Everyone looks at everyone else.
‘What the hell was that about?’ asks Kenny.
Dean edits and stores Archie’s threat: I’m gonna rip-rip-rip your heart out, just like you ripped mine.
Levon Frankland appears. ‘Jeez, did you see that?’
‘Couldn’t miss it. Levon, this is Kenny, a friend from art college. We were in a band together in an earlier life.’
‘A pleasure, Kenny. Levon Frankland. I hope you both dodged Hurricanes Kinnock and Ratner just now.’
‘Yeah,’ says Kenny, ‘by a few inches. What was that about?’
Frankland performs an exaggerated shrug. ‘All I know is gossip, rumour and hearsay, and who listens to that?’
‘Gossip, rumour and hearsay about what?’ insists Dean.
‘Larry Ratner, Archie Kinnock’s wife, a torrid affair and financial irregularities.’
Dean decodes this. ‘Larry was doing Archie Kinnock’s wife?’
‘An ounce of perception, a pound of obscure.’
‘And Archie Kinnock just found this out?’ asks Kenny. ‘Just now? Halfway through a gig?’
Levon looks thoughtful and sombre. ‘It might explain his homicidal rage, I suppose. What do you think?’
Before Dean can analyse the implications further, Oscar Morton – the Brylcreemed, owl-eyed manager of the 2i’s club – steams by, heading to the sunken bunker.
‘Would you mind keeping an eye on Dean’s rucksack for a moment, Kenny?’ asks Levon. ‘Dean and I may be needed.’
‘Uh … sure.’ Kenny looks as confused as Dean. The manager steers Dean by the elbow in the wake of Oscar Morton.
‘Where’re we going?’ asks Dean.
‘I hear knocking. Don’t you?’
‘Knocking? What’s knocking?’
‘Opportunity.’
The sunken bunker smells of drains. Oscar Morton is interrogating the two remaining members of Blues Cadillac and doesn’t notice Dean and Frankland slip in through the door. Jasper de Zoet is in a low-slung chair with his Stratocaster on his lap. Griff the drummer is pissed off. ‘Off the nearest cliff, I hope. I turned down two weeks at Blackpool Winter Gardens for this fookin’ bollocks.’
The 2i’s manager tries Jasper de Zoet. ‘Will they be back?’
‘I couldn’t say.’ De Zoet sounds posh and indifferent,
‘But what happened?’ asks Morton.
‘The phone went.’ Griff nodded at the black telephone on the table. ‘Kinnock picked up. He just listened, frowning, for about a minute. His face turned to blue fookin’ murder. He looked at Ratner. I thought, Eh up, something’s not right, but Ratner didn’t notice. He was restringing his bass. When whoever was calling finished, Kinnock hung up without saying a word and looked at Ratner who finally noticed and told Kinnock he looked like he’d shat his pants. Kinnock asked Ratner, dead quiet, “Are you shagging Joy? And have you bought a flat together with the band’s money?”’
‘Who’s Joy?’ asks Oscar Morton. ‘Archie’s girlfriend?’
‘Mrs Joy Kinnock,’ answers Griff. ‘Archie’s wife.’
‘Oh great,’ says Morton. ‘So what did Larry say?’
‘Nothing,’ replies Griff. ‘So Kinnock said, “It’s true, then.” And Ratner came out with a load of garble about how they were waiting for the right time to tell him, and that the flat was an investment for the band, and how you can’t choose who you fall in love with. Once he said the L-word, Kinnock turned full-on Incredible Hulk and … you saw him out there, right? If Ratner hadn’t been sitting closest to the door and got away, he’d probably be dead.’
Oscar Morton massages his temples. ‘Who called?’
‘Not a clue,’ says Griff.
‘Can you two play the second set?’
‘Don’t be fookin’ daft,’ replies the drummer.
‘Electric blues with no bass?’ Jasper makes a dubious face. ‘It would sound one-dimensional. And who’d play harp?’
‘Blind Willie Johnson just had a battered acoustic,’ says Oscar Morton. ‘No amps, no drums, no nothing.’
‘If you want me gone,’ says the drummer, ‘just pay up.’
‘I agreed to pay Archie for ninety minutes,’ says Oscar Morton. ‘You’ve done thirty. Until I get ninety, I owe you sod-all.’
‘Gentlemen.’ Levon speaks up. ‘I have a proposal.’
Oscar Morton turns around. ‘Who are you?’
‘Levon Frankland, Moonwhale Music. This is my client, the bassist Dean Moss, and we may just be your way out.’
I am? thinks Dean. We are?
‘The way out of what?’ asks Morton.
‘Of your dilemma,’ says Levon. ‘Outside are a hundred punters who’ll soon start screaming for refunds. Refunds, Mr Morton. Rents are up. Christmas bills are due. A hundred refunds is the last thing you need. But if you refuse …’ Levon winces ‘… half those kids are off their tits on speed. Things could get very nasty. Riotous, even. What will the City of Westminster magistrates make of that? You need to conjure up a new band. Without delay.’
‘Which you just happen to have,’ says Griff, ‘hidden cunningly up your large intestine?’
‘Which we happen to have –’ Levon indicates the players ‘– right here. Jasper de Zoet, guitar and vocals; Peter “Griff” Griffin, drums; and introducing –’ he slaps Dean’s shoulder ‘– Dean Moss, bass prodigy, harp, vocals. Has Fender, will play.’
The drummer looks at Dean askance. ‘You just happen to have a bass with you, just as our bassist runs out on us?’
‘My bass ’n’ all my worldly goods. I had to leave my bedsit in a hurry earlier.’
Jasper has been strangely quiet throughout, but now he asks Dean, ‘How good are you, then?’
‘Better than Larry Ratner,’ replies Dean.
‘Dean’s superb,’ says Levon. ‘I don’t take on amateurs.’
The drummer puffs on his cigarette. ‘Can you sing?’
‘Better than Archie Kinnock,’ says Dean.
‘So does a castrated donkey,’ says Griff.
‘What songs do you know?’ asks Jasper.
‘Uh … I could do “House of the Rising Sun”, “Johnny B. Goode”, “Chain Gang”. Can you two play those?’
‘Blindfolded,’ says Griff, ‘with one hand up our jaxies.’
‘I run this venue,’ says Oscar Morton. ‘And if these three have never played together, how do I know they’ll be any good?’
‘You know they’ll be good,’ says Levon, ‘because Jasper’s virtuosic and Griff played in the Wally Whitby Five. Dean, you’ll have to take on trust.’
Griff’s growl sounds not displeased. Jasper isn’t saying no. Dean is thinking, I’ve got nothing to lose. Oscar Morton looks sweaty and sick and needs one more push.
‘I know showbiz is full of bullshit merchants,’ says Levon. ‘We’ve both met far too many. But I am not one.’
The owner of 2i’s releases a sigh. ‘Don’t let me down.’