Paul said, “Don’t mind if I do,” and filled another glass with ice, cognac, and soda. Stella and Anna watched him sip, and decided to join him. So did Jools.
Stella watched Jools take a long pull on his drink, and said, “As I understand it, in the old days, butlers didn’t drink with their masters.”
The woman said, “It’s a bad habit, I admit, and I’m to blame. Permissiveness never pays off. It’s like that first time you feed the dog a scrap at the table; that’s the end. It’s all downhill from there. The dog owns you.” Jools knew she was joking, and didn’t take offense. He actually liked her sense of humor, dry and a little quirky. She went on, “Ok, you’re in our house, its official now, this is a kidnapping. Three times. That means three life sentences without parole, if we get caught.”
Jools stopped slurping his drink and looked at her. “You never told me that. Life sentence, without parole. Are you crazy? I never would have gotten involved if you had told me that. You said if we got caught, your lawyer would get us out on bail. Pay a fine.”
“That was for one kidnapping. When you snatch three people, the penalty goes up.” The woman, in turn, liked Jools’ sense of humor, which was why they had been together for so many years. “So, we’re all in this together now, for real.”
Anna said, “For real, what? What do you mean by that? I could’ve gotten away from you three times so far this evening. Once on King Street and twice here. You set a bag of guns right in front of me. How real is that?”
Stella said, “You could’ve gotten us away? How come you didn’t?”
Jools said, “She didn’t say she could’ve gotten all three of you away, she said herself. We know that.”
The woman said, “How come you didn’t leave, if you could have?”
Anna thought for a moment and said, “I had an intuition. Told me not too.”
“Ahh,” said the woman. “Intuition.”
“I could have, though,” said Anna. “I could’ve gotten away.”
“Yes, but that would have been abandoning these two, and you would’ve gone to the FBI, and they would have come here with SWAT teams, and how much fun would that be? Your intuition told you not to do that. And now here we are.”
Paul said, “Are we really kidnapped, then? As in, can’t leave?”
“Well, yes. You can’t leave. In a few minutes Jools is going to show you your new quarters. They’re out back. That’s where you’ll be staying for a while.”
Paul looked at Anna and said, “Maybe you should’ve left when you had the chance.” He looked at the woman, “So how come? How come us, here? What’s the story?”
The woman said, “Let me tell you.”
Chapter 5 – She Explains
The woman led the group into the living room which was furnished in art deco style. There were three circular mirrors on one wall with chrome frames, a free standing screen in one corner with chevron designs, two matching black and red leather armchairs with big round sides like wheels, a sofa with zebra pattern upholstery, and a desk with a complex geometric arrangement of inlaid woods. The five of them sat down, with Jools pouring second drinks for everyone. He kept his gun under one arm while doing the mixing, which Anna and Stella thought incongruous. This incongruity continued when he sat down, drink in one hand, gun in the other. Anna noticed the drink was in his right hand and the gun in his left. She knew from the time spent with him on King Street earlier in the evening, when he tricked her into lowering the gun she had pointed at his chest, and then snapped his gun up into firing position, pointing it at her chest, that he was right-handed. She wondered how good a shot he was holding his gun with his left hand.
The woman took a pull on her cognac, settled into her chair, and told her story. Stella interrupted her by saying, “Wait, what’s your name? We know he’s Jools, and you know us, but he never said your name the whole evening. I keep thinking of you as ‘the woman’.”
“Well, let’s think this through. I’ve kidnapped the three of you, and will have demands, and kidnapping is a serious crime, so I have to decide if it’s smart to tell you my name. Usually kidnappers don’t do that; tell their victims their name. Unless, of course, the kidnapper knows he or she is going to kill their victim in the end, regardless of whether their demands are met. For that reason, an astute person, a victim, probably would not want to know the name of their kidnapper. Might mean their fate was sealed. You sure you want to know?”
