One day several years ago she had decided to help her grandfather, who was in a war with the Junes. She had entered the Junes home at three o’clock in the morning, armed with a Walther PPK handgun, and gotten caught. Gwen and Roger nailed her (thanks to their dog, which had woken them up), duck taped her to a kitchen chair, and interrogated her over the course of a few days, at the end of which she switched allegiance from her grandfather to them. The Junes have that sort of influence over people, and ever since, she had been one of their team. The Junes had introduced her to the French actress Catherine Deneuve, who had introduced her to Spielberg. Now she was back from France, back with Richard, planning on going back to work on the ballet score. That was just before Scotilly had set her own op in motion, and now here she was, watching Paul walk up and down the corridors, singing to himself. It didn’t sound like any Beatles song she’d ever heard.
They heard the heavy steel doors open at the end of the corridor, and footsteps approached. Jools entered the living room with a waiter’s tray perched on his right shoulder and his gun held in his left hand. Anna looked at this setup and smiled inside. Just how good was Jools at operating his gun with his left hand. Nada. She could have that thing in her possession in the blink of an eye. But her attention was distracted from this by the smells coming from the tray. Delicious. He set the gun on a table and then the tray. On it were three plates of eggs Benedict, home fried potatoes, English muffins, orange juice, and coffee. He said, “Fall to it, girls, before it gets cold. Where’s the genius?”
Stella yelled down the hall to the studio, “Dad, breakfast. Come quick.”
Paul came into the living room with the Rickenbacker slung over his shoulder. He looked at the tray, unslung the guitar, and said, “Joolies, luv, wonderful. Just what I need. This going to be a regular thing, I hope?”
Anna sat looking from the tray to the gun. Eggs, gun, eggs, gun. Which did she want more? She reached for a plate and a glass of juice.
Jools said, “No can do every day, Paulie. Just trying to make up for these first three days of lack of amenities. Here’s the deal. As soon as you finish eating, you’re out of here. Up to the big house, with Scotilly. All the rest of the stuff is arriving today: the piano, the synthesizer, the recording equipment, the beds, more canned food, and other stuff. We can’t have all those delivery guys walking around in here with you three hanging out. One of ‘em might recognize you. When all the stuff is in here, back you come. Ok?”
Stella said, “What’s with the gun? I thought we had a deal. We don’t try to escape and you lose the gun.”
“Dear, it’s a matter of trust, isn’t it? We don’t really know each other yet, though I feel a bond beginning to form between us. Until that is stronger, I’m afraid that when you’re out of the bunker, I’m going to have my little friend here at hand. Soon, soon, I hope we can dispense with him.”
Anna chomped on her muffin, coated in real, saltless butter, and wondered at his naiveté. She could have that gun stuck in his ear before his could say, “If you’ll leave your shoes outside the bunker door before retiring, I’ll have them polished by morning.” She went back to her food, which was outstanding. Few things better than a great hollandaise. He was a lousy kidnapper and gun handler, but he could cook. Paul put the bass on his lap and played riffs between mouthfuls of eggs and potatoes. He was in a groove, and even the hollandaise couldn’t totally distract him. Anna looked at Paul and said, “If I’m not getting my own piano, we’re going to have to share. Ok?”
“Course, luv. I think a lot of this stuff is going to happen on the synthe, anyway. I might compose on the piano, but as soon as I get something down on paper, I’ll probably take it over to the synthe and do the orchestrations there. I’m probably going to do the same thing for our shows they did for the ballet production; play all the music myself on the synthe. Make it sound half like an orchestra and half like a big rock band. It’s going to be the composition and singing that makes or breaks this anyway, not the instrumentals. If I can get great singers for this….” He let the thought drift.
