“You can help by listening to me describe my ideas for the opera,” said Paul. “I’ve got some of it figured out, some not. Ok?”
She sat down on the piano bench and he sat down on the synthesizer bench. “Let me tell you what it’s not going to be about. It not going to be about teenagers or twenty-somethings. It’s going to be about mature relationships between men and women. It’s going to be about why people fall in love, and fall out of love. Because that’s what happens. People come together for a while, and then they split up. That describes love and all its forms. There are good parts about relationships, and bad parts. Some couples make it for a long time, some don’t, and people have different ideas about why that happens. I think a lot of the common ideas are wrong. I think I know why some relationships work and some don’t, and that’s what I’m going to write songs about. You’re in your thirties, and Stella’s in her forties, and I’m pushing seventy. I want to write for all those ages, because there’s experience there. That’s the basic idea for the opera, and the next step is to write down three or four or five themes that represent that basic idea of a man and a woman coming together, having good times and bad, and making it for the long haul, or not. What do you think?”
Anna swiveled around on the bench and raised the keyboard cover. She hadn’t played at all in France; not since she and Richard worked on the ballet score eight month previously. But she was fearless, and plunged into a famous Gershwin tune, one he had written in Charleston, Summertime. She had to quit after a minute because the piano was so out of tune, but in just that brief time she got the juices flowing. The musical juices. She was back. She slammed the cover and said, “If Jools doesn’t get that tuned by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll clean his clock for him.” She walked across the room to where Paul sat, put her hands on his shoulders, and said, “I love your idea. And we’re going to have a great time working on this thing together. At the end, the production is going to be fantastic. You saw the Stravinsky. The Junes can put it together if we, you, give them the goods. They’ll produce a great piece. Ok?”
He looked up into Anna’s eyes and wished he was thirty years younger.
Chapter 26 – The Money Demand
Back on Church Street Gwen was trying to figure out how to seat ten people at the same table who only a few months earlier had been trying to kill each other. Well, Stirg had tried to do something to the Junes and their friends by smashing their sailboat into little pieces. His action wasn’t a definitive killing intent; rather it was something on the order of wrecking mayhem on them. And they defended themselves. And then there was the hitting Stirg in the head with the butt of a gun thing. So maybe that didn’t add up to trying to kill each other, but these were not friends sitting down to Sunday brunch, either. Gwen had to keep Roger away from Stirg since it was him who had hit Stirg in the head. And she had to keep Jinny away from Nev because Jinny had given Nev so much shit while sitting in Stirg’s house, telling Nev he was a disgrace to the bodyguarding profession for allowing four women in bikinis to invade his boss’ house. So she put Roger and herself at the ends of the table and Stirg and Nev across from each other in the center. The table sat fourteen comfortably, so there was some extra personal space available, which was good.
While Gwen worked on facilitating a peaceful lunch, Scotilly sat in her sunroom and thought about the money. The ransom. Should she up the demand, and ask something for Stella and Anna? She now held captive, sort of, a person worth hundreds of millions of dollars, and a person dear to the heart of a billionaire. Should she demand a ransom from Stirg, in return for which she wouldn’t chop off Anna’s head? More millions would be better, right? The thought of the threat she would make to Stirg reminded her of how much fun she was having playing a crazy, Taliban trained and influenced kidnapper. She’d never realized how much power she had in her voice; she’d not known the range she had, especially going down into the lower registers first, and then escalating her screaming into the upper registers. The look on Jools’ face when she did this was priceless. She decided to set aside the thorny question of whether to demand ransom for Anna, and practice her Taliban-like behavior for a few minutes. She went into the living room, hoping an ornamental Ottoman sword had materialized out of thin air, to hang menacingly on one of the walls. It hadn’t, so she picked up the iron fireplace poker, raised it over her shoulder to a sword-like posture, and looked around for something not too valuable to smash. On the sofa was a throw pillow, and convincingly she brought the poker down in a savage THUMP. She ran crouched across the room and parlayed a deep and mortal thrust into one of the heavy drapes that hung floor to ceiling at the bay window that overlooked the island’s marshland. For the finale of her murderous rage, she decided to sacrifice a lamp Jools had given her as a birthday present one year that she never had warmed to. It resided in a corner of the room simply because she hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings. Eyeing the lamp the way a Taliban soldier would eye a captive Hollywood producer or Madison Avenue account executive, she commenced her attack vocal with a deep rumble in her chest, and as it climbed through the registers to a sopranoish scream, she raked the sword (poker) through an arc from two o’clock to eight o’clock, smashing it into the shade and through the rather hideous cloisonné body of the lamp, into the sandalwood base. CRASH.