Jools said, “Wait a minute. You gave them my name, and now you might not tell them your name, on account of it might lead to you being identified and captured by the FBI in the future? What about me? What about my future, when this is over?”
“I didn’t give them your last name. Don’t worry so much. It’s not becoming of a butler.”
“Jools. You told them my name is Jools. How many Jools are there walking around in Charleston? How hard is it going to be for the FBI to find a Jools? If we were in The Netherlands, that might be different. Lots of Jools over there, but not here.”
“Dear, you just told them where you’re from. If you’re so worried about getting caught, you shouldn’t give them information about yourself.”
Anna said, “They have butlers in The Netherlands? I thought there only were butlers in England. I didn’t know there was class distinction in The Netherlands.”
The woman cut this off, saying, “Look, you want to know my name, or not? I don’t really mind, because when this is over, I’m outta here. I got plans, so I don’t mind telling you. It’s Scotilly. Scotilly Verve.”
Paul said, “Scotilly. Scotilly. Nice, I like it. Never heard that name before. Have you?” he said, looking at the others. They nodded, no. “Scotilly. I could write a song about a girl named Scotilly, accent on the first syllable, Scot.” And he sang a new melody.
Scotilly in a butterscotch dress,
Drinking a cognac, reducing her stress.
The kidnapping behind her,
The demands ahead of her,
Scotilly in a butterscotch dress.
Scotilly set her drink on the gold and black enamel coffee table, stood up, flounced over to where Paul sat, leaned over him, and planted a big kiss on his cheek. She said, “That’s my boy, that’s my songwriter.” She stood up, looked at the group, and said, “That’s why you’re here. Well, that’s why he’s here. You’re here because you were with him, and we,” looking at Jools, “couldn’t get rid of you. He’s here to do something for me.”
Paul said, “What, luv? What am I going to do?”
Jools looked at Stella and Anna and said, “Here we go.”
“You’re going to write songs, Paul. You’re going to write a bunch of songs.”
“How many is a bunch, luv? I can write a couple of ditties right now, and we can get out of here by midnight. I got part of one in the can already. You heard the first stanza.”
Scotilly sat down, polished off her second drink, kicked off her shoes, and put her feet up on the table. “Not ditties, Paul. Big songs. Great songs. Deep songs. Beautiful songs. The best you’ve ever written. The best anyone’s ever written. And enough of them to fill an opera. A rock opera. The greatest rock opera ever produced. That’s how many, luv. A lot.”
Anna cocked her head sideways, thought for a few seconds, and said, “You kidnapped Paul McCartney so he can write a rock opera? For you?”
She nodded, and said, “That’s half the reason. That’s the good part. The fun part.”
“And the other reason? The not so fun part?”
“The other part is prosaic. Not interesting, or artistic, or culturally oriented. But it’s important.” They waited politely. “Well, what do you think? Money. I need some money.”
Stella looked around at the living room, with its beautifully designed décor. She said to Anna, “House is three stories. On the beach. Really nice furniture. BMW. And a butler. Not m
any people have their own butler.” She looked at the woman. “You don’t have enough money? Looks like you do. You need money so badly you kidnap three people for it?”
“Look, I didn’t start out to kidnap three people. Just one. That’s all. And that’s only half the reason I kidnapped him. The other half is for artistic reasons. I’m going to contribute to American culture, so it’s not as bad as you make it sound.”
Anna said, “Money. The root of all evil.”
The woman got up and headed to the kitchen for another drink. She looked at Jools and said, “You tell them.”
He said, “You ever hear of the 2008 economic downturn? She got clobbered. Bad. She’s got the house now, and that’s about all. She grew up loaded, inherited a ton, then lost it. I’ve been with her for a long time; we’re both the same age. My father was her parent’s butler a long time ago in England. Her father was English and her mother American. They made a deal. They would live in England until they had children, and then move to the States, which they did, in the 60s. My father died, then her parents died, and I ended up staying with her. We get along.” Stella looked at him, made the intimate relationship gesture. He nodded no, said, “Never.” He went on, “She’s been wealthy her whole life. Till a couple years ago. Hates not being wealthy, and I don’t care much for it, either.”