Jools took a tape measure out of his pocket and said, “I gotta measure the door opening, make sure they can get the piano through. He walked back down the long corridor, leaving his gun on the coffee table. Anna and Stella both looked at it, then at each other, shaking their heads. Ten minutes later they finished their coffee and looked at Jools, who said, “Ready? Let’s go.” He headed down the corridor with them behind him, Paul still riffing on the Rickenbacker. When they got to the big steel doors, he unlocked them, started to open them, and said, “Oh, shit.” He turned around and ran back towards the living room. While he did that, the three kidnappees looked at the open doors. It had been almost three days since they had seen the sun. They looked at each other and shrugged. Jools came running back towards them now, skidding to a stop with a chagrined look on his face. Anna pulled the gun from where it was stuck in her belt at the small of her back, and handed it to him. He said, “Oh, thanks,” and led the way through the doors and up to the house.
As they entered the big living room, Scotilly said, “When do I get my sofa cushions back? How’s the music coming? How’re the costumes coming? Who do I contact about the five million dollars? What are we having for lunch?”
Jools looked at them, said, “She’s all yours,” and walked out.
The two women sat down on the springs of the sofa and looked at Scotilly, trying to figure out which question to answer first. Paul ignored them all, and began to walk back and forth, plucking at the guitar strings and humming something that sounded like Gershwin. What was he up to? Stella said, “You get the cushions back when we get our beds, which supposedly is today.”
Anna said, “You can see how the music’s coming,” and pointed at McCartney.
Stella said, “I have no material, so no costumes. Get it?”
Anna said, “You’ll have to ask him about the money, but if you do that, you’ll interrupt the music muse. I wouldn’t do that. And, we just finished breakfast. What are you worrying about lunch for?”
Scotilly watched McCartney walk up and down, then looked back at Anna and Stella. “Sorry, sorry. It’s been a rough three days. My first kidnapping, and I’m not used to it. And this getting up before ten, not used to that, either. So, sorry.”
Anna just sat and thought about things. She’d had to give one kidnapper back his gun, and now the other kidnapper was showing signs of stress. She said, “Do you know what’s going to happen today?”
Scotilly said, “The FBI. They’re going to call, aren’t they? They have some electronic tracking thingy that found us.”
Anna said, “Girly, the FBI is the least of your worries. You know what’s going to happen today? The fucking Junes are going to start the hunt. The hunt for you. Roger and Gwen June. They like me, and you kidnapped me. I’d rather have a squad of Green Berets on my tail than them. It’s been three days, and they’ve been figuring things out. Now, the action begins.”
Stella looked at Anna and thought, I met this woman on the set of a movie in France, and she seemed cool, so we made friends. The other day I find out she goes out to dinner packing a gun under her tailored suit coat. Now she tells me she has friends that are tougher than Green Berets and the FBI. Who is she? She looked at her father, who hadn’t heard any of this conversation.
Anna paused, then said, “And that’s only half of your problem. You know who my grandfather is?” Scotilly shook her head. “You know what my name is?” She shook her head again. “It’s Stirg. Anna Stirg. Recognize that?”
Scotilly tried to reduce the stress that was building in her shoulder muscles by leaning her head against the chair back and closing her eyes. Stirg. Stirg. Stirg. The name rang a bell. She opened her eyes and said, “Yes, I do recognize the name. Your grandfather gets his name in the paper once in a while. He’s a rich guy, lives down on the w
aterfront.” She closed her eyes again, thought, opened them. “He got in trouble awhile back for hanging around the College of Charleston campus and making solicitous remarks to freshmen girls. Women.”
Anna was sorry she’d brought the subject up. She said, deflecting attention from that newsflash, “You know what he was years ago? A long time ago? He was a Nazi hunter. For the Israelis. He hunted them down in South America. You’ve kidnapped the granddaughter of a former Nazi hunter. So, now you’ve got the Junes on your ass, plus Pmirgh Stirg the Nazi hunter, and maybe the FBI, if someone manages to squeal to them. How’s that feel?”
“I’ve had better mornings, but, no guts, no glory.” She seemed to be snapping out of her stress zone. “What about the production? What about the Junes? How are we going to get them going?”