Jools and Stella ran into the room from the study where they were ordering bolts of black and scarlet leather online, and saw Scotilly standing over the vanquished body of the infidel, its head cleanly severed and oozing blood into the dirt of the execution ground. Jools said, “What the bloody ‘ell? My lamp. My cloisonné lamp. For your birthday. Well, I like that.” And he looked at Stella, who shrugged, having seen something very similar to this once in her design studio, when one of her assistants, who’d been working on a men’s casual suit for days, lost it because she couldn’t get the tail of the silk jacket to hang just right over the hip of the mannequin. She had picked up a long, heavy metal straightedge used to measure fabric, and demolished both the mannequin and the nascent suit very efficiently, using only three slashes.
Though breathing hard, Scotilly had a smile on her face, and said, “Just practicing,” and went back into the sunroom to continue her deliberations on the ransom demand.
Back on Church Street, Nev was trying to figure out how, surreptitiously, he could slip a razorblade into Jinny’s brie, bacon, and cucumber with shallot aioli on toasted sourdough bread sandwich. Stirg asked for a second cognac and soda, which both Gale and Jinny eyed with envy. They looked at each other, knowing they couldn’t get away with ordering the same, but wondering if they might suggest a bottle of Sancerre. An innocent bottle of light bodied, fruity, hardly any alcohol in it Loire wine. Gwen, knowing their capability to slide into lushness in the blink of an eye, warned both of them, telegraphically, to not even bother with such a suggestion. What they didn’t need was a little alcohol to fuel the StirgJune fire.
Stirg had the decency to hold his tongue during lunch, but when he finished his second sandwich, which, he had to admit, was delicious, and which he decided he wanted Nev to learn to make for him, he said, “Now what? What are we waiting for? When are they gonna call? And then what are we gonna do?”
Given their past history, Gwen didn’t want Roger or Jinny to speak at this point, and she didn’t want Gale the Mouth to get going at this delicate juncture, and she thought she’d done enough talking, so she turned to Slev, who instantly knew what to say. “Pmirhs, we want to propose a two pronged approach. We know they are ok now. We know this is not an ordinary kidnapping, either, just for money, or political. It unusual. These people are unusual. We think we should cooperate with their demand to produce a world class rock opera, here in Charleston. As long as McCartney works on the music, and we work on the production, they will be safe.” Slev’s voice was melodic and calm. She looked from Stirg to Nev, and back. Her hands caressed them with delicate, reassuring ge
stures. “Of course, they want money, too, and that is what we are waiting for them to tell us. Hopefully today. We think we should pay the ransom, whatever it is. We will arrange with McCartney’s people to do that, when he tells us to. You have to be ready to pay, if they demand something for Anna.”
“That’s no problem.”
Slev sipped a little water. “But, Pmirsh, I said we have a two pronged approach. Paying the ransom is the first”
“And the second?”
“The second is to hunt down the kidnappers, rescue Paul and Anna and Stella, and throw the kidnappers into the ocean with their feet encased in concrete.”
Stirg looked around the table and said, “Now you’re talking.”
Chapter 27 – The Uneasy Alliance
After polishing off the sandwiches, the group returned to the living room. Gale and Jinny hoped Stirg wouldn’t ask for a third cognac and soda because that would be too much to bear, watching him sip that while they sipped coffee. He didn’t, and joined the others when Guignard brought around the sterling silver coffee pot. Richard’s phone rang, and everyone sat looking at it. “Hello. Richard?”
