour the other day,” Wild continued.

Fame quickly looked up as the word apology was spoken. The lead singer sounded surprisingly sincere, but Fame was disappointed to see his shifty eyes, which were busy scanning the room. Wild was clearly uncomfortable with apologising.

“It was outrageous behaviour,” Wild continued. “I knew you would be offended by my behaviour, and I was wondering how to repay you…”

“Money?” Fame offered.

“Money… What?” Wild replied, sickened by the suggestion. “Ah—you were joking—Maxie, quick witted as ever.”

Fame replied with a yawn and a bored smile.

“Sorry you’re right, Maxie. You're a busy man, and I’m taking up your time. I must get to the point,” Wild said, showing concern that he may be out staying his welcome.

Fame watched the old rock star desperately trying to get back into his grace. It was pathetic. Fame hated people showing their weakness and, at least up to now, despite his shrinking popularity, Fame had always liked Wild for his unrelenting self-confidence and blatant disregard for what people thought of him.

Now the man was obviously broken; so it was time for Fame to go to work on him and twist him to his way of thinking. “Ronny, let me stop you there. There was something I did want to speak to you about…”

“Maxie!” Wild shouted, throwing up his hands, in the way a man might do if he was trying to prevent a bus from running him over. “Mr. Fame, please, I want to reform Wild n’ Weird!”

Fame almost fell off his chair. If it had not been for the years he had spent developing a poker face, he would have been picking himself off the floor before Wild had even finished the sentence. Had Ronny Wild really just put forward the very idea of reforming the very band that Fame had been trying to work out how to convince him to re-join?

“Excuse me?”

“I know it may sound crazy Maxie, I mean Mr. Fame,” Wild said, struggling to say seated while madly gesticulating with every word. “The band hasn’t been together for a long time; but just think about it for a moment. Fans go crazy for reunited bands.”

The sensible part of Fame’s brain knew he should at this stage just play along with Wild, make him think it was his idea to reform the band and sign him up. His job for Charlie O’Neil would then be complete. But the egotistical side of his brain was now getting in the way and was refusing to let this opportunity to rub Wild’s face in it go amiss.

“I don’t know Ronny, it’s been a long time. You had something back there in the nineties, of that there can be no doubt, but now all this time afterwards. I just don’t know?”

Ronny’s face looked pained.

“But Mr. Fame, think about the money,” Wild said, his voice sounding desperate and his hands now flopped by his sides.

“I am Ronny, I am,” Fame said, smiling inside. “The money to re-launch, the favours I’d have to call in, the pounds I’d have to lay out.”

“But I... I mean we could be massive again,” Wild said, in almost a whisper.

“And then there’s all the baggage,” Fame said, using his best poker face to display a look of disfavour with the idea. “I can see a couple of issues there; starting with your old band mates? And I’m not sure you’d be big enough to help heal those wounds?”

“I’d be big enough,” Wild nodded looking more desperate by the moment.

“And especially with Weird; I mean that man hated you at the end, when you walked away…” Fame continued, leading Wild down the path he wanted him to walk.

“I can apologise!” Wild blurted out, sensing a glimmer of hope.

“I think if we did do this, and it’s fair to say, there’s serious bad blood at the moment, the first thing you should say to him is…” Fame paused for a moment. “You should say that you behaved like a wanker.”

Wild looked stunned by the suggestion and froze momentarily, but then slowly nodded an agreement.

Fame wanted to add one more strike on the broken rock star before ending his assault. “It would be a big risk Ronny, both for my reputation and my bloody money. And I’ve got to be honest; I’m not sure if you’re worth the risk, with or without your old band.”

Wild nodded, looking even more broken.

“And as a businessman, I would have to try and offset this risk with something…” Fame said, looking to the ceiling as if lost in thought, quickly shooting a glance at Wild to see if he was going to bite the bait he’d laid out.

“What if I didn’t take any cash for the first few shows,” Wild said, hopelessly taking the bait. “I could help you balance the cost out a bit.”

“Well I don’t know,” Fame replied, still looking lost in thought. “It would have to be for the first six to twelve months to make me start to think about.”

“Let’s do it!” Wild said jumping up. “I’ll do it.”

Fame looked back at Wild, like a spider would at a fly that had had just been caught in its web, wanting to savour the victory for a moment before consuming its prey.

“Ok, Ok,” Fame finally agreed, trying to look beaten down by Wild’s persistence. “Why don’t you take a seat outside, whilst I make a few phone calls—but no promises. There’s a slight chance I could get you a gig tomorrow, but you’d have to be ready for practising first thing. So it’s a big ask.”

Wild almost skipped out the room, turning back to Fame before walking out. “Thank you so much for this chance Mr. Fame, I’ll be there!”

Fame watched the aging rock star walk out his office, closing the door behind him and then at last allowed a big smile to appear on his face. He placed his feet on the desk and leant back on his comfortable leather chair. Thursday had looked like it was going to be a terrible day at lunchtime, with the incident with those awful youths, the gun and having to be protected by that horrible Dunne man. Then finally he thought it would all be topped off by having to track down Ronny Wild and eat humble pie, by begging him to re-join his old band.

He allowed his smile to turn into something more akin to an evil grin and he took his secret bottle of gin out of the locked drawer at the bottom of his desk.

Sometimes I love being me, Fame thought, as he poured himself a celebratory drink.