Stella said, “That’s our job to figure out? You’re the mastermind of this gig. You’re the perpetrator of the crime.”
Scotilly pointed at Paul. “Look at him. Look. Happy as a clam. He’s not threatening me with Nazi hunters and FBI agents. He’s working away, making beautiful music. Writing great songs. What I’ve done here is present him, and you, with a unique opportunity to execute a creative endeavor. A world class work of art. You should be thanking me.”
Stella looked at Anna, telegraphing the message, “Great art is fine, but what about the two months without boyfriends? Is that great? Can that be construed as an ideal living situation? Will that foster a deep and abiding sense of personal contentment?”
Anna said, “We have to establish communication with the Junes. That’s the only way they can work on the production angle. They can’t do what they have to do unless they know what we’re doing here with the composition. Right?”
“Yeah, but you just told me they’re after my ass. More tempestuous than a squad of Green Berets. How can we set up a communication system when they’ll use that to find me? Us?” she said as Jools came back in the room.
“Us, what?” he said.
Anna answered, “As in your mastermind here didn’t figure everything out before embarking on this project. We have to communicate with the Junes to do the production, but I just told her I rather have Green Berets on my ass than the Junes. Now she’s worried they’re gonna track her down. Which they will. You. Track you down. That’s the ‘Us’ she mentioned. Track you and her down.” She leaned against the sofa back and smiled.
Jools looked at Scotilly and said, “We’re being tracked?”
Stella said, “Hunted. Not just tracked. Hunted.” Looking at Anna she asked, “What was the name of that Russian guy you mentioned to me at dinner? Little somebody? The gangster?”
“Little Jinny Blistov. Close friend of the Junes. Formerly a gangster on the Saint Petersburg waterfront. Very tough. His mother was a fisherman; used to tear the heads off of fish with her bare hands. Didn’t bother with a knife. Jinny would do anything for the Junes. He owes them. He loves them. Do anything.”
“So he might be the hunter?”
“Likely. Ruthless. And very smart. American gangsters, like Marlon Brando, nothing like Russian gangsters.”
Jools said, “Stop trying to scare us. Let’s just do it. Call them up and tell them we have to open lines of communication between the artists and the impresarios. We’ll worry about this other stuff later. This hunting stuff. The little guy.” He reached into his pocket and took out Anna’s phone, started to dial. Anna jumped off the sofa and grabbed it from him.
“Give me that.” And she punched Richard’s speed dial number.
“Hello.”
“Richard. It’s me.”
“Anna. How are you? Are you all right? Where are you? Thank God.”
“I’m fine. So’s Stella and Paul. We’ve been kidnapped by some idiots. I guess you know what they want.”
“Yes, we know. We’ve agreed to do the production. We’re waiting for instructions”
Scotilly said, “On speaker, please. No tricks.”
She hit the speaker button. “Things are ok. Don’t call the cops. Or the FBI. We’ve agreed to do the opera if they don’t point their guns at us all the time.” She smirked at Jools, having some fun.
“So what do we do?”
“Nothing. We’ll call you when we have stuff to share about the music that you need for the production stuff. You can call us when you have questions. Jools will have the phone, so you can ask him, and he’ll bring them to us. Ok?”
“You don’t sound upset? So everything’s ok?”
“Paul’s grooving, so that part is good. Stella and I are going to help. Guess what? Paul is going to work on the ballet score with me, too. I wish you were here to work on that with us. I wish you were here for other reasons, too. I miss you.”
Jools looked at Scotilly and said, “Three days away from her boyfriend, and she’s horny.”
Stella said, “What about me?”
Scotilly made gestures to Anna saying, “Cut it off. Enough.”
“I gotta go. Love you. Say hi to Little Jinny for me. Tell him I look forward to seeing him soon. Bye.” As she punched the disconnect button she looked at Jools. “Little Jinny. I’m sure he’s looking forward to meeting you. Soon.”