“Yes. Hi, Jools.”
“You recognize my voice. I’m honored.”
“We don’t know anyone else that talks like you, Jools.”
“Is the gang all there?”
“Yes. They’re listening. And we have someone new with us. Someone who is very interested in meeting you. He’s been telling us how much he wants to meet you.”
“That would be Mr. Stirg. Good-day to you, sir.”
“Don’t give me any shit, you little English prick. How’s Anna? I wanna talk with her. And after her I wanna talk to the crazy woman. You got that?”
“Oh, my. ‘Little English prick’. How quaint. Such fruity language coming from a person of your distinguished background. I won’t take offense, knowing how our endeavor must be affecting you. I’m sure I would feel the same way.”
“You do? You know what I feel? You know what’s gonna happen if you don’t let Anna go immediately? I tell you what. My distinguished background is going to extinguish your background. And your foreground. And all the grounds on which you and the crazy woman walk, it’s all gonna be gone. Gone. Hear me?”
“Mr. Stirg. You’re scaring me. Gwenny, please do something to ameliorate Mr. Stirg’s passions. This is not conducive to proper negotiating.”
“Don’t call me Gwenny, Jools. My friends call me that. Not you. And not Scotilly.”
Stirg said, “Who’s Scotilly? Sounds like a dog.”
“That’s the crazy woman.”
“Scotilly? You said she’s a Taliban, head-chopping fanatic. And her name is Scotilly?”
Jools said, “Look, let’s move on, shall we? I have some news for you. News from Paul and from Scot….er, from the crazy woman. Paul agrees to pay the five million dollar ransom for himself and Stella. Not a penny more. He’s given me the name of his solicitor in London, and that is who you should contact. We get the money after opening night of the opera. Then we release them.”
Gwen said, “Isn’t that backwards? Aren’t we supposed to say we’ll pay the ransom, but not a penny more?”
“Well, maybe, but we’re just trying to be straightforward and honest. And, this isn’t exactly a typical kidnapping, is it?” The group was getting used to this, but they still looked around at each other like, what is going on here? Jools went on, “There’s more. Mr. Stirg, sir, we request another five million from you. We understand you are interested in the welfare of your granddaughter. A five million dollar donation to our retirement fund would secure her in an undamaged condition.”
Stirg looked at Nev. Both of them had been involved in shady and violent circumstances before, including a kidnapping or two, and neither remembered an adversary who presented their demands in such a polite way. Nev said, “Why should we pay you anything? How do we know Anna’s in any danger? Maybe we just hunt you down and take Anna back. You don’t sound very dangerous.”
“Ms. Gwen, you haven’t introduced me to the Israeli gentleman. I detect that lisping sound of an Israeli speaking English. American English, that is. Sir, my name is Jools. And you are….?”
“My name is…. Mr. Fucking Death, if Mr. Stirg tells me to get after your ass. That’s how you need to think of me. And I repeat, why should we pay you anything?”
“Oh, my. Such rancor. I would so love to avoid rancor. But, I do understand your position, Mr. Death. I only can say that the lady of the house has a different approach to this situation than do I. She is all business. You know, the end justifies the means. All methods are on the table, for her. If you wish it, I can have her get back to you and express herself to you directly. It just seems to me, that would add fuel to the fire. But what has to be, has to be. Please, give our proposition due consideration, and if after that you still want to speak with Ms. Chop Chop, I will arrange it. Now, anything else, Gwenny? The music is happening here, I can tell you that. Or will be when I get the piano tuned. Neither Paul nor Anna is happy about that. We’re working out the kinks. Soon, we’ll all be one big happy family, working towards a common artistic end. Well, ta.”
Richard disconnected, and the June team members waited for Stirg to say what they were pretty sure they knew he would say. And he did. “Who is that guy? Is he kidding? He’s kidnapped Anna, and wants five mill from me, and at the same time he says we’re going to be a happy family? Can you explain that to me?”