Stella said, “That’s happened to a lot of people the last few years. Not all of them go out and kidnap three people on account of it.”
“Must you harp on the number three? One. We went out to kidnap one person. That’s all. You two are not legitimate kidnappees. You are collateral damage. We offered to let you go back on the street.”
“Can we go now?”
“Well, no, not exactly. Not now that you know where we live.”
“So we are kidnappees.”
“No, no, I can’t accept that label. You are, you are….guests of a special kind.”
“Huh?”
Anna said, “Let’s not split hairs. We’re here. What else should we know about our benefactor?”
Jools said, “Basically she told you the deal. She needs money, and is going to ask Paul to provide it. So we can live as we like. Well, she. As she likes. She’s the boss. I’m along for the ride. But the money thing really is only half the motivation for the snatch….er, the abduction. The one thing she hasn’t mentioned is that she plays piano. Not great, but decent. Has played her whole life. When she was younger she wanted to be a performer. Her piano playing is ok, but her singing is better. Nice voice, and loves to listen to great singers like Renee Fleming and Dusty Springfield. Ray Charles, the greatest ever. And loves The Beatles songs. Loves you, Paul. She thinks the greatest piece of rock music ever written is Quadrophenia, the rock opera by The Who.” Scotilly came back into the living room with her third cognac and soda, and sat down. Jools continued, “So over the last month everything came together. Some people in town recently did a huge production of a lost ballet, by Stravinsky. It was incredible. We saw three out of the nine performances. Somehow they got Pete Townshend of The Who to transcribe the Stravinsky music from orchestra to synthesizer, and to perform it live. The dancing was mind-blowing. We saw you,” looking at Paul, “at the premier, and the newspaper said you were coming back for the final performance.” Now looking at Scotilly, he said, “She put it all together. Kidnap Paul McCartney, get him to write music even greater than Quadrophenia, play a little music with him, sing with him, produce the rock opera here in Charleston, just like these other folks did with the ballet, get a ransom, and then….”
“Ok, Jools, you don’t have to tell them what happens then. We need to keep a few secrets.” She looked at the three houseguests. “You got the picture? Understand? You’re the guest of honor, Paul. You ok with all this? Any questions?”
“Can I have another drink, and, where’s the piano?”
Chapter 6 – The Bunker
Jools made Paul another drink, and said to all of them, sounding very butlerish, “Allow me to show you to your quarters.” He led them outside to a deck at the corner of the house, away from the ocean. He pointed to the side, back away from the beach. In the darkness they saw the massive form of a structure, partially hidden in encroaching vegetation. He said, “That’s where you’ll be staying.”
Anna said, “What is it?”
Stella said, “Its dark. And big.”
Paul sipped his drink, taking it all in. Jools waved his gun towards it. “It’s a bunker. A huge concrete bunker built in 1944. It came with the vacant lot when her parents built their first house here, in the early 60s. That house was destroyed in Hurricane Hugo in 1989, along with hundreds of others. They built this house after that. You need to go down there. It’s your new digs.”
Anna held up a hand and said, “Wait a second. Let’s take five here. We’ve heard your story, we’ve had a couple of drinks, and now you’re going on with this? What if we just walk down the drive and out on the street? Wait till someone comes along? Who says this kidnapping thing has to go on?”
Jools thought things were going a little too smoothly. He should have known. But his answer was simple, and he addressed it to Paul rather than to Anna. “Look, the deal hasn’t changed since we were downtown on King Street. No, I’m not going to shoot the three of you. But, orders are orders, I’m in this with her. It’s my future, too. If you two want to walk down the drive to the street and stick your thumbs out, go ahead. But Stella, she stays. I can, and will, pick her up and drop her on her head. It’s as simple as that. Scotilly is serious about that, and so am I. Is that what you want, Paul?”