Just then a horn sounded outside the house. Jools said, “They’re here,” and ran down the steps. He found a truck with the piano, a truck with the recording equipment and the synthesizer, and a truck with beds and a few other pieces of furniture. Over the next hour and a half he managed the unloading of the stuff into the bunker. The piano fit through the massive steel doors and went into the large studio room, along with the synthe and the recording equipment. The furniture went into the bedrooms and the living room. The truck guys from the three rental outfits thought the bunker was the weirdest place they’d ever delivered stuff to. Who the hell would want to live in a place like that? And what was going on with the instruments? When everything was set up Jools shooed them out, tipping each with a $100 bill. He wasn’t sure if the money was Scotilly’s or McCartney’s; he just knew it wasn’t his, and he figured the truck guys deserved a little piece of the action. Butlers and truck drivers got to stick together.
When he returned to the house, everyone seemed content. Scotilly had gotten out of her stress zone, helped by a chilled glass of chablis that sat on the coffee table. She had figured it was noon somewhere. Stella and Anna felt good after making their attempts to scare the shit out of Scotilly with stories of various hunters on her trail. Paul said, “Is the piano here? Is it? I need a piano.”
“It’s down there, in the studio room, with the rest of the stuff. And beds. Two twin beds, very nice.”
Stella looked at Jools, said, “What do you mean twin beds? I haven’t slept in a twin bed since I was eight. They don’t even make twin beds anymore. Where’d you get these, a museum?”
Jools smiled and said, “Just kidding. Got you both nice queens. Very comfy. Too bad you’ll be in them alone. Two months. Alone.” So he was not above sticking it back to them.
Paul said, “Did the piano guys have a tuner with them?”
“What’s a tuner?”
“What do you think a tuner is? A guy who tunes the piano. A tuner.”
“Pianos go out of tune?”
“Pianos go out of tune if you look at them wrong. No way that piano came down all the way from New York, and stayed in tune. Get a tuner in there, right away. I need a piano. NOW!” The temperamental artist was making his first appearance. Paul was hot on the trail of new music.
Scotilly downed the last of the wine, and looked around. It seemed to her things were going reasonably smoothly, despite the notification that a Russian gangster was looking for her. They had come to terms with the Junes about the production, communication was open and functional, the genius had everything he wanted except a piano that was in tune, and that deficiency would be fixed soon. Everything pointed
to celebrating with a second glass of chablis. As she stood up and headed to the kitchen, she said, “Good work, Jools. Get them back down there working, and get a tuner in there pronto. I’ll be ready for lunch about 1pm. How about crab cakes? This wine will be killer with your crab. And bring the cushions back. I may need a little sofa nap later on after all this excitement.”
Chapter 23 – Stirg Gets Involved
The Junes and their associates were not feeling content. It was now almost lunch time, and only Jinny had eaten anything. All of them had heard the conversation between Anna and Richard, and they had spent the last two hours trying to figure out what it meant. The situation was just so odd it was hard for them to get their heads around it. Usually, kidnappings were straightforward. The person is snatched, a ransom is demanded, the police are called, the ransom is paid, and the person is killed. Sometimes the person is released, but not usually.
This kidnapping had been different from the start. Three people were walking down the street, enjoying the evening air, when two separate groups, unbeknownst to each other and at the same time, each tried to snatch one person from the group of three. One group of kidnappers had ended up with all three people, other group with nothing. Subsequently, the kidnappers and the kidnappees had negotiated a gentleman’s agreement, with the kidnappers agreeing to not wave guns at the kidnappees, and the kidnappees agreeing to not escape for a period of two months, during which period they would compose a rock opera. They also had agreed to not tell a third group that was involved, the Junes, where they were, knowing that the Junes would seek them out with some kind of goal of liberation. But how do you liberate someone who had agreed to not be liberated. It all was very confusing to those sitting around the June’s kitchen, and hence their feelings of discontentment. It was about to get more confusing, as Gwen said, “We gotta tell Stirg. We know the basic setup, weird as it is, and now he has a right to know. Ok?”
The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney Page 9