The others were getting used to the situation and to Jools, and they realized it would take time for Stirg to do likewise. So they didn’t try to explain anything, but sat quietly and waited. Even Jinny resisted the temptation to say something inflammatory, like, “Stirgy, Nev, if Jools scares you, we’ll bring Anna out when we rescue Paul and Stella. She’s our friend, and we love her too.”
Nev said, “You want me to start the hunt, boss?”
Stirg didn’t answer, but looked at Gwen, his nemesis who had stuck it to him several times. “What are you going to do?”
She said, “We told you. We think the three of them are in no danger, and that they are cooperating with Jools and the woman to write the music for the opera. We are going to work with them on the production, so that when the music is done, we are ready to go on the performances. That’s their demand. When that is over, and they get the money, the three of them will be released. That’s part one. Park two is that while part one is happening, we are hunting for them. We don’t like having our friends kidnapped off the street after enjoying a nice French meal with a bottle of wine, even if the kidnappers appear benevolent. You haven’t heard the woman yet. She’s crazy, and could be dangerous. So, we’re going after them at the same time that we’re cooperating with them.”
Stirg, relaxing now into management mode, said, “What’s your division of labor? Who are the hunters and who are the artist types?”
Gwen waited a moment, deciding if she wanted to tell Stirg. Then, “Constantine and Jinny are the hunters. Richard is with them because he and Anna are together, and he wants to find her. The rest of us will work on the production.”
Stirg and Nev both looked at Richard, who felt intimidated. He wasn’t by nature a tough guy, him and Anna having spent some months together working on the score for a ballet. He liked tutus. Stirg said to him, “What’s she mean together? You the guy she was with in France?” Richard nodded. “You like her?” He nodded. “You in love with her?” He nodded. Stirg looked at Nev, “You know about this?” Nev shook his head, no. He looked at Gwen, “You know about this?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else I should know about this whole crazy fucking deal? Huh? Anything else?” and he looked around the room. Gale wanted to say, “What about you, Stirgy? You got a girlfriend? You gettin any?” But she didn’t. Jinny wanted to say the same thing to Nev, but he also held his tongue.
So Stirg said, “Ok. So how about Nev goes on the hunting team? I wanna find these people and get Anna back. And I’ll work on the artsy thing with you all.”
Everybody figured this was coming. Great. Constantine and Jinny get to hang out with Nev. And the rest of them get to hang out with Stirg. Wasn’t this going to be fun?
Chapter 28 – The Junes Have a Tail
The front door of the June’s house opened and Stirg and Nev came out. The three guys in black clothes figured it was about time; they were getting royally bored sitting shoulder to shoulder in the Ram, getting asked every twenty minutes by tourists walking down the sidewalk where the best seafood restaurant was. The boss said, “You two follow Stirg. I’ll stay here and try to find out who these people are. We’ll touch base later by phone.” He got out of the truck and walked away from the house. He didn’t want Stirg to spot him, not that he thought Stirg would know who he was. He’d only seen Stirg a couple of times over the last ten years, which is about how long he had been planning his revenge, and as far as he knew, Stirg didn’t know him or know the malicious intentions he harbored towards him.
After he had gotten out of the army he started hanging around some crazies up in Idaho. These weren’t NNs per se, just guys, and a few girls, who didn’t like authority figures all that much, like the noble employees of the IRS, and Forest Service guys who told them they couldn’t go hunting whenever they wanted. And people who told them they had to have a picture ID to get a driver’s license. He liked that perspective on the govs, as his friends called them, and found he had a way of getting those goons to do what he wanted, so he became a leader. It was in this role that a NN contacted him one day in a bar, and recruited him and a few of his buddies into that fold. It didn’t take much, with him knowing his heritage vis a vis his grandfather, the former real live Nazi living in Argentina, who someone evil had murdered, and left sitting upright in the garden next to his beloved tomato vines. Upright but not moving, and with a tomato stake sticking out of his mouth and his asshole. The MBIBC had joined right up.
The Kidnapping of Paul McCartney Page 11