Paul, exuding equanimity, looked at his daughter, then at Jools. “Let’s see this bunker place.”
Anna thought she had a 75% probability of being able to take Jools’ gun away from him, but those odds weren’t good enough. Not with Paul acting the way he was about Stella. So they followed Jools back into the house, down the stairs to ground level, and over to the massive dark single story structure. Jools took keys out of his pocket and fitted one into a padlock on the door. The door was a massive steel plate, eight feet from top to bottom, six feet from side to side, and it screeched when he pulled it open. “Now that the artist is in residence, I’ll oil those hinges.” Inside he flipped a light switch which bathed a long corridor in a soft white light. He flipped another switch, and somewhere in the bowels of the concrete mass a heating, ventilating, and air conditioning unit started to hum. A minute later they felt a soft breeze against their faces.
Jools said, “The tour starts here. This was built in 1944 as part of the national coastal defense system. These same bunkers exist today around all our important port cities, like Boston, New York, Mobile, Seattle, and San Francisco. Before these there was an earlier defense system, called the Endicott batteries, which were built in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Pretty much wherever there was an Endicott battery, they built more batteries during World War II. There are four Endicott batteries and three WWII batteries here on Sullivan’s Island, and before the Endicotts, there was Fort Moultrie, going all the way back to the Revolutionary War period. Charleston has been an important port for a long time.” He walked down the white washed corridor, and Anna thought of clocking him across the back of the neck with a rabbit punch she had learned from her grandfather. But she was enjoying the history lesson, having no idea these things were over here on Sullivan’s. This grandfather was the person the three other King Street kidnappers had said they didn’t like.
Jools said, “Scotilly’s parents built the first house in 1963, just after she was born. That was the height of the Cold War, with old Khrushchev saying he was going to bury our asses. Well, your American asses. Paul, you remember that.”
Paul thought for a second, said, “By 1963 I was a bit of a pot smoker. Don’t remember a lot of politics from that time. We were all about the music. Who was Khrushchev?”
Jools let that pass and turned into a room off the corridor. It was large, painted a neutral gray, and had a thin layer of wall to wall carpeting over the concrete floor. The overhead lights were florescent, and arranged around the perimeter was a collection of simple, rather Spartan furniture: two sofas, three armchairs, a large table with four chairs, and a three or four small end tables. Against each of the four walls was a large bookshelf that held paperbacks, box games, decks of cards, and cardboard boxes. He said, “Living room, just like they left it in ’69. Don’t worry, now that we know you’re here, we’ll update everything for you. Let’s go down the hall.” He went back into the corridor and walked away from the huge steel entry door. On the left was a door that led into a large storage room which contained metal shelves on all the walls and sturdy tables in the center. The corridor came to a T and went in opposite directions. Jools turned right and led the way into a smaller room that was the kitchen, and then into a bathroom that had four showerheads protruding from one wall, with a large drain in the center of the concrete floor. There were no partitions separating the showers from each other or from the rest of the bathroom. Three toilets and three urinals also lacked partitions. Very military.
Stella said, “Our own little Buckingham Palace.”
Jools led the way back down the corridor to the T intersection, and kept going straight. “Right after Scoty’s parents finished building the house, they had the same contractor fix up this place as a bomb shelter. People all around the country did that, built bomb shelters in their basements. Stocked up on Campbell’s Tomato Soup. They seriously thought there might be a nuclear war with Russia. Most people didn’t have a WWII bunker in their back yard to turn into a shelter, but Scoty’s parents did. And here we are in it, forty five years later.” Three doorways on the left opened into medium sized rooms, one with a bed in it, and a doorway on the right opened into a very large empty room. He went into the large room and said, “This was the command center for the Army guys that ran the military facility. We have a few photos from WWII that show the inside of the bunker. This was a radio station room with big map tables, and a bunch of desks and chairs. We figured this is where you would want to do the music thing. Write the songs.”
The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney Page 3